Before you “just real quick” one more thing…
Sunday practice: step out of urgency and back into yourself.
I had big plans for January.
To be really honest, it probably started here:
I didn’t call them resolutions; I called them “Operational Rhythms”.
🤦🏻♂️
I had that familiar buzz, the one where you open a fresh document and start mapping out systems and all the ways this year will be different. I was ready to be better and EVEN more intentional about how my time and energy would be spent.
And then January actually arrived.
An amazing professional shift required more attention than I’d budgeted for. A few health things needed “healthing.” I had big plans for this Substack. The ordinary chaos of a body and a life didn’t pause just because I flipped the calendar…
I found myself in GO GO GO mode. Not because I was chasing some grand vision, but honestly, because I was just trying to get my feet back under me. I was trying to catch up to the pace I thought I should be keeping.
Do you know what the “Mid-month Audit of January” looks like in real life?
One day, it looked like me standing at the sink with my phone in one hand, thumb-typing an urgent message, while rinsing a coffee mug with the other. I realized I was clenching my jaw like I was in a high-stakes hostage negotiation with my own inbox. All while a meeting hummed in the background.
It looks like the “Hustle Story” we tell ourselves:
“I’ll rest after I send this…”
“After I answer that…”
“After I just real quick…”
And suddenly it’s Tuesday, and your body realizes it hasn’t taken a full-body breath since Saturday. You’re moving so fast you almost don’t notice you’re actually a little bit scared of the pace.
So today, I am issuing a Departmental Cease and Desist.
I’m offering myself something small. And if it helps you, please take it too.
It’s a return. A brief, ordinary return to your own body before you hand yourself back to the day.
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A Small Rebellion
(The Permission to Pause Protocol)
If you want, set a timer for five minutes. (If timers make you feel bossed around by a machine, don’t set one).
Then see what happens if you:
Put something down. The phone. The task. The plan. One thing. Let your hands be empty for a beat.
Find one point of contact. Feet on the floor. Back against a chair. Palm on your belly. A hand around a warm mug. Pick one place your nervous system can register: I am here.
Name what’s driving you. Ask, softly: “What’s running me right now?” Answer with one phrase. Let the power rest in this naming. Maybe it is pressure, fear, habit, deadline, old programming, noise.
Choose one next move that is not urgency. A small choice. A sip of water. A slower exhale. A text that says, “I’ll reply tomorrow.” One task you do at a humane pace.
Then go back to your life. Not as a new person. As a person who paused.
Urgency will probably show up again in ten minutes to demand a meeting. That’s fine. You’re not failing; you’re just learning that the door exists.
If five minutes is too much, take sixty seconds of being officially unavailable to the hustle story that can inevitably catch us in January. No explanation. No announcement. No excuses necessary. Just sixty seconds of being exactly as unfinished as you are right now and being whole anyway.
You don’t need my permission, of course. But if it helps to see it on official departmental letterhead: You’re allowed to stop. Right in the middle. Without earning it. Without explaining it. Without waiting for everything to be handled first.
The world will keep spinning. You’ll keep going. But for five minutes (or sixty seconds), you get to pause.
With love (and fictional paperwork),
Alex 🧡
Our Upcoming Departmental Schedule
Wednesday: Our first 90-second invitation, delivered via chat. A tiny, doable way back to yourself, no matter what is going on.
Friday: A lived story on how I arrived at my yearly theme. Because “Operational Rhythms?” Nope. That was not the type of reframe I needed. It involves a bit of grace, a bit of the ridiculous, and the accidental lead-up to finally choosing what fits me.
If this landed, don’t leave yourself alone with it. Subscribe and stay. We’ll be here.
Thanks, I needed that! Hands around my cup, eyes closed, shoulders down, just for this minute.
“officially unavailable to the hustle story”…this, I LOVE.