The Wisdom of Pausing

The theme of pauses has been reoccurring in my life over the past year.

While I was living through it, I didn’t particularly notice the pauses or think about them in any special way. Yet in the months leading up to our move, and especially during the long drive from British Columbia to Prince Edward Island, I found myself reflecting on them more and more.

There are small pauses all around us: the pause after an inhale before the exhale begins, the pause at the bottom of the breath before the next inhalation, the pause at a stoplight, in a waiting room, or while standing in line for our morning coffee.

Here, I am thinking about the larger pauses that happen in our lives — sometimes chosen and sometimes arriving unexpectedly.

The pause after the ending of a long-term relationship.

The pause after retirement.

The pause that follows the completion of something that once occupied so much of our energy and attention: running a business, raising children, creating a piece of art, writing a book, recording an album, finishing a film. We have birthed an idea, a person, a sculpture, painting, piece of music etc. and now what? What will be the next phase, step, chapter?

When Steve and I decided to leave British Columbia and begin a new chapter in Prince Edward Island, we consciously stepped into the place of pausing.

Before we moved, we had many contemplative conversations around a simple question:

What if we built a life around being rather than doing? What would that look like?

And, what does that actually mean? A life of being?

You might wonder, well isn’t the idea of just being, simply a state of doing nothing?

I don’t think so. It’s not about sitting still all day, withdrawing from life, or abandoning ambition and creativity. In many ways it could actually mean that you are more engaged with life not less. Being doesn't mean disengaging from life. In fact, I feel it often allows us to engage more fully with whatever is in front of us.

Doing often comes with a sense of striving. There is a goal to reach, a problem to solve, a task to complete, or a destination to arrive at. Being invites us to experience life while it is unfolding rather than constantly focusing on what comes next.

A walk on the beach can become another item on a to-do list, something to accomplish before moving on to the next thing. Or it can simply be a walk on the beach.

A creative project can become another obligation, or it can become an act of curiosity and expression.

The activity itself may look exactly the same from the outside, but the experience of it feels entirely different.

That, at least, is the experiment Steve and I have been exploring as soon as we jumped in the car and started our journey east.

So, now we are here and it feels like we have lived here longer than just a few months. While it has been an active time it has never felt overwhelming. I jumped into the joy of painting all of the interior walls of our home (I love painting!). There were weeks of getting our drivers licenses and car insurance and health insurance sorted out (it seems to be a little more complex here on the island) and generally we’ve been setting up home since we essentially sold all of our belongings before we left. We have been enjoying changing things up and building new habits into our daily lives.

We did not move to PEI to retire from life – there are still bills to be paid and commitments to honour. We knew we would continue working in some way, shape, or form. We simply didn’t know what that would look like, and for the first time in a long time, we were comfortable not knowing. We had decided to not let the fear of the unknown cloud our decisions but rather actively participate in what our futures might hold. For two people who had spent much of their lives planning ahead, that felt both exhilarating and a little unsettling.

Like many people, I’ve spent much of my life doing — building, creating, planning, organizing, solving problems, and moving toward the next goal. You’ll often hear retired people say that they are busier than ever, and I understand why.

I recently spoke with a friend who confessed that she was afraid to retire. She worried that without her career she wouldn’t know who she was anymore. Her work had become deeply intertwined with her identity.

I suspect many of us carry similar fears.

What if I lose momentum?

What if I lose purpose?

Who am I when I stop doing?

If we pause from creating art as I have for many many years it becomes a little daunting to think about starting again – do I still have the touch, can I do it? What if I’m terrible and it doesn’t flow.

And at times I suspect busyness serves a purpose beyond productivity. Sometimes it protects us from having to face difficult questions or uncomfortable feelings. If we stop moving, and be still and just listen then all the things we’ve carefully kept at bay and shoved down into our baby toe may finally have room to surface.

If you suspect this is true for you (it certainly was for me at various times of my life) just know, there is another possibility.

Something profound might become visible if we stopped doing for a while.

We might discover hidden gems about ourself if we allow more space for simply being.

For me, this latest life pause has brought both clarity and contrast.

There are things from the Kootenays — mostly people — that I miss deeply.

I miss teaching yoga to my loyal group of women at Bindu Studio.

I miss my friends at Gaia Tree, the small but mighty health food store that I visited almost daily.

I miss Sleep Is For Sissies, where you could always get a great cup of coffee and for me my favourite meal of the day, breakfast, and catch up on local news, share stories, laugh with friends, and feel connected to community.

But there are other things I don’t miss at all.

I don’t miss the weight of responsibility I carried with our 5-acre property/business.

I don’t miss the increasing noise that gradually found its way into our home and daily life.

I don’t miss spending every summer wondering whether forest fires would threaten our valley.

And perhaps that is one of the gifts of a pause.

Sometimes we discover that what we thought we wanted, or what we believed was necessary, was actually just habit… There is a difference between something that nourishes us and something we continue simply because we've always done it.

Not all pauses are endings.

Sometimes taking a break from a relationship allows two people to see each other more clearly.

Sometimes stepping away from a career helps us determine whether it still reflects who we are.

Sometimes pausing in the middle of a creative project and allowing the edges to soften helps us see something we had been missing all along.

A pause creates space for perspective.

It gives us the opportunity to ask:

How do I want to proceed?

How do I want to recreate my life?

How do I want to show up in my relationships?

How do I want to show up for myself?

Sometimes pauses are periods of listening.

Sometimes they create enough space for us to hear that still, small voice within that has been trying to speak to us all along.

And perhaps the wisdom of a pause is not found in what we do during it, but in what becomes clear because of it.