chasing slow dopamine

i used to think happiness was supposed to hit like a sugar rush. fast, overwhelming, dizzying. like the first sip of an iced latte when you’re running on two hours of sleep. like an impulsive purchase that feels like a new identity in a cardboard box. like scrolling until your brain is overstimulated and you can’t remember what you were even looking for in the first place.

the thing about sugar rushes is that they crash. hard. and then you’re left there, flat on your back, craving something you can’t even name.

i don’t know exactly when i realized i was running on quick fixes, but i do remember the exhaustion of it. the constant hunt for the next thing that would make me feel something. the way i kept refreshing my inbox, as if a single email could change my entire life. the way i let my mood be dictated by the tiny red notification dots on my screen. the way i thought progress had to be dramatic, loud, visible to count.

we are conditioned to seek instant gratification, and then we wonder why everything feels fleeting. why accomplishments lose their shine so quickly. why nothing ever feels like enough. we are living in an era where waiting feels like a flaw, where the idea of slow success is treated as failure, where being content in stillness is almost unheard of. and yet, deep down, we all know that the things that truly matter take time.

chasing slow dopamine is an act of quiet defiance. it’s stepping away from the constant pursuit of stimulation and choosing depth over immediacy. it’s rejecting the idea that every moment must be productive, that every second must be filled. it’s learning to savor instead of consume, to sit with yourself instead of escaping.

because real joy—real, lasting, deeply rooted joy—doesn’t come from the things that demand your attention. it comes from the things that ask for your patience.

it’s rereading a book because you love how the words feel in your mind, not because you need to cross it off a list. it’s watching a film where nothing much happens, but everything lingers. it’s walking with no destination, just to feel the rhythm of your own body moving through the world. it’s taking the time to cook something from scratch, letting the scents fill the air, knowing that the slowness is part of the pleasure.

slow dopamine is in the rituals we overlook, the habits we think are too simple to matter. it’s in the unspoken moments—watching the light change in your room throughout the day, the first sip of tea in the morning, the way handwritten letters feel more alive than a text.

here’s the thing—rewiring your brain to seek slow dopamine isn’t easy. not when the world is built to keep you distracted. not when apps are designed to make you crave the next hit, the next like, the next update. sometimes, i still reach for the quick fix. i still scroll mindlessly, still look for validation in places i know won’t give it to me. but in those moments, i remind myself that this isn’t about perfection. it’s about small, deliberate choices.

we forget that patience is a skill. that attention is something we can train. and that if we allow ourselves to exist in the quiet, in the in-between, we might actually hear what we’ve been trying to drown out.

i don’t want to be someone who needs constant stimulation just to feel alive. i want to be someone who can find joy in the waiting, in the quiet, in the slow. because i think the best things in life aren’t just worth the wait—they require it.

some of the ways i chase slow dopamine:

• morning walks before checking my phone, letting the world wake me up instead of a screen

• reading old books, the kind that remind me time moves differently on the page

• making things by hand—bread, candles, playlists, handwritten letters

• watching a movie in the afternoon, letting myself sink into a story without rushing

• listening to an album all the way through, no skipping, no distractions

• learning something new with no pressure to be good at it—calligraphy, knitting, a language i may never be fluent in

• spending time with people who make me forget to check my phone

• choosing to sit with boredom instead of trying to fix it

• slow journaling—writing thoughts out by hand, not for productivity, but just to understand myself better

• cooking without a recipe, letting intuition guide me instead of strict instructions

• collecting little moments—sunsets, conversations, laughter—without the need to document them for anyone else

slow dopamine is about presence… about giving yourself permission to exist fully in a moment without rushing to the next. it’s about realizing that the things that take time are usually the ones that last.