Choosing Unrushed in a World That Hurries

A reminder to slow down long enough to indulge in what makes my heart happy.

New year - still me :) No resolutions, but I do love choosing words—words that feel like an anchor and a gentle nudge at the same time. This year, my words are unrushed and glimmers.

Glimmers was one of my 2025 words and I’m holding onto it...gently.

To me, glimmers are the small, often quiet moments that remind me this life is good—even when it’s hard. They’re the things that make your heart soften, the moments that make you pause or catch your breath. And just as important, they’re the everyday things we can easily miss if we’re not paying attention.

The smile or laughter of your kids (no matter how old they are). The joy that ripples through a family when there’s a new baby. Inside jokes with a partner, husband, or wife that no one else would ever understand. Finding a few unhurried hours with a cherished friend. Birthday celebrations. A clean kitchen. The beauty of the morning or evening sky. Puppies. Butterflies. The moon. A flower blooming in the spring. The quiet understanding of a sibling who gets you. So many glimmers that are there just waiting to be noticed.

And sometimes, it’s the simple thought that stops you in your tracks: Wow. How fortunate am I to live this life. Even when it’s imperfect, which is the case more often than not.

That’s why glimmers matter so much to me. They feel like little love notes to myself—quiet reminders that this life is meaningful, tender, and worth savoring.

Which brings me to my other word: unrushed.

We hear all the time that life is short. So why are we always rushing to the next thing? Is it because we’re afraid of missing out? And yet, when we rush… aren’t we missing it anyway? Maybe we accomplish the next thing, but do we ever really get to savor the satisfaction of it?

This always brings me back to a scene in Hook (bear with me—it’s a little weird and totally aging me, but I don't care HA!). Moira tells Peter that parents only have a few short years when their kids want them around, and that he’s not being careful—he’s missing it. That line has always stuck with me. Sounds silly, but it's true. I don't want to miss it.

Now, does unrushed mean there won’t be deadlines? Or moments when I have to move faster than I’d like? Or times when I feel pressure to be “done”? Of course not. Life doesn’t work that way.

What it does mean is that I’m practicing moving with intention. Not letting the minutiae of everyday life blur past without notice. Loosening—at least a little—the grip of the belief that I have to sacrifice my mental health, well-being, and overall sanity just to move faster.

Slow is good.

Last year, my word was contentment, and wow—did that one show up. Not always gently, and not in the ways I expected. 2025 wasn’t easy, but it taught me more than I realized in the moment. Contentment asked me to see what was already here—to stop chasing the next thing long enough to recognize that some seasons aren’t meant to be fixed or rushed through. And like all things, it was temporary. A season. A moment in time, with lessons that will stay with me.

So here’s to 2026. An unrushed year, full of glimmers—and the time, space, and presence to actually notice them.