It might just be the title of that book I’ve been promising myself—and others—that I will write. The Power of the Pause has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? A quick Google search reveals similar titles, but none seem to focus on “the” pause.
Said another way, my husband, Jose Bello, often reminds me, to “learn to be still.” Being still isn’t something I’ve ever been good at, nor have I enjoyed. He and I often joke that he’s better than anyone I’ve ever met at doing absolutely nothing. He’s not lazy and, he does a lot. But when he decides to do nothing, he means it.
It’s said that there is an art to doing nothing. It’s an art form I was recently forced to learn.
I had no other choice. I had to pause.
When was the last time you did that? As busy executives running companies, with a staff counting on us—not to mention customers, family and friends, with expectations and obligations—it isn’t often we have, or take, the liberty to just stop.
I had limited phone time and limited opportunities to “doom scroll,” as a friend likes to say. I had limited work time and was forced to rely on others for much of what I’m called to do day to day. I had fewer obligations, as everyone understood I was dealing with health issues. Many reminded me that I’m known for always doing too much—rarely saying no—and sometimes barely having time to sleep or eat, let alone anything else.
It’s a new year, a time to reflect on what’s important. A time to choose our priorities and where—and with whom—we spend our time. A time to reevaluate relationships and, potentially, remove toxic ones. It’s also a good time to reflect on resentments, understand what’s at the root of them, and decide whether to forgive and forget, or to move on forever.
I learned something profound in this process: Hurt people hurt people. Let that sink in. When someone hurts us, it always comes from a place of their own pain. I learned compassion.
If not now, when?
As I await the birth of my first granddaughter, who should be here in March, I’m reminded of my daughter, Mallory Mill, and how precious my moments with her are. How deeply I wish I had more of them. How important that is to me moving forward.
I read books. I colored in coloring books, like when I was 5 years old (staying within the lines, of course). I doodled, like a high school girl. I had deep conversations with myself and others. It may sound silly or cliché, but I contemplated the meaning of my life and what I want my legacy to be.
I had the chance to appreciate my team, to be proud of them and what they were able and willing to do without me. I empowered my husband to take over some household responsibilities and really shine—feeling good about himself while providing me a reprieve. And guess what? Nothing broke. Nothing went undone. No one failed miserably. Nothing burned down.
There was a part of me that felt sad—not feeling needed like I normally do and secretly enjoy. But the bigger part of me was elated.
A lesson I hope to impart to those of you who struggle with being still: Try it. I’m convinced you’ll like it—and you’ll thank me.
So, if you see me a little less, congratulate me. I hope I see each of you a little less as well. I’ll be busy pausing—spending time with my granddaughter, daughter, husband and dogs. I’ll be busy being still and not having to do it all, all the time. I’ll be busy, sometimes, doing absolutely nothing at all.
