by Paulo Coelho
Short riffs on work, life, and the patterns that shape both.
When I say an idea out loud, something shifts.
The noise in my head starts to organise itself.
Half the time the other person hasn’t even spoken yet.
But saying it forces the thought into shape.
Talking makes the fog visible.
And once you can see it, you can move through.
Three hot days on the road and I couldn’t work out why I felt so off. My lips cracked, my throat ached, my skin felt coated in dust.
Then something clicked. Maybe it’s the aircon. Maybe my car has a filter that needs changing.
Turns out it never had a filter. The air I’d been breathing was recycled dust.
40 minutes, one YouTube video, and a $25 filter later, the difference was instant. The air felt fresh again.
It made me realise how many little things sit just below our awareness. Each one quietly stealing comfort, focus, or peace.
You don’t have to overhaul your life. Just keep spotting the small fixes that make it better to live in.
I was up early. The supermarket lights still waking.
Outside, the sky was alive with colour. Hot air balloons drifting, sunlight spilling across quiet streets.
Everything moved slow. The air felt light.
Soon I’ll merge into peak hour, where everyone’s chasing somewhere to be.
But for a moment, I saw what the day could feel like before the rush decided for it.
Like magic still had space to breathe.
For two days I’ve felt off. Heavy. Like a low hum I can’t switch off.
It’s not from anyone else. It’s the echo of choices I thought I’d outgrown.
Old patterns have a way of testing you. They call to see if you’ll answer.
Maybe the point isn’t to carry the feeling but to remember why it showed up.
A reminder of what you’ve left behind and what to steer clear of next time.
This week was chaos. I got plenty done, but it felt like sprinting through fog.
Every task blurred into the next, and somewhere in the noise I lost sight of what mattered.
Progress doesn’t always look like motion.
Sometimes it’s the moment you stop, breathe, and realise you’ve been running past your own work.
Stillness shows what speed can’t. Maybe it's worth taking a breath.
A magpie calls across the dusk.
One last warble before the night settles in.
It doesn’t care what the day produced.
Whether nests were built or just imagined.
It sings, then rests.
Because that’s the rhythm.
Rest isn’t earned. It’s natural.
Some days the current carries you. Words fall into place, ideas unfold without effort.
Other days it’s like dragging a boat uphill. Every line fights back.
The current decides more than we think.
When the flow is there, ride it.
When it’s gone, stop pushing. Let the water find its way again.
After rain, the ground softens.
You can feel the earth exhale.
Everything needs renewal.
Ideas fade when they never leave the page.
The body dulls without challenge.
Even stillness grows heavy if it lasts too long.
Energy moves where there’s space to flow.
Stagnation isn’t rest. It’s decay.
I stayed up too late watching something stupid.
No lesson in it. No productivity hack. Just laughter and stillness for a moment.
We spend so much time chasing better habits that we forget the joy that built them.
A late night. A silly snack. A pointless scroll that somehow resets the mood.
Discipline needs oxygen too.
Sometimes we move faster than we can feel.
The body keeps pace. The soul lags behind.
You notice it in small ways. Rushing through meals. Skipping pauses. Chasing what’s next before what’s now has settled.
Maybe stillness isn’t wasted time.
Maybe it’s just you, waiting for yourself to arrive.
