The “slow food” movement encourages people to take the time to cook and savor meals made with love. It emphasizes care rather than the efficiency and utilitarianism of “fast food”.

What does the software version of that look like?

The typical software application is a product of a business trying to maximize profit and efficiency. There is a constant push to release new features and upgrades as quickly as possible, at the lowest cost possible. “Quality” is defined as the minimum possible bar that is still acceptable to paying customers. It is designed with the same priorities as “fast food”.

Of course, “slow” in the software world usually refers to annoyingly unresponsive user experiences. But here I mean “slow” in the sense that the software itself was designed and built slowly and with care, the same way that a meal can be prepared and eaten slowly and with care. Such software is likely to actually be more responsive because its architecture has been more carefully honed.

Heath has described the project as an exercise in “slow curiosity”…

“So my challenge would be: Ask someone a craft question. Show interest in the way they do their work. Not "How's your job going?" or "What's going on at work?" More like: (barista) "How do you get those cool swirly hearts on the latte foam?" or (nurse) "When you can tell someone's afraid to have their blood drawn, what do you do?" I think you'll be surprised by how much those craft questions can energize your conversation.”

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Many of us have come to expect work to involve no slack time because of the negative way we perceive it. In a world of manic efficiency, slack often comes across as laziness or a lack of initiative. Without slack time, however, we know we won’t be able to get through new tasks straight away, and if someone insists we should, we have to drop whatever we were previously doing. One way or another, something gets delayed. The increase in busyness may well be futile.

Our current definition of “productivity” is broken. It pushes us to treat busyness as a proxy for useful effort, leading to impossibly lengthy task lists and ceaseless meetings. We’re overwhelmed by all we have to do and on the edge of burnout, left to decide between giving into soul-sapping hustle culture or rejecting ambition altogether. But are these really our only choices?

This immersion over years, or decades, what George Saunders calls “rigorous, iterative engagement,” can be fruitful, but it can also make a book’s endpoint more difficult to see. Huddleston’s 50-year project, which is nearing completion, has in the end surprised him. “I’ve returned to the project many times after feeling it was done,” he says, and in doing so, encountered an unexpected complication: wishing the work could go on. Similarly, Vauhini Vara, author of The Immortal King Rao (2022), says of the 13 years it took to write her debut novel, “On some level I wanted to keep spending time with it, finding its unexplored corners, tunneling into its wormholes. I didn’t want to let it go.”

So—know when to let go, keep faith in the process, be flexible, fail better, and whenever possible, stay astonished. Though perhaps most importantly, recognize the value that comes with the passing of time itself.