The Art of Living Slowly and Being Successful While Doing It

If your eye is always at the finish line you’ll miss the race

If there’s one thing isolation has done for me, it has taken me back to what I consider the most successful years of my life. Those years were the time when I lived so slowly I was almost in reverse, yet I was still doing what I was paid to do.

Immediately before isolation, I was the person who supervised a restaurant in the evenings and stayed up until all hours of the night after work. I would then sleep in every morning, get up, write a story, and head back to work for the evening.

Now, with no job to go to my entire schedule has been flipped upside down.

My isolation body now falls asleep on the couch at 10pm and I wake around 6am. After making a pot of coffee I’ll sit on my balcony to watch the sun rise.

Early morning joggers on the path behind my condo notice me out there in my fluffy white robe, and they wave. I wave back as if we know each other, then continue sipping my coffee while listening intently to the multitude of bird songs in the air.

This new early morning routine has taken me back to who I was before my restaurant days. A time when I was paid to be slow and mindful. A time when my body and psyche rose with the sun so I wouldn’t miss one second of opportunity.

I was a travel writer and a big part of what I did was review hotels, resorts, villas, and anywhere else one could relax and enjoy life away from their “normal.”

As a travel reviewer I was paid to do nothing but most times, nothing was everything.

Sitting on a veranda sipping coffee in the morning was part of the overall experience. Readers wanted to know what it was like to wake up on a beach or beside a private pool. They wanted to know exactly how that first cup of local coffee tasted under Caribbean morning sun.

A simple breakfast of bacon and eggs with a side of fruit is an event worthy of documentation as a travel writer. So is taking a shower, walking down a path, talking to people, and gazing up at coconut palms.

Getting to know and appreciate those who catered to me was part of the job. Even if one of those people was just a pool cleaner, he always had a story and listening to him tell it was my job and my privilege.

Informing faceless strangers on the internet how to appreciate experiences was a way of life. I took great pride in letting an audience know how to make the most of doing nothing, yet everything at the same time.

The truth about travel writing is that the money sucked. It never paid a livable wage and there were days when I asked myself why I even do it.

But the experiences? They were worth their weight in gold and then some. The people I met along the way are folks that became life long friends, acquaintances, and business contacts.

The stories I get to tell for the rest of my life are priceless, and the knowledge I’m able to share is invaluable. The skill set is something I can pick back up at any point in my life and use again.

But the biggest benefit of all was that it forced me to live slowly and pay attention to everything.

Some mornings I got out of bed for the sole purpose of capturing a time-lapse sunrise video, just to be able to share it online. I wanted others to experience the exhilaration I felt.

So, while I can’t say I was financially successful as a travel writer I can absolutely say that it made my life extraordinary. Who gets to say they’ve lived an extraordinary life?

My hope is that everyone will be able to say that at some point in their lives.

Defining Success

If you ask the average person what success means to them, I’d venture to guess that most would say a big bank account, assets, and material things. It’s how we typically gauge our accomplishments because we can see those things.

When you reach a point where you’ve lived in a dreamlike state but money was the trade-off, would you equate that to success?

Now that I have lived it I’d say those years were the most successful of my life. Not for the money but because I learned the art of slow living while doing things I love. I learned the art of beautifully connecting with strangers.

I didn’t need to see or measure anything concrete because I was able to feel everything.

Now that isolation has forced us to slow down to a virtual halt, I’ve been able to recall the dreamlike state of life simply by sitting on my balcony at dawn with a cup of coffee.

When I lived in the Caribbean, nearly every single morning I’d listen to the same song while having coffee. Coincidentally, it is called “Slow Down” by an artist named Kelissa, and I started all my days to that single tune.

Did I get bored of listening to the same song over and over? Not even once. In fact, some mornings I was so overwhelmed with gratitude about where I was, that the song brought tears to my eyes. Sounds stupid right?

The song offered a simple message that I could carry through all my days:

“Slow down, we’ve got lifetimes to live.”

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