Over the past few months, I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of friction maxing — the practice of intentionally choosing the slightly harder, slower path instead of the most convenient one. The concept has been gaining attention recently as a response to our culture’s obsession with efficiency and instant gratification. At its core, friction maxing is about reintroducing small inconveniences into daily life to make experiences more meaningful and human again.

In a world where nearly everything can be ordered, automated, summarized, or optimized, the goal isn’t to suffer for suffering’s sake. It’s to reclaim the texture of everyday life. When something requires effort or attention, we engage with it more deeply — and often find more meaning in the process.

As spring arrives and the light begins to shift, I’ve been thinking about where I want more friction in my life — and where I want less.

Spring has always felt like a natural reset. Not in the dramatic “new year, new life” sense, but in quieter ways: opening windows again, eating at the table instead of the kitchen counter, noticing that the days are stretching a little longer.

This year, I’m leaning into that reset by intentionally choosing a few things that are just a bit slower, a bit more deliberate.

Cooking More, Ordering Less

For years, convenience has been winning in my kitchen. Apps make dinner appear at the door in minutes. But I’ve realized that what I actually enjoy most is the process — flipping through a cookbook, chopping vegetables, setting the table. It’s not efficient. It’s better.

Cooking from scratch creates a small amount of friction: planning, shopping, cleaning. But it also creates something else — anticipation, creativity, and often a much better evening.

Setting the Table (Even When It’s Just Us)

Another small shift has been setting the table more intentionally. Not in a formal way — just pulling out a few beautiful pieces, lighting a candle, maybe using the slightly imperfect vintage plates that feel good in your hands.

There’s something about a thoughtfully set table that slows everyone down. Meals last longer. Conversations stretch. Suddenly a Tuesday night feels like something worth paying attention to.

Plus, my son now sits down every night, insists on lighting the candles himself, and asks which board game we’re playing. No fighting about screen time. A win-win for me.

Of course, friction maxing isn’t about rejecting technology or convenience entirely. It’s about deciding where ease serves you — and where it quietly dulls the experience.

Lately, I’ve been trying small experiments:

Writing lists on paper instead of my phone

Walking somewhere I might normally drive

Reading a physical book before bed instead of scrolling

Taking the time to rearrange a room instead of endlessly browsing for the “perfect” thing

None of these are dramatic changes. But collectively they create a subtle shift in pace. A little effort, it turns out, often leads to a richer life. And that’s a trade I’m happy to make.