How often do we ignore our inner yearnings—the pull toward peace, retreat, solitude, rhythm?
How often do we answer the email, the text, the call simply because we’ve assigned urgency to it?
And what do we give up each time we choose the urgent over our essence?
We are beings of rhythm. No matter how much we try to override them, no matter how often we force ourselves out of them, they remain. They evolved over eons. Modern life – barely two centuries old – is a blink compared to the deep time that shaped us.
Still, we hurry. We tell ourselves life is short, that we don’t have enough time to do what we’re here to do. I know this well. I’ve set aside my rhythms, sacrificed my sanity, answered the call of urgency, and paid the price. The cost is rarely immediate. It shows up later when sleep thins, nourishment slips, movement fades, and the body begins to whisper its warnings.
Eventually, I noticed what was happening. Not on my own, of course. It took the observations of medical professionals and a coach who had walked with me for years. They saw what I couldn’t: the shifts in attitude, the patterns of thinking, the blood pressure, cholesterol, blood sugar. The signs were clear. Something needed to turn around or I was headed toward a crisis, likely right at the moment I hoped to enjoy life most.
So I noticed. I sought help. I refocused on the basics. And I turned things around… for a while.
But a life of sacrifice has a way of creeping back in. Urgency seeped into the center of my attention again. I told myself I’d deal with this crisis or that deadline and then get back on track, but it was easier to reach for food high in fat and sugar, to drink more than I needed, to numb out with a show just to keep the demons quiet. And once again, it caught up with me.
This seems to be part of the human condition. Something sparks the will to change, but life presses in, and the exhaustion of urgency takes its toll. What I learned was that change is hard. It takes as much or more time to shift as it took to arrive at the state we’re in now. We spend years getting here; it’s unrealistic to expect transformation overnight.
I also learned that change is more than the change itself. We must create the environment for shifts to happen—for noticing, for adjusting, for returning to ourselves.
And perhaps that’s the hardest part. Eating better or exercising more is often simpler than rearranging a life to make those things possible. The patterns the brain built to keep us alive – habits of urgency, vigilance, self‑neglect – are powerful. It takes time, gentleness, and self‑compassion to loosen their grip.
Recently, I made a drastic choice to create a better environment. I left a job that paid well and reoriented my life toward living well before it became too late to enjoy it. I’m not saying everyone needs to quit their job. That kind of shift took me nearly a decade of preparation. What I am saying is this:
Pay attention to you.
What’s pulling you?
Habit?
Social pressure?
Or a real, foundational need that determines whether you stay well—or stay trapped in the cycle of urgency?
Your mind‑body is trying to tell you something.
Are you listening?
And when the same message keeps rising, do you keep pushing it aside?
There is always a price for ignoring what is essential.
Until next time.
Take what’s useful. Leave the rest on the porch.