We live in a world that moves at breakneck speed. We rush from task to task, constantly chasing the illusion of more—more success, more productivity, more convenience. But in this endless pursuit, have we stopped to question what we truly need?
Recently, I was reading Costa’s World by Costa Georgiadis, and a particular idea struck me: we are all just campers on this planet. If we embraced this mindset, how differently would we treat our resources? How much more carefully would we consider what we consume? It made me reflect on how and why our perception of need has changed over time, warped by the relentless pace of modern life.
I’ve felt this firsthand. Over the past year, I pushed myself to keep up—to do more, achieve more, be more. Eventually, I hit a wall. Burnout. The exhaustion was more than just physical; it was mental, emotional, and even existential. And I know I’m not alone in this. So many of us are trapped in this cycle, convincing ourselves that slowing down would make us lazy or unproductive. But the irony is, the faster we go, the more we lose—our well-being, our time, our clarity.
We tell ourselves that by working harder, producing more, and maximising efficiency, we will eventually create the time to slow down. But that goalpost keeps moving. Time is the only resource we spend without knowing our balance, and yet, we are pressured to trade it away in the name of productivity.
This constant acceleration has altered our definition of need. We have convinced ourselves that we require things simply because they allow us to keep up with this frantic pace. Take a simple example: “I need to drive to the store down the road because I don’t have time to walk—I have work to do.” It seems reasonable, but when you step back, the cycle becomes clear. We work more to afford the things that save us time, but in doing so, we sacrifice the very time we hoped to reclaim.
And it runs deeper. Consider clothing. A fast-paced life demands convenience, so we don’t just own a few quality items—we need options because we don’t have time to wash and rewear within the same week. What started as a luxury for the wealthy has become an expectation for all. Now, an $8 cotton T-shirt feels like a right, an assumed standard. But who really pays for this? The environmental cost of cotton production alone is staggering—not to mention the labour required to produce these garments. The demand for more fuels unsustainable production cycles, forcing workers into harsher conditions and stripping resources at an alarming rate.
But it’s not just clothing. The same cycle applies to the mass production of homewares, plastic trinkets, and Amazon or Temu knick-knacks that trend on TikTok—cheap, disposable items designed to be replaced rather than valued. Have you ever bought something just because it was inexpensive and trendy, only to toss it aside a few months later? These rapid, fleeting purchases fuel the same cycle of excess, creating an illusion of need where there was none to begin with.
And this isn’t just about cheap, disposable goods—the same system fuels luxury consumption, too. Many high-end brands manufacture in the very same factories as their budget-friendly counterparts. Yet, through clever marketing and status-driven messaging, we are convinced that a higher price tag equates to ethical production or superior quality. But often, the reality is that both items come from the same supply chain, feeding into the same cycle of overproduction and excessive consumption. So, is it truly better, or have we simply been sold another version of more?
Beyond the environmental and ethical consequences, there’s also the immense toll this pace takes on our mental well-being. The pressure to keep up leads to burnout, anxiety, and depression—conditions that are now so common they’re practically expected. And rather than addressing the root cause, we’re fed quick-fix antidotes: self-care routines, productivity hacks, wellness products. But these are just band-aids. The underlying issue—the relentless speed—remains, and so the symptoms persist, sometimes manifesting as chronic stress, illness, and fatigue.
It’s a cascade effect of time-robbing consequences, all because we convinced ourselves that slowing down is a failure. But what if it’s actually the opposite? What if slowing down is the most productive thing we can do? When we pause, we gain clarity. We make better choices. We break the cycle of more and reclaim our time in a way that truly serves us.
We have normalized the pursuit of more without pausing to ask: Why? When was the last time you questioned whether you truly needed something? Why do we race toward convenience at the cost of our presence? Why do we accept that time must be spent accumulating and producing rather than being? Why do we justify purchases by their affordability rather than their true cost?
The irony is stark: we are all running at full speed toward an elusive freedom while actively contributing to the systems that keep us sprinting. But what if we chose to stop? To question whether we really need what we think we do? To shift our perspective from scarcity of time to sufficiency?
We are all here, in this moment, together. And this is it. The sooner we slow down and reconnect with what truly matters, the sooner we can redefine need—not as something dictated by the pace of society, but as something that nourishes, sustains, and truly serves us.
For the people and the planet,
Kal