What happens if I linger just one beat longer before moving on?

I get so focused on forward momentum, that I forget that the spaces in life are just as much a part of the rhythm. Even the smallest spaces between actions—even between thoughts—are not wasted. Clarity has a chance to appear in those spaces. In those spaces I can notice subtle shifts in my breath, the weight of fatigue, and the flicker of gratitude.

Those extra spaces require me to give myself permission: permission to acknowledge the moment as it is, rather than rushing to reshape it into something else. The pause itself doesn’t fix anything, it's a space where the urgency softens. Only in that space can I realize that what felt urgent isn’t. And in that space I can glimpse what really deserves my attention.

Just as I have my own role to play, so does time. And time does its job much more faithfully, much more accurately, than I ever do. Ever since time began (when was that, I wonder?), it’s been moving ever forward without a moment’s rest. And one of the privileges given to those who’ve avoided dying young is the blessed right to grow old. The honor of physical decline is waiting, and you have to get used to that reality. ~ Haruki Murakami

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What story am I repeating today without realizing it?

The point, of course, is to listen for a story — the real problem isn’t that I’m telling one, it’s that I’m doing it without noticing. And when I do listen, it’s often the same story I’ve told before.

Usually it’s because I’m tired. Or restless. Or just a little off — too hot, too hungry. Those small frictions push me back into familiar scripts.

Beneath it all is the same thing: trying to control how things turn out. How others think. What they do. And that effort — my stories, my reasons for telling them, and the things I try to control — is all just the everyday, unremarkable stuff.

History as usually written is quite different from history as usually lived. The historian records the exceptional because it is interesting.

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

Do I know what 'enough' feels like in my body?

Enough feels like there's room to breathe.

Enough feels like there's room for the current thought.

Enough feels like the sun on my face after a long winter.

We are rarely very clear on what we want. What if we became crystal clear on what we wanted in life? If we knew what we wanted to create, how we wanted to live … we could say yes to these things, and no to everything else. Saying no to more things would simplify our lives.

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

Am I actually feeling each breath, or just taking them?

Any sensitivity I have to breath didn’t just show up one day. I built it, slowly, through intentional breathing practice. Over time I started to feel the difference between breath as background noise and breath as a tool—an anchor, a mirror, a warning light.

It’s easy to go days without noticing a single breath. The body keeps going whether or not we’re paying attention. Breathing is both the most basic function and the most direct way back to presence. When I can bring awareness to a breath, I rediscover my body.

Sometimes that awareness brings growing calm. Sometimes it just reveals the storm I’ve been ignoring. But either way, it’s information. It’s mine. And it only comes when I actually feel each breath.

Not just that every day more of our life is used up and less and less of it is left, but this too: If we live longer, can we be sure our mind will still be up to understanding the world—to the contemplation that aims at divine and human knowledge? If our mind starts to wander, we’ll still go on breathing, go on eating, imagining things, feeling urges and so on. But getting the most out of ourselves, calculating where our duty lies, analyzing what we hear and see, deciding whether it’s time to call it quits—all the things you need a healthy mind for… all those are gone.

So we need to hurry.

Not just because we move daily closer to death but also because our understanding—our grasp of the world—may be gone before we get there.

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

What do I return to when things start to speed up?

There are so many time-scales where my life can speed up. It can happen in a few hours, or more slowly over days, weeks or even months. But the fixes are always the same for me.

I tap the brakes and check in on a few things…

Am I tired? A nap could be just the thing. Perhaps I need an entire, good night's sleep.

When have a I last moved? Try standing up! Try going for a walk. Raise my heart rate and make the big muscles do something. Life isn't just all in my own head.

When did I last meditate? Find a spot and sit down for some basic breathing.

When did I last journal? Dump the jumbled thoughts out of my head, take stock of what's going on in my life, ask some good questions of myself, and gain some perspective.

When evening has come, I return to my house and go into my study. At the door I take off my clothes of the day, covered with mud and mire, and I put on my regal and courtly garments; and decently reclothed, I enter the ancient courts of ancient men, where, received by them lovingly, I feed on the food that alone is mine and that I was born for. There I am not ashamed to speak with them and to ask them the reasons for their actions; and they in their humanity reply to me. And for the space of four hours I feel no boredom, I forget every pain, I do not fear poverty, death does not frighten me. I deliver myself entirely to them.

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

Where do I notice the edge between comfort and challenge?

Once again, I've left an entire week pass. There has certainly been enough time to write an issue of Pause. So here I am, choosing finally to lean into the stress of needing to write this thing. The edge is really clear—has been clear at the countless moments when I've thought, "I should write."

I'm certain that forcing myself like this—right now in this moment—is not the right thing to do. And yet, every week, everything goes right down to the wire. Every day I do all that I can. And over time the amount I can do before I'm exhausted and burnt is less and less.

There is a place, right on the edge of your ability, where you learn best and fastest. It’s called the sweet spot.…The underlying pattern is the same: Seek out ways to stretch yourself. Play on the edges of your competence. As Albert Einstein said, “One must develop an instinct for what one can just barely achieve through one’s greatest efforts.”

The key word is ‘barely.’

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

Do you know where the line is, between "embracing challenge" and "self sabotage"?

There was a literal line drawn between those two on the note taped to the wall. Because I was alone—and unseen—I stood there a minute (or three?) and thought, "well shit, I really don't know."

Late morning. 2km of quadrupedal movement across a bridge into Manhattan. Everything hurts—but my friends are nearby, so I'm sure this isn't literally insane…

Where's the line?

Great morning workout: running in the woods, climbing rocks, later an hour of great Art du Déplacement class. Then, "hey, let's do a little night mission?" Into a city I've known all my life—but want to see through new eyes. And just as we're about to leave the parking lot—on foot—there's a tremendous soundless cloud-to-cloud lightning display. I'm already exhausted and broken and it's raining…

Where's the line?

Or: build ground-breaking, absurdly-complicated things online for 35 years. Podcasts. Writing. Thousands of blog posts and thousands of quotes. But still, there's room today to create one more thing…

Where's the line?

Move, speak, build, share, remix, or whatever you do…

Where's the line?

Maybe the line isn't visible until you cross it.

The world is this continually unfolding set of possibilities and opportunities, and the tricky thing about life is, on the one hand having the courage to enter into things that are unfamiliar, but also having the wisdom to stop exploring when you’ve found something worth sticking around for. That is true of a place, of a person, of a vocation. Balancing those two things—the courage of exploration and the commitment to staying—and getting the ratio right is very hard.

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

What happens when I stop filling every gap in the day?

Peace. Serenity. That's what happens. I'm completely fine with that. The trouble starts when I fill those gaps because of an urgency I feel.

I have so many ideas, which I get overly excited about. I don't know (despite having spent a lot of time thinking and journaling about this) why that urgency arises though. Maybe it's a work-ethic I've absorbed—this idea that I'm only worth the work that I do. That would certainly explain the urgency I feel when I'm idle.

The solution for me is to notice the urgency… and then to sit in that feeling and wait. How does it really feel? Where in my body do I feel that? Sitting in the feeling I can get a real handle on whether whatever-it-is is actually important. Almost always, it's not.

If I want to recall peace, serenity, pleasure, I think of myself on those lazy summer afternoons, with my chair tipped back against the wall, the book on my lap, and the pages softly turning. There may have been, at certain times in my life, higher pitches of ecstasy, vast moments of relief and triumph, but for quiet, peaceful happiness, there has never been anything to compare with it.

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There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.

This is a short introduction to Pause.

Pause is a weekly publication for movement professionals—coaches, teachers, gym owners, and practitioners—who want to slow down and be more present in their work.

Each issue offers a single sparking question, a quiet reflection, and a closing quote. No calls to action. No pressure. Just a gentle invitation to breathe, reflect, and carry that presence into your work.

Each issue of Pause is a moment of stillness, arriving right on time. Because presence isn’t a luxury you can skip—it’s necessary, and you have to preserve time for it.

Pause is rooted in everything I’ve explored through years of writing and podcasting. What emerged wasn’t just knowledge—it was a way of being. This publication is a distillation of that: a quiet rhythm, arriving weekly, designed to support how you show up in your work and your life.

Pausing isn’t a break from the path. It is the path.

When you subscribe, you’ll receive each issue by email—the full piece, no click-thru required—plus full access to the archive and this private audio version, for when listening fits better than reading.

And if you’re someone who wants to go deeper, there’s a page with ideas for how to get more from your Pausesubscription—but only if and when you’re ready.

Pause is about letting stillness be part of your practice.

Thanks for listening. This Pause publication is one way I work to inspire people to live meaningfully. I hope it helps you do exactly that.

There's also a short page to help you get the most from Pause— including how you can listen to each issue of Pause in your podcast player.