Why Observing Calm Is Being Written Slowly

For several months now, I have been working on a book titled Observing Calm: How a Chef Learned to Navigate Inner Storms, originally conceived in Italian as Osservando la Calma.

Observing Calm is a reflective nonfiction book by Cristian Marino exploring calm not as softness, but as structure. It examines what steadiness really means in environments shaped by pressure, responsibility, and constant movement.

I am not rushing it.

But I am not pausing it either.

That distinction is intentional.t.

I am not rushing it.

But I am not pausing it either.

That distinction is intentional.

We live in a culture that equates seriousness with speed. If something matters, it must move quickly. If you are building something, you must announce it. If you are writing, you must publish.

Momentum has become a form of legitimacy.

And yet, Observing Calm cannot be written that way.

A few weeks ago, late at night, I closed the manuscript after revising the same paragraph for nearly an hour. Nothing dramatic had happened. No revelation. No breakthrough. Just the quiet awareness that the sentence was technically correct but internally misaligned.

It sounded calm.

It was not written from calm.

Once you notice that difference, you cannot ignore it.

When Calm Becomes Structure

Observing Calm does not treat calm as detachment, emotional suppression, or passive acceptance. The book approaches calm as structural stability under movement.

Calm, as explored in Observing Calm, is the ability to remain internally ordered while circumstances shift.

Structure takes time to articulate honestly.

In high-pressure kitchens and leadership environments, I learned to move quickly. Decisions had to be made in seconds. Adjustments were constant. Speed was competence. Precision under pressure was survival.

But writing Observing Calm requires a different tempo.

If the book were written in haste, its method would contradict its message.

Calm is not urgency disguised as control.

Calm is not polished composure hiding internal acceleration.

Calm is the capacity to remain structurally stable while situations evolve.

To write about that with integrity, I cannot imitate the acceleration I am examining.

There are moments when I feel the subtle temptation to complete Observing Calm simply for closure. To define a timeline. To finish.

Nothing external pressures me. The impulse is internal.

The mind prefers finished structures. But clarity does not always obey deadlines.

Some days the manuscript expands easily. Other days I revise a single paragraph and stop. Sometimes nothing visible changes, yet something internally becomes clearer.

Observing Calm is not being written for speed. It is being written for coherence.

Building Observing Calm Without Noise

We often equate progress with output. Words written. Chapters completed. Milestones achieved. But coherence cannot be forced. It emerges when lived experience and language align.

I am not interested in publishing Observing Calm if agitation is hidden beneath its surface.

Agitation can disguise itself as ambition. As strategic timing. As fear of missing relevance.

There is nothing inherently wrong with ambition. But when writing about steadiness, even subtle distortions in motivation become visible on the page.

Over time, while working on Observing Calm, I have noticed something precise.

When I write from tension, the sentences tighten.

When I write from clarity, the sentences breathe.

You can feel the difference, even if you cannot immediately define it.

Writing slowly does not mean writing casually. It requires discipline. It requires returning to the same idea until it is no longer theoretical but lived.

Observing Calm draws from years of observing leadership under pressure. In kitchens. In conflict. In responsibility. In moments when emotion rises faster than reasoning.

If I hurry the book, it becomes commentary.

If I allow it to mature, it becomes reflection.

When urgency is removed from creative work, something unexpected happens.

Some chapters shrink.

Some ideas disappear.

Some sentences reveal themselves as ego rather than insight.

Time clarifies authorship.

Observing Calm is not a race toward publication. It is an internal clarification process that happens to take the form of a book.

In a culture that equates movement with value, staying with something steadily may be one of the most disciplined choices available.

I do not know the exact completion date of Observing Calm.

But I know it is becoming structurally honest.

It is being written the way calm itself is built.

Without noise.

Without panic.

Without performance.

Slowly.

Continuously.

Deliberately.

Observing Calm continues to take shape.