On The Bravery of Taking a Pause

I found myself in a state of overwhelm, and in order to stay balanced I, drum roll please… paused.

Pausing doesn’t come naturally to me. My instinct is always to push forward, to do the thing, to meet the deadline, to keep moving. But as I grow a bit wiser—or maybe, a bit more tired—I’ve come to see the pause as essential to my creative and spiritual success.

I heard a story once about the pianist Arthur Rubenstein. When asked how he handled the notes so masterfully, he replied, “I handle the notes no better than many others, but the pauses—ah! That is where my art resides.”

And that’s it, isn’t it? The magic isn’t just in the doing, the striving, the constant output. It’s in the spaces between.

Creatively, I’ve found the pause to be a quiet revolution of sorts. Taking a walk without a podcast, reading a book instead of working on one, painting instead of writing, (okay, I don’t paint but you get the idea), wandering a bookstore—all of these small acts of stepping away loosen the knots in my mind. They free up space for something new to emerge, something I couldn’t force if I tried.

But pausing is hard. Especially in a culture that worships productivity. The not-so-unspoken mantra of modern day seems to be drive to survive, then drive yourself into the ground, then drive yourself to the pharmacy to pick up the meds that will force you to pause. Metaphorically, physically, creatively.

The pause is counter-cultural. It requires a kind of bravery to step back when everything is telling you to push harder.

Yet, if you let it, the pause can be built into everything you do. Not just creatively, but logistically. A moment of silence before responding to an email. A breath before making a big decision. A day off, a week off, a season of rest.

Sometimes, though, the pause feels unbearable. And that’s when I ask myself: Am I avoiding this pause on purpose? Because often, there’s wisdom waiting in the stillness—answers I’m not ready to face, truths I’ve been sidestepping.

In the pause, there’s silence. And in the silence, if you’re patient, you might just hear what you’ve been missing all along.

The pause isn’t just a break. It’s a place where the next note, the next idea, the next version of yourself gathers its strength.

It’s where the art resides.