The Gift of Slowing Down

This past weekend, I hiked a mountain.

But the part that feels just as significant—maybe even more so—was the way it began.

On Friday night, I stayed in. Not out of obligation or exhaustion, but because it was what I truly needed. I had plans to go out, and had every intention of keeping my plans, but as it turns out, my body was asking for rest. The mind said "soak up every moment of summer, it's fleeting." and "You made plans with a friend and don't want to cancel on them." and...the list goes on.

A past version of me would have pushed through—believing I needed to make the most of summer, to do, to go, to keep up. To keep the plans with the friends out of fear that I would be forgotten if I chose to spend time on my own. But thanks to burnout, I’ve learned a different rhythm. One that begins with listening.

After walking through burnout—one that quietly crept in until it shouted through my body—I’ve come to cherish moments of stillness. That experience, as hard as it was, became one of my greatest teachers. It forced me to slow down, to feel, to question the pace I was living at and who I was living for.

Burnout cracked me open. It asked me to unlearn the cultural script of endless productivity and return to something more ancient, more sustainable: being.

And now, I see it clearly—health is my wealth. Not the hustle, not the accolades, not the packed calendar. But the ability to move through life attuned to my own truth, rather than someone else’s expectations. There will always be more to do. But there won’t always be another moment like this—a golden summer evening, the sound of birdsong, a body that wants rest instead of rush.

Now, please don't hear this as me saying that ALL I want to do is rest. This body is now feeling MUCH better, and wanting movement. Connection with others. Adventure! The mountain on Sunday was incredible. But the message here is that I reached it not by pushing, but by pacing myself. By honoring the balance between rest and action. By tending to my inner rhythm.

And so I share this with you not as a prescription, but as a possibility:

That sometimes the most life-affirming thing we can do is to pause.

To stay home on a Friday night.

To listen to our bodies before the world.

To listen to our bodies before the conditioning of our minds.

To listen to our bodies before the fear that tells us we are missing out, or that there will never be another (sunny day, opportunity to connect with others, listen to the live band).

Because from that stillness, something beautiful emerges—

Resilience. Clarity. Joy.

And perhaps, the strength to climb a mountain.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to stay connected. I share reflections like this, seasonal wisdom, and supportive practices to help you slow down, reconnect, and live in tune with your inner rhythm.

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