You wake up already behind.
Emails. Bills. A dozen notifications.
Places to be, people to answer, expectations to meet.
Always something.
Always someone needing you.
Always moving.
Always running.
Always trying to keep up.
Because that’s what you do.
You push through.
You keep going.
Until one day—you can’t.
The engine stalls.
The momentum fades.
And you realise—you’re gasping.
Not just for air, but for space.
For stillness.
For something deeper.
In the Psalms, there’s this word—Selah.
No one knows exactly what it means,
But some say it’s a pause. A rest.
Not just a breath before the next thing.
Not just a quick reset before you dive back in.
But a full stop.
A disruption.
A holy interruption.
What if that’s what you need?
What if Selah has been waiting for you?
Not as a reward for finishing,
But as an invitation to step out of the race altogether?
What if catching your breath
Isn’t about recovering,
But about rediscovering?
That you were never what you produced.
Never just a sum of your achievements.
So stop.
Breathe in.
Not to fuel the next sprint,
But to remember—
You are.
And that is enough.
Now exhale.
Let go of the weight you were never meant to carry.
Let the illusion fall away.
And in the stillness,
In the breath between breaths,
Maybe, just maybe, you’ll realise—
what you were chasing has been here all along.
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