Borrowed cozy vs. built cozy: Why city speed made me crave suburban slow living

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP from Unsplash

Coziness becomes a way to talk about speed: how fast, how crowded, and how stimulated a life your body can actually sustain.

Leaving on Christmas day for four days in Manhattan to visit one of my daughters, ‘cozy’ meant being wrapped inside the city’s momentum: tight elevator rides to our hotel room (my daughter’s apartment is too small for two people), a two person rickshaw gliding through Central Park after 4.3 inches of fresh snow, squeezing into small, tightly spaced restaurant tables, walking for blocks in layered clothes to stay warm in unseasonably cold weather, as well as a sold out, three hour train ride home sitting next to strangers, using a shared bathroom, and keeping my coat on the entire time. That kind of coziness is fast and collective. My body moved with the crowd as the city set the tempo as it prepped for New Year’s Eve celebrations in Times Square. It felt exhilarating, connective, and alive, especially in a season filled with lights and shared celebration.

Returning to my suburban apartment, the definition of cozy slowed down. Here, coziness is not something I stepped into when I returned home, but something I had deliberately made before I left: blankets chosen or made one by one over the years, textures and colors carefully curated over time, pre-trip stocked fridge with favorite comfort foods so I could find that comfort when I arrived without having to run another errand. This is cozy slow living - no subway schedule, no crowd to keep up with, just the rhythm of my own nervous system. The contrast highlights how slow making and slow living are not indulgences; they are medicine for mind, body, and soul, giving the brain fewer inputs, the muscles a chance to unclench, and the heart space to notice what it actually feels.

In that light, Manhattan’s coziness can be perfect in doses - long-term for those who thrive on urban speed, short-term for those who need it as a spark or seasonal immersion - but it also acts as a mirror. After a few days of city intensity, the return to suburban (surrounded by country, rolling hills) life revealed the benefits of a quieter, slower pace: fewer decisions, fewer bodies, more room to breathe between experiences. Some people discover that their wellbeing is not just about how beautiful a space looks, but about how slowly they are allowed to move inside it. For me, the most sustainable coziness is the kind built in layers over time, in a home where I can exhale without hurrying on to the next thing.