After the Noise: A Year of Slowing Down
Lessons from a year of softening, staying present and seeing clearly
Hello friend,
I’ve stopped noticing my white hairs and wrinkles.
They used to really bother me. The white hairs stick out awkwardly when they first start growing, waving in the wind as I imagine them announcing my elderliness to the world. My wrinkles gather at the corners of my eyes making river deltas on the side of my face.
In 2024, I had worked myself to the point beyond exhaustion - COVID had taken its toll on me, with the virus wrecking people’s bodies and businesses - everything had gone online, “always on” was no longer the exception of extremely driven individuals, and layoffs became so commonplace people made trackers to broadcast them.
I had toyed with the idea of taking a break from formal employment ad nauseam and one September afternoon, on a trip to Spain with my bestie, I stood under the exquisite arboreal archways of Gaudí’s La Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona, finding myself enveloped by the luscious beauty the world outside of Zoom has to offer, and sharply slapped in the face by the reality that I was willfully choosing to ignore all of it.
My resignation was painless; the departure not so. Leaving a group of close friends I collected from six years at the company, and a female leader in tech role I was proud to have excelled at was emotionally complex, made even more so by my own wrestling with the shame of having admitted defeat to the pressures of an always-on work mindset.
I used to be known as the pit bull by folks I’ve been in the PowerPoint trenches with - unrelenting and savagely committed to whatever task was at hand - and yielding to burnout made me feel like a miniature poodle with continental clipped fur dyed pink instead, the kind that gets ferried around in a pram more fit for babies than canines.
Nonetheless, my farewell passed in a flurry of a tear-soaked tissue week and I found myself relieved of the sogginess and sitting in the sheer excitement of an Actual break.
I’ve since taken myself on multiple journeys - the kinds made possible only with the splendour of time - Brazil to see Christ the Redeemer, the massive statue that would tick off four of the seven new wonders of the world for me, Scotland to see the Highland Coos hiding behind their shaggy fringes, walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain to see just how far my own two feet would take me.
I’ve dedicated time to my writing - forming a writing group (that continues, in my opinion, to churn out the best quality writing a casual group has ever seen, meet after meet), publishing posts on Substack every two weeks and honing my craft under the solid instruction of the ever so witty-about-the-ways-of-the-world Darryl Whetter.
I’ve leaned into my various crafts as a creator - learning how to paint, daring to paint without sketch lines erased over and over, making things with my hands that I give to loved ones with joy.
I’ve remained steadfast to my personal goal of making coaching accessible. I put aside a proportion of what I earn to take on pro bono clients, allowing me to work with some of the most inspirational, courageous women I have ever met. I earned my ICF PCC credential, the professional standard for coaching that marks not only my competence but commitment to the craft.
But this isn’t just a productivity recap, it’s also a human one.
Slowing Down and Seeing Clearly
Slowing down has sharpened my perception - of my own moods, others’, and recurring themes in my life. I’ve found a refined ability to identify my primary emotion of the moment, and put words to what’s caused it - allowing me to speak clearly about what’s upset me without the hindrance of resentment.
Familial patterns and habits now reveal themselves clearer than before too. I find myself able to put distance between the pattern and my reaction - to understand where it comes from, what triggers it, and realise, very quickly, that reacting to it changes nothing. So I choose the gentler option instead.
Distance doesn’t dull emotion; it makes room for choice.
Doing the Thing
I’ve learned more about learning - daft as it sounds - learning being the thing that we spend most of our lives doing.
I’ve learned that I can learn just about anything I want to, and that doing the thing is the thing that will help you do the thing better, not reading about how to do thing, planning how to do the thing, or worrying that you won’t be good at doing the thing.
Yes, what I’m saying is - just fucking do the thing.
Doing the thing puts you in motion and gives you the motivation to do even more of the thing and to do even better at the thing you’re doing. It helps you narrow down on the parts that you want to get better at, that you can seek guidance on, so that doing the thing no longer feels scary or difficult - and how fucking amazing is that.
I’ve done this with painting (hours of practicing getting flat washes smooth as butter), writing (attempting forms I’ve never heard of), pickle ball (I’ve never been a racket sport person - the folks who have seen me in the office trying to play ping pong would attest to this), walking longer distances than I’ve ever imagined (I live in Singapore - walking 5 minutes is considered “far”).
And knowing this about myself makes me feel really damn invincible.
Seeing, and Being Seen
Not rushing about life has given me the gift of pause.
In the deceleration I found the space to notice small things I never would have paid attention to before.
The doctor who I grew up with and trust with all of my well-being treating my elderly parents with doses of empathy to change their stubborn minds. The care the cashier at the art store took to meticulously package the paintbrushes I purchased, so that the bristles don’t get matted on the way home. The stranger on the train crying into her handbag, tears making big dark stains on the navy blue canvas material of her bag.
And beyond noticing, witnessing.
I strongly believe that we all need to be witnessed - by a friend, coach, therapist, or sometimes, a stranger on the train asking if you’re okay when you clearly aren’t.
We can’t see our own edges without someone holding up a mirror and telling us the truth about how we’re being in the world. That’s the point of having a strong community around you to witness you, and of looking inward when the rest of the world is looking out at what everyone else is doing.
My hypothesis is that if we were all more truthful about what we’re seeing of each other - the good and the bad - there’d be way fewer assholes in the world for us to tiptoe around.
The Shape of Enough
A year off work didn’t make my life bigger; it make it truer - filled with clearer perceptions, better boundaries, and deliberately chosen words.
I can no longer measure my worth by how much I do, but how fully present I am in my life.
An Invitation
If you’ve been toying with the idea of slowing down - even just for a week, or even just in the smallest way - consider this your sign to do it.
Pay attention to what softens in you when you stop rushing.
To what (and who) you start seeing again.
To what “enough” might mean to you when you finally allow yourself to come back to yourself.
From a year of quiet,
Min
The full inventory of what burnout looked like in my body:
Slowing down even changed how I look out my window. One morning, a rare bird turned my neighbourhood upside down:
Avoid burning out by tracking where your energy is going, and adjusting:
If you’re toying with the idea of your own break, I wrote a practical (and slightly sardonic) guide:
This gave me goosebumps, Min! There are so many great lessons in this short story. I am trying to slow down, little by little. I love the picture of you on the Camino!!!!!!
Beautiful, Min, as always. I love your gentle, clear thoughts. Soft and piercing through.