Savoring Stillness

When enough can finally be...enough.

I sat in front of my blank journal page waiting for the inspiration to come.

It was the new year, one of my favorite markers of time passing, where I reveled in the chance to set goals for the year ahead, reverently reflecting on all that had transpired in the previous year, and excitedly raising my hand to say “yes” to whatever lay ahead. Normally, I’d have a robust list of goals and intentions — things to write down in lists and transfer over to my calendar — but this year, I just sat still.

I took a few deep breaths and waited for the rush to come. But it didn’t. I began reflecting on the year that had passed (quite a catalytic one!), remembering the joy of celebrating a milestone birthday, the physical and emotional pain and grief of healing in the wake of a major surgery, and the joy of uniting my friends in marriage at their summer wedding ceremony. My page was still empty, but my heart was full.

And then suddenly it came to me: what if the goal this year was to have no goals?

I almost audibly laughed as I tried to brush the thought away. No goals?! That defeats the whole purpose! What would I do if I didn’t have anything TO do?

I could feel the parts of me that were itchy and uncomfortable with this idea that had dropped in, trying to push it out before it uprooted too much in the wake of what felt like a radical suggestion. Could I really spend this year with my intentional focus on NOT aiming for more, but instead savoring the goodness of what was already there? I’d always leaned toward finding (and celebrating) moments on gratitude, but what would happen if I gave myself permission to dwell in them?

I thought of one of the poems by Rupi Kaur called Always Evolving:

I will never have

this version of me again

let me slow down

and be with her

Thresholds carry a sacred space in my life and spiritual practice. For years I have reveled in the opportunities to mark important occasions, celebrate transitions, and usher in new chapters. But it wasn’t always that way. At times it seemed that they didn’t stop coming: the decades where change abounded, when new upon new seemed to follow in succession, like soldiers marching methodically down the street. It felt as if I were jumping and straining to see what was on the other side…and how I might get across.

But how often did I stop to smell the roses (so to speak) and just let what is be enough?

Of course, the answer is not nearly enough. When the irony is that sometimes, letting is be enough is actually the key to a deeper sense of presence, happiness, and fulfillment.

I thought about what it took to build a life that I was proud of, and although it included all the things, goals, and accomplishments — and enough stillness to enjoy it. If I was being honest with myself, the lists and achievements really were a way to build goodness and gather proof of a life well lived. But I realized I risked missing the feeling of experiencing the goodness all around me.

It’s easy to forget that our nervous systems deserve peace. We are allowed pleasure. Sometimes, the reason to do something is simply to feel (and perhaps even enjoy) it.

So this year, I have leaned in to the stopping, pausing, opening to gratitude, and savoring what arises. And contrary to my “worst fears,” it’s not as if I have not accomplished anything. In fact, there have been more unexpected arrivals in my life than I could have imagined.

Today’s threshold is a New Moon, a time for planting seeds and leaning into intentions. And as Astrologer Colin Bedel says: Gratitude is clarity. Satisfaction is strength. Stillness is sacred…sufficiency is not just a feeling — it’s a state of wisdom. A grounded way of being that helps us tune out the noise and return to what truly matters. Pause. Feel into what’s steady. Celebrate what’s true. And build the next version of your life from first appreciating and savoring what is.

This is a bold invitation (and ongoing challenge) in a world where life is changing at pace that moves a mile a minute: Savor moments of stillness as a sacred invitation to remember. I remember that I am here. Life continues to move. And perhaps, even if just for this moment, that can be enough.