Be still, on purpose: slow living in a founder's eyes

There was a holiday. The holiday that came with all sorts of checklists living permanently in my head, a nanny-less family trip, and a version of me who, three days into "relaxing," was still mentally restocking the fridge for when we got home. Deeply glamorous. Truly the stuff of postcards. Or Instagram posts, rather. Slow living, allegedly.

The brand went quiet in August. I did not. Turns out a business does not pause just because the Instagram grid does, and neither, famously, does being a mum. Who knew.

Not a rant, I promise

But before this turns into an unsolicited rant, or worse, a bid for sympathy — genuinely, put the tiny violin away. I am thankful, despite the hustle of it all, that I got real time away from the business rabbit hole, and properly invested time where it truly belongs.

Slow living isn't something that happens to you

Then again, even the most tireless things pause. The tide still goes out. The seasons still turn over. Even the sun clocks off for the night. The body needs recuperation. The mind needs refreshing. That part isn't up for debate.

I think a lot of us quietly believe rest is something that's supposed to happen to us — if we just get the holiday, the good weather, the right number of empty days. And then it doesn't. And we assume we did it wrong.

Did we?

September doesn't wait

Which brings me to September, and the actual pace, which is now very much back — school runs, the calendar filling in, everyone suddenly needing something by Thursday. None of that is going to pause a second time to let me catch my breath. I have accepted this. Mostly.

Still, on purpose

So be still has stopped meaning "wait for the room to go quiet," and started meaning something smaller, and slightly more useful: the half-second before I answer a message. The pause to choose what actually feels good against the day — materials that bring simple pleasure over the average, considered over convenient, noticed over merely there. A breath, taken on purpose, before I let the day's pace become my pace by default.

Not a retreat. Not a spa day I am owed. Just a habit of checking in with myself before the noise does the deciding for me.

Some days that is five whole minutes. Some days it is one breath in a doorway before I walk into the next thing. Some days, it is simply letting my environment do that quiet work for me. Either way, it is mine, and nobody chose it for me — which, if I am honest, is exactly why it counts.

The pace was never going to pause twice this year. But I can, on purpose, as often as I remember to.