I admire men who refuse to rush.The kind that hacked the art of slow living.Not out of laziness,but out of reverence—for time,for breath,for the sacred weight of a moment. They live a slow life,not because they can afford to, but because they can no longer afford not to. You'll find them tending to plants in the early morning, fixing things that don't need fixing just to stay close to silence.They stir their tea with thoughtfulness, speak with deliberate pauses, and walk like the earth matters. They are not the loudest in the room,nor the first to speak.They let others arrive first-to conclusions, to opinions,to destinations. These men measure their wealth in peace and presence,not performance. They read.They listen.They stretch out in the sun like boys who never had the time to.They call their mothers back.They sit with their daughters.They learn to apologize. These are not perfect men.They carry wounds,slow and deep.But they have made peace with not rushing their healing. They don't ask for much.Just to live unhurried.To move through the day with intention.To love deeply,but without spectacle. And when they leave this earth, it won't be with fanfare.Just the gentle memory of a man who was fully here. Mental health 💓