The Lie We've Bought
“To do” is to succeed.
“To be” is not.
How often do I find myself wanting to churn out “productive” activities, get stuff done, check off my list, be a machine!
And how often do I feel lost when I have time to just be?
Like a ship at sea without a sail, directionless, fruitless, less of a contributing member to society.
Yet a deep wisdom from forever ago tells me this “being” is precisely what I need more of in order to succeed at “doing”.
The silence between chaotic moments, the quiet regeneration of time spent still.
The reframe of not wasting time that isn't chock-a-block stuffed with ‘‘doing’’ activities, but that time is invested, in reconnecting to the stillness, to the silence, to the source.
Maybe this is the consequence of turning 40 and realizing that if I don't stop to smell the flowers, I might miss them altogether.
I know I thought differently in my 20s, and I probably will have a different perspective in my 60s. But today, as I have the privilege of experiencing my buzzing eight-year-old and my decelerating 90-year-old grandmother-in-law under the same roof, I can't help but see how I'm smack in the middle!
So here I am, diving into the discomfort that is gradually peeling away, leaving me like old skin shedding off.
My usual city vibe-doctor-mom, running-two-practices-self, accustomed to operating between two time zones, several languages and cultural awkwardness; is very tentatively letting out a long overdue sigh.
Daring to venture into a pace I knew at eight, had mastered at four, but forgotten at forty.
The circle of life isn't just a song in my head right now, but a blaring lived experience. Even as I realize the circle is not necessarily round, not always predictable, but nonetheless omnipresent, whether I acknowledge it or not.
I grin at the picture-perfect slowing down of this Indian lady in Germany, grounding herself in a warm bathtub, sipping a mimosa at noon- remnant of the 90-year-old's birthday breakfast, and writing this rather long note to self. She had run out of reading material and just sitting in the tub unwinding felt too slow to begin with.
However, my writing seems to have changed my view, and so I sign off knowing the breakneck speed hustling is just a matter of time coming, but also that the slow relish of stillness is always within reach.
18 July 2026
Harz, Germany
