The Quiet Power of Pausing
Finding Clarity Through Pausing and Running in Tough Conditions
Life has a way of rushing by. It doesn’t move in a straight, predictable line like we expect, but more like a chaotic dance, bouncing from one thing to the next. Before you know it, a year has passed. Or two. Or, in my case, almost 19.
And if I’m being honest, the past few years — especially during the pandemic — have felt like they’ve slipped through my fingers faster than I ever imagined. I’ve been trying to improve myself in every way possible: business, entrepreneurship, health, fitness, and countless other areas, but still, time seems to blur.
Maybe that’s just how life is. I wrote in a previous post about how changing your perception of time can change everything — how we experience time isn’t fixed, and it often depends on our focus and mindset. But here’s something I’ve come to realize: no matter how much you try to slow it down, time has a funny way of getting ahead of you if you don’t stop and pay attention.
It wasn’t until about a week ago that I started to understand the importance of pausing. Not because I wanted to, but because of a cancelled meeting that left me with an unexpected pocket of free time. Without really thinking, I went for a run.
It wasn’t my typical, rushed morning workout; this was different. There was no destination, no time constraint — just me running and letting my thoughts wander. And something clicked during that run — how little time I give myself just to think.
That one run turned into a routine. Now, I try to go running at least twice a day, not just for fitness but to clear my mind, to reflect, and to just be. It’s become a way for me to pause, to slow down the rush of life and listen to what’s going on in my head.
The strange thing is, I’ve noticed that time feels slower during these runs, especially when I’m dealing with hardship or personal challenges. It’s as if the tough moments stretch time, making it easier to reflect. But when I’m on a deadline, rushing to meet some goal, time seems to fly by without giving me a moment to catch my breath. The contrast between these two states of mind — reflection during hardship versus stress during deadlines — is striking.
Today, I ran further than I normally do. Here in Austria, the weather has been brutal lately — 4 to 5 degrees Celsius, and it hasn’t stopped raining for the past three days. After finishing off some work today, I went for a run in what felt like the rainiest, coldest weather possible.
It was tough, not easy at all. By the time I was done, I was walking home in completely soaked clothes, with blisters on my feet and absolutely zero motivation left.
But something unexpected happened. Despite how physically drained I was, my mind felt clearer than it had in days.
As I was running, I found myself thinking about so many of life’s tragedies — the problems I’m facing with a few projects, some tricky clients, and personal challenges I’ve been putting off. But, somehow, by the end of the run, those problems seemed to vanish. It was like the rain washed them away.
I realized that hardship — especially running in harsh conditions, which, by the way, is probably one of my least favourite things right next to swimming in ice water (but that’s a story for another article) — forces me to pause. It’s like the discomfort creates space in my mind for reflection, and in that space, everything that’s been weighing me down starts to clear up.
I think we all have that ability, this built-in sense that can help guide us, like an internal compass. It’s subtle, though, and easily drowned out by the noise of life — the constant barrage of tasks, notifications, and distractions. But it’s always there, quietly pointing us toward what feels right. And if we don’t pause to listen, we miss it.
For me, as a 19-year-old trying to navigate business, entrepreneurship, health, fitness, and so many other things, it feels like there’s always something demanding my attention. And if I’m being honest, I often wonder where the time has gone. How did I get here so fast? Why does it feel like the last few years — especially during COVID — went by in the blink of an eye?
But here’s the thing: the moments where I’ve actually stopped to reflect, to let myself think about what’s important, those are the moments that have stuck with me. I’ve started to realize that life isn’t just about moving forward; it’s about knowing when to stop, look around, and figure out where you are.
It’s funny — when you really start to pause, you begin to notice the small things. The little moments that normally slip by unnoticed start to hold more meaning. The way the sun filters through the trees on a quiet morning, the sound of someone’s laugh in a conversation, even the satisfaction of completing a workout. These are the things that make life full, but we rarely give them the attention they deserve. We’re too busy rushing to the next thing, the next task, the next goal.
I think that’s why we struggle with finding meaning sometimes. It’s not that life isn’t meaningful, it’s just that we don’t stop long enough to see it. We’ve been conditioned to believe that the big moments are what matter — the promotions, the successes, the milestones — but I’m starting to think it’s the smaller moments that carry the most weight. The ones we only notice when we’re still enough to catch them.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of always trying to move forward. We’re all trying to become something better — to improve ourselves, to reach that next level. But what if the real growth happens in the quiet moments, the ones where we pause long enough to listen to ourselves? What if the key to becoming great isn’t just in what we do, but in how we think, how we reflect, how we learn from the everyday?
I’ve learned that you can’t always control the speed at which time moves, but you can control how present you are in the moments you do have. And sometimes, that means stepping away from the rush, from the endless stream of information and tasks, and letting yourself just be. It’s in those pauses that you can start to see what really matters.
So here’s what I’m trying to do now — pause more. Take more walks, let my mind wander, and give myself the time to think about where I’m going. Because I don’t want to look back one day and realize I was so busy moving forward that I forgot to enjoy where I was. Life isn’t just about getting somewhere — it’s about being here, in this moment, and recognizing the meaning that’s already around us.
If I’ve learned anything from this process, it’s that we all need those pauses, those moments of stillness, to make sense of everything. And maybe that’s the best way to move forward — not by rushing, but by taking the time to really reflect on the journey.
