3 Reasons Sunsets Don’t Rush (and Neither Should You)
There was a stretch of my life—back before the thing happened that changed how I see the world—when I was always in a rush. Hurrying toward the next moment, the next project, the next plan. They say southerns don’t know how to hurry, but that’s not true. I figured if I just moved fast enough, I could make everything happen quicker. But all that running around? It didn’t get me there any faster. Mostly, it just left behind a trail of half-done things, missed chances, and a whole lot of frustration.
Sunsets taught me something about timing. About letting life unfold instead of trying to shove it into a shape. So here are three reasons sunsets don’t rush—and why maybe you shouldn’t either.
1. Somethings take time to show their beauty.
You ever try to watch a sunset? I don’t mean glance at it. I mean sit there, from the first golden flicker to the last shade of violet. It’s slow. Deliberate. And worth every second. A rushed sunset wouldn’t be a sunset at all. It’d be a light switch.
That’s true for a lot of things. Relationships. Good ideas. Growing into yourself. You can’t rush those without losing something in the process. Sometimes what you need most is to just sit still and let something bloom at its own pace. [This article on the value of slowing down] helped me see how much we miss when we treat life like a checklist.
2. If you’re not there, you miss it.
Sunsets don’t wait. If you’re staring at your phone or still stuck in traffic, they’ll carry on without you. That used to happen to me a lot. I’d plan to catch the sunset “real quick,” only to show up just in time to see the last bit slip behind the trees. It was a good metaphor for how I lived: chasing moments after they passed.
Now, I set my chair out early. I pour something cold. And I give it the time it deserves. Because the moment doesn’t wait for you. You’ve got to be present to catch it.
3. The best parts happen in the middle.
You know the part of the sunset that takes your breath away? It’s not the start or the end. It’s that middle stretch—when the sky is layered with color and you can’t quite name what you’re feeling. But if you’re rushing, you miss it.
That middle space is where life happens. Not in the big starts or dramatic endings—but in the in-between. The ordinary minutes. The slow-building warmth. That’s what I was missing back when I couldn’t slow down: all the small, quiet joys that only reveal themselves when you stop trying to hurry them along.
Sit still. Watch the sky. Let unfold.
I’ve made a heap of messes trying to rush things that weren’t ready. But I’ve also learned how to sit still. To wait. To let things play out like a sunset—slow, honest, and right on time. So next time you’re tempted to push or force or sprint toward something… just look at the sky.
Sunsets don’t rush. Maybe you don’t need to either.
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