The Myth of Consistent Calm

December 15th — Today reminded me that calm isn't something I stay in, but something I return to — again and again, in small, ordinary ways.

The truth we don't talk about

We often imagine slow living as a permanent state of peace — candlelit mornings, handwritten journals, tea cups steaming softly on wooden tables. A life where nothing rushes us and everything feels intentional. But the truth is, real life rarely unfolds that neatly.

Most days are full. Not because we've failed at slowing down, but because being human is full. Between work, school, Selflavie, relationships, emotions, and the quiet labor of simply existing, I move through many worlds in one body. There are to-do lists, deadlines, unanswered messages, and moments of exhaustion that don't ask for permission before arriving.

And yet, even inside that fullness, I try to notice the small windows of softness that exist alongside the noise.
A deep breath before opening my laptop.
A warm blanket pulled over my shoulders after dinner.
A few moments lying on the floor, feeling my dog breathe beside me, grounding me back into the present.

That's what slow living really means to me now — not a flawless rhythm or a carefully curated aesthetic, but a gentle rebellion against the belief that every moment must be productive, optimized, or filled.

You can't perform peace

I've learned that calm isn't something you can achieve the way you achieve goals. You can't schedule peace, decorate it perfectly, or prove it to anyone — not even to yourself. The moment you try to control stillness, it quietly slips through your fingers.

For a long time, I thought I was failing at slow living because my life felt too full — too loud, too digital, too demanding. I believed calm was something I had to earn by doing less, wanting less, being less. But calm isn't a lifestyle we master.

It's a feeling we remember how to return to. Again and again.
Sometimes clumsily. Sometimes only for a moment.

Sometimes calm is nothing more than one conscious exhale, a reminder that presence doesn't require perfection, silence, or a clear schedule. It only asks that we notice where we are.

The balance between doing and being

We are not meant to live in constant slowness. There are seasons when movement is necessary — when projects bloom, ideas spark, and responsibilities expand. When life asks us to show up, to build, to stretch beyond our comfort zones.

But in those seasons, our softness matters even more.

Slow living isn't about quitting everything that keeps you busy or abandoning the things you care about. It's about noticing the moments that hold you gently within the busyness.
It's about drinking your tea before it goes cold.
About choosing not to scroll for five minutes.
About whispering to yourself, you're allowed to rest even when there's more to do.

It's about learning to let doing and being exist side by side — without forcing one to erase the other.

Returning home to calm

So maybe the myth isn't that calm exists, but that it's supposed to last.
Peace isn't a destination you arrive at and stay in. It's a doorway — one you can walk through many times a day, in ordinary, almost unnoticeable ways.

Calm doesn't ask you to change your life or remove everything that's loud or demanding. It meets you where you are — in the middle of the mess, the movement, the unfinished lists. Sometimes it lasts only a breath. Sometimes it's the feeling of your feet on the floor, your body supported, your nervous system exhaling just enough to remember safety.

Returning to calm can look small. It can be choosing to pause before reacting.
Letting your shoulders drop while the world keeps moving.
Allowing yourself one moment of softness without needing to justify it.

And every time you pause — even briefly, even imperfectly — you're already home.

A soft reflection for you 

When was the last time you felt truly present — even for a heartbeat?
What small rituals help you return to yourself when life gets noisy?

If these reflections spoke to you, you're warmly welcome to continue the journey with me on Instagram @selflavie, where I share soft musings on slow living, creativity, healing, and the quiet moments that help us return to ourselves — again and again. 🤍 

Soft hugs,
Selflavie