The Art of Slow

For a long time, I lived almost entirely in my head.

Planning. Replaying. Trying to stay a step ahead of what might happen next.

It never occurred to me that I was rarely where I actually was.

Then, at a mindfulness seminar, someone handed us a small piece of chocolate and invited us to slow down. Not an exercise to master. Just an experiment to try.

Notice the smell, he said. The taste. The texture.

We took a bite and paid attention to what was actually happening, rather than rushing on to the next thing.

What struck me wasn't the taste. It was how quickly interest dropped away. A few moments in, I'd had enough. I wasn't trying. There was nothing left to chase.

Until then, I'd assumed being present was something you did. Something you practised. Something you had to work at constantly.

What I began to see was that presence is simply what's left when thinking isn't pulling you elsewhere. And when that happens, things tend to regulate themselves.

That's true of eating too.

Most people eat quickly not because they're hungry, but because they're elsewhere — mentally ahead, emotionally preoccupied, trying to get away from something uncomfortable. Food becomes the exit route. A way to leave the moment you're in without technically going anywhere.

But when you eat to escape a feeling, you don't really taste the food. You eat fast, almost mechanically, and the feeling doesn't disappear — it just gets buried under a layer of eating you barely registered.

The irony is that feelings don't need fixing. They move on by themselves.

You've never been stuck in joy. And you've never been stuck in discomfort either.

So when the urge to eat feels more like an urge to leave the moment, nothing dramatic is required. Just pause. Notice where you are. Notice what you're eating.

When attention returns, eating tends to slow on its own. Pleasure increases. The body lets you know when it's had enough. And the feeling that sent you to the kitchen in the first place has usually already moved on.

That's the art of slow. And it doesn't take practice. It just takes noticing.

If this is resonating, grab a copy of my free guide Hiding in Plain Sight. It gets to the heart of why food feels so loud — and why it doesn't have to.

And if you're ready to go further, A Weight Off Your Mind is an eight-week course built around exactly this understanding.

Or get in touch and let’s talk.