I did not arrive at slow living through a book, a podcast, or a particularly compelling Instagram account. I arrived at it through exhaustion. Not the dramatic kind. The quiet, accumulated kind that builds up over months of moving too fast through days that were full but not particularly satisfying. Doing a lot, finishing things, checking boxes, and still ending the week with a vague feeling that I had been busy rather than present. That I had moved through my life efficiently without actually inhabiting much of it. The shift did not happen all at once. It happened in small recognitions. The best parts of my days were consistently the…