Systems of the Soul
The Power in a Pause
In today’s world of six-second videos, doom-scrolling, dating apps, and content on tap, it’s easy to live life fast. In fact, that’s the pace we’re encouraged to move in. Get the job, find the relationship, get married, have kids—often before we’ve even taken a breath. As children, we’re asked what we want to be when we grow up as if that’s a fair question for a kid, and as if the adults asking have their own answer figured out.
We reward speed and mistake it for skill. We confuse quickness with confidence when it’s often just reaction. We have so many things we can focus on that we end up overstimulated into emotional numbness. Influencers tell us what to think, what to buy, what success should look like—adding more noise to the internal story. Chase X to get Y. Don’t stop to examine the carrot on the string. Just keep running and maybe, someday, you’ll get a bite.
So when mindfulness, Buddhism, or any reflective practice tells us to pause, it can feel like rebellion. You’re not defying nature—just the frantic culture we’ve built around ourselves. But there is real power in pausing, even for a microsecond, before acting on whatever emotion or thought is firing off in your mind. In a world running at full speed, that pause is basically a superpower.
No—you don’t pause when a bus is about to hit you. And you don’t pause in the face of abuse; you pause later to thank yourself for acting. But for the thousands of small moments that shape your days? A pause can save you from multiplying negativity. You didn’t ask to be insulted, but you do choose whether to insult back. In that moment, you decide if the pain becomes a spark or a wildfire.
The Stoics understood this: we are the authors of our internal story. When negativity tries to hijack a chapter, pausing lets you grab the pen back. Pain stops being punishment and becomes fuel—proof you’re still capable of choosing differently.
So ask yourself: How are you writing your story?
Are you happy with the direction?
You can’t rewrite the events that happen to you, but you can rewrite what happens after.
Do you sit in heartbreak until it rots, or do you grow from it?
Do you drink yourself numb after losing someone, or do you honor them?
Do you become your own worst enemy—or the hero who rises?
Taoism touches on this too—the principle of wu wei, effortless action. When someone insults you and you respond with anger, you create a ripple in the stream of life. Every time you fight the natural flow, you add another ripple. Chaos builds. Noise builds. But when you pause and choose not to react, you allow the moment to pass without disturbing your own waters.
A pause isn’t easy. If anything, it’s the opposite. You’re interrupting a lifetime of conditioning, survival strategies, and reflexes. But the clarity you gain is worth the effort. One question that anchored the practice for me was:
“What emotion am I feeling right now?”
It took time—real time—to answer that honestly. How do you identify emotions you’ve spent years avoiding? The key is practice without judgment. Don’t criticize yourself for not having the perfect vocabulary. In time, your body and mind will tell you exactly what you’re feeling.
Scientifically, every stimulus you encounter hits the amygdala (emotion) before the prefrontal cortex (logic). A pause gives your brain a chance to weigh the two and choose a better response.
Once you can name the emotion, try pausing when that emotion peaks. That pause might save you from the kind of blow-up that leaves you apologizing later.
After naming it, search your body:
- Where is it showing up?
- Stomach? Chest? Throat?
- Are your hands clenched? Your jaw tight? Your ears ringing?
Emotions aren’t just thoughts—they’re physical reactions shaped by your entire life. If you can notice the feeling as it lands in your body, you can release it piece by piece. Connecting the pause to your physical experience is a second safety net. Sometimes your body will warn you long before your mind understands what’s happening.
Here’s what that looks like in practice:
Not long ago, I found myself in one of those back-and-forth text arguments—the kind where every message is faster and sharper than the last. You can feel your chest tighten, your heartbeat pick up, and your ego start loading ammunition. I could feel myself gearing up to fire off the “perfect” rebuttal. The one that would sting. The one that would prove I was right.
But right before I hit send, I paused.
I set the phone down and walked a few steps away. One breath. One question:
“What emotion am I feeling right now?”
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even frustration.
It was hurt.
And fear.
And the feeling of not being understood… again.
When I picked the phone up a minute later, the message I sent wasn’t the one I had typed. I didn’t escalate. I didn’t take the bait of my own emotions. I responded instead of reacting—and because of that, the conversation stayed small instead of becoming something we’d both regret.
That’s what a pause does.
It doesn’t make conflict disappear, but it keeps the sharp edges from cutting deeper than they need to.
Practical Ways to Build the Pause
A pause doesn’t need to be long or dramatic. You don’t have to meditate under a waterfall or whisper affirmations to the moon. A pause can be as small as a breath—a microsecond of authorship.
Here are some ways to build it:
• One Breath
Inhale slow. Exhale slower. It interrupts the amygdala long enough to think.
• Name the Emotion
Label it simply: anger, fear, shame, pressure, sadness.
• Body Scan
Where is the emotion sitting?
Relax one part by even 5–10%. Tiny releases count.
• Ask the Key Question
“What happens if I don’t react to this?”
• Choose the Next Moment
A step back. A sip of water. A closed mouth.
Letting the moment pass untouched.
None of these are about perfection.
They’re about reclaiming the next two seconds of your life.
That’s the power of the pause: not perfection, not enlightenment—just the space to choose differently.
Pause long enough, and you might find that your entire life starts moving differently.