Paris Doesn't Dwaddle

The Window of Rhythm

Everyone’s crazy about slow living these days, but I think that puts a LOT of pressure on you. Every time I try to live a “slow” day, there’s a realistic wrench thrown in, and I end up crying (inside) — HEY! What about my SLOW LIFE I’m trying to live?

I think we imagine slow living means wandering around our house with a cup of tea, staring out the window, petting our cat or stroking our child’s head while some trending music plays in the background — like life itself could be curated into one of those dreamy 15-second Instagram reels.

Ugh. It can’t.

Our lives have rhythm. We may try to slow the tempo or silence the loud drums, but let’s be honest — our lives aren’t dreamy reels. So maybe stop setting yourself up for disappointment. (Or is it just me?)

There’s a rhythm to Paris, but it’s not slow. It’s not soft, either.

It’s a click of heels on the sidewalk behind you suggesting you walk faster. It’s the hum of a Nespresso machine pouring your favorite Lungo. The wheels of a delivery cart rattling across cobblestones before most people have stirred. It’s the swoosh of a wet broom clearing off a café entrance, or the man in a navy blazer lighting a cigarette with one hand while checking his watch with the other.

It’s precision. It’s presence. It’s a rhythm unbothered by excess — in schedule, in tone, in body language. Everything is tailord. Edited. And in that editing, there’s the unmistakable style and je ne sais quoi that we Americans find so darn enchanting.

This city doesn’t tell me to slow down. It tells me to move with purpose — and DARNED if I don’t love moving through life with purpose.

To mean what I’m doing.
To stop apologizing for having high expectations.
For being old-fashioned.
For being overdressed.
Or for being completely silent in a room.

Paris doesn’t dawdle.
But it doesn’t fidget either.

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🔒 Paid readers: scroll down for photos from this morning’s rhythm — photos — and a short voice note from the 5th arrondissement.