To be busy means to be needed. To have things that must be done. To have a full schedule. To be called upon by someone. To still be functioning within society.

That is why we, on some level, rely on busyness as a source of reassurance.

Yet, when we are truly in the midst of a busy period, we often lose the actual sensation of our own existence in a strange way.

Wake up in the morning. Check emails. Reply. Confirm the schedule. Move. Meet people. Hold meetings. Head to the next commitment. Eat something. Reply again. Night falls. Fall asleep exhausted.

The day certainly passes. Work is done. Conversations are had. We hand something over to someone, and receive something in return.

And yet, the feeling that we were actually there remains faint.

Busyness seems to validate our existence, while simultaneously making it feel more hollow.

Thinking Versus Processing

There is the saying, "I think, therefore I am."

A doubting self exists. A thinking self exists. Therefore, I exist.

But actual, daily life is not quite so certain.

Even when we believe we are thinking, those thoughts are swept away by the next task. Even when we believe we are doubting, that doubt is interrupted by a notification sound. Even if we feel we have a solid core inside us, amid the busyness, even that core washes downstream.

All that remains are processed tasks, replied emails, concluded meetings, and a slightly tired body.

We are doing something. Yet, we cannot be sure if we were truly present.

This sensation might be unique to the modern era.

Consuming Second by Second

The world is accelerating. Everything has become faster.

Read faster. Reply faster. Decide faster. Produce faster. Grow faster. Show results faster. Explain the meaning faster.

Time has been finely subdivided and utilized efficiently. As a result, however, instead of living each second, we have begun consuming each second.

The time spent brewing coffee. The time spent washing dishes. The time spent waiting for someone. The time when nothing happens. The time spent having idle conversations. The pause before laughter occurs.

Before we knew it, such moments came to be called "waste."

But is it not precisely these moments that truly sustain us?

Things that are not necessities, but offer comfort simply by existing.

Laughter. Sweets. The radio. Old photographs. A local shop. An empty coffee can. A photo of a car someone sent out of the blue. The memory of thinking that someone we no longer meet is probably somewhere, reading a difficult book.

These things do not streamline life. They do not lead directly to results. They do not serve as KPIs.

Yet, by their existence, life becomes a little more human once again.

What is lost in busyness is not just time. It is the very sensation of ourselves touching the world.

Moving Our Hands

Watching water boil. Washing the dishes. Observing the movement of our hands. Hearing someone's voice. Having a piece of something sweet. Laughing at something trivial.

In those moments, we finally return to the world.

Not because we achieved something grand. Not because we were praised by someone. Not because we proved ourselves to be meaningful.

Simply being there. Moving our hands. Breathing. Smiling a little.

Perhaps that, in truth, is enough.

Busyness makes our existence light. Yet, that lightened existence regains its weight through the minor, everyday textures of life.

This is not a grand philosophy. Nor is it anything as noble as salvation.

It is simply observing without rushing. Not treating each second with carelessness. Accepting our life not as a bundle of tasks to be processed, but as something we are in the midst of touching.

The world will keep growing faster. We cannot halt that flow.

Which is precisely why we must retain a small quiet slowness on our side.

A Five-Meter Radius of Slowness

Buying sweets. Laughing. Reading a book. Washing dishes. Suddenly remembering someone.

We can survive without these things. Yet, having them makes today slightly easier to bear.

If a massive civilization demands we go further, faster, and bigger, we can respond by keeping things close, slow, and careful.

Protecting our daily life within a five-meter radius. That is the smallest implementation of a slow civilization.

And perhaps, through such things, we finally remember that we are here.

© SHIRO & Co.

First published: 2026-05-20