How Freedom Feels Different When You Choose Your Own Pace
Freedom used to mean speed. Fast decisions, fast flights, fast answers to “what’s next?” But somewhere between the deadlines and detours, I realized the most liberating thing wasn’t constant motion—it was moving at a rhythm that felt like mine. When you choose your own pace, freedom shifts. It softens. It becomes less about the highlight reel and more about how deeply you can breathe inside your life.
You Stop Measuring Yourself Against the Clock
When you choose your pace, you stop racing invisible deadlines. You stop comparing your journey to someone else’s passport stamps or business milestones. You realize you’re not late—you’re right on time for your life.
I remember sitting in a café in Lisbon, scrolling through social media, watching other nomads post about the countries they’d seen in a single year. I felt behind. My list was shorter. My pace was slower. But as I sat with a pastel de nata, journal open, sun pouring through the window, I realized—I wasn’t late. I was right on time for this moment, for my path, for the life I was actually living.
The clock is one of the harshest comparisons we carry. It whispers that we’re behind, not enough, missing something. But when you step away from it, you notice the truth: your timing is yours alone.
Slowing down doesn’t mean you’ve fallen behind. It means you’ve stopped running someone else’s race. And that freedom is what makes the journey yours.
Work Becomes More Aligned and Less Performed
Slowing down your pace lets you listen: What kind of work feels good? What doesn’t? You start creating from desire instead of pressure. You build a career that fits your energy, not just your income goals. And your work becomes more alive because you are.
In Chiang Mai, I once said yes to every freelance gig, terrified of turning down income. My days were a blur of deadlines that left me drained. But after weeks of burnout, I finally paused. I asked myself: what do I actually enjoy? The answer was clear—writing. Not endless admin tasks, not projects that left me uninspired. So I started saying no. Slowly, my calendar shifted. My income steadied, but more importantly, my energy returned.
Alignment doesn’t come from doing more—it comes from listening deeper. When you slow down, you make space for honesty. And honesty is what leads to sustainable work.
Work that fits your energy will always serve you more than work that only serves your bank account. Because when your energy is alive, so is your career.
You Redefine What Productivity Really Means
You start counting things differently—not how many hours you worked, but how clear your mind feels. Not how many emails you sent, but how grounded you were while sending them. You realize that presence is progress.
In Mexico City, I once worked ten hours straight, answering emails, editing drafts, forcing myself through tasks. At the end of the day, I had ticked off every item on my list—but I felt empty, foggy, disconnected. The next week, I tried something different. I worked for four focused hours in the morning, then closed my laptop and wandered through a local park, letting my mind rest. That night, I felt lighter, more creative, and even more excited for the next day’s work.
That was the moment productivity shifted for me. It wasn’t about hours stacked or tasks completed. It was about how I felt doing them. Was I present? Clear? Grounded? If yes, then that was real progress.
Redefining productivity means freeing yourself from the tyranny of output. It means honoring presence as an achievement of its own. And that shift changes everything.
You Create Spaciousness for Joy, Not Just Output
Choosing your own pace creates room—for art, for rest, for magic. You take the detour to the hidden beach. You nap after lunch. You journal instead of doomscroll. And life stops being something to optimize—and starts being something to live.
In Greece, I once skipped a full workday to follow a local’s suggestion: a tiny beach, a half-hour bus ride away. I felt guilty, as if I were failing by not “maximizing” my day. But when I arrived, the turquoise water stretched endlessly, the beach was nearly empty, and I felt joy rise in me like sunlight. That afternoon became one of the most vivid memories of my time there—not the tasks I would’ve finished, but the joy I allowed.
Spaciousness is where life actually happens. It’s not wasted time—it’s lived time.
When you create space for joy, you return to your work lighter, brighter, and more alive. And isn’t that the point of building this life? Not just output. Not just milestones. But joy itself.
You Begin to Trust That Slow Doesn’t Mean Stuck
Slowness doesn’t mean failure—it means trust. Trusting that your life will unfold in the right timing. Trusting that rest is part of growth. Trusting that you don’t need to rush to prove you’re worthy. And that is real freedom.
In Melbourne, I once extended my stay far longer than planned. Part of me worried I was wasting time, missing out on new cities. But as the weeks passed, I fell into a rhythm—writing in the mornings, walking the botanical gardens in the afternoons, meeting friends slowly, organically. By the time I left, I realized I had grown more in those quiet weeks than in months of fast travel.
Slowness isn’t stagnation. It’s depth. It’s the choice to root instead of scatter, to trust instead of chase.
When you learn to see slowness as growth, you stop fearing it. You stop equating it with being stuck. You start seeing it as a different kind of expansion—the kind that unfolds from within.
You Start Valuing Depth Over Quantity
When you slow down, you stop counting how many places you’ve been and start noticing how deeply you’ve lived in each one. A month in one city becomes richer than ten rushed stops. You trade checklists for connection—and that shift changes everything.
In Kraków, I originally planned to stay three days. But something in me craved more. I extended week by week until a month had passed. That extra time meant I discovered my favorite café courtyard, where the same waiter greeted me with a smile each morning. It meant I learned the tram routes without thinking, joined a local art workshop, and started to feel less like a visitor and more like a participant in the rhythm of the city.
If I had left on day three, I would have collected photos and surface impressions. But by staying, I collected stories, friendships, and a deeper sense of belonging.
Depth doesn’t shout. It doesn’t impress with numbers. But it nourishes you in ways quantity never can. And once you feel it, you’ll crave it again and again.
You Discover That Rest Creates Its Own Momentum
When you stop rushing, you learn that rest isn’t the opposite of progress—it’s part of it. Pausing doesn’t mean you’re losing time. It means you’re gathering energy that carries you further than constant pushing ever could.
In Buenos Aires, I hit a wall after weeks of nonstop working and exploring. I felt uninspired, drained, and disconnected. One morning, instead of forcing myself into productivity, I stayed in. I read, cooked a slow breakfast, took a long nap. At first, guilt gnawed at me. But by evening, I felt light again. The next day, ideas flowed easily, and I worked with a clarity I hadn’t felt in weeks.
That experience taught me that rest is momentum in disguise. It resets the body, clears the mind, and makes space for creativity to bloom again.
We’re taught to glorify constant motion, but slowing down reveals a softer truth: rest doesn’t hold you back. It moves you forward, just in a gentler way.
Sometimes the most powerful step you can take is to pause—and let your energy carry you naturally into what comes next.
Closing Thought
Freedom isn’t just where you go—it’s how you go. And when you choose your own pace, everything changes. Life slows down just enough for you to feel it. To love it. To live inside it fully.
