the learning of now


I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.

Lewis Carroll
image: chiselled into a plaster wall in Exeter

We grow and change constantly. We just need to give ourselves the opportunity to notice. Not be in our plans for tomorrow, or in our regrets of yesterday, but to be in a deep awareness of what is happening now.

How ‘now’ is changing us; what we are learning that is new awareness, what we can un-learn because we no longer need it. How we are thinking and our patterns of thought. How we are being and how we want to be.


looking back


If you were to replay your last 24 hours in reverse, what might you change?

Would you add something in? Something you meant to do, or with the benefit of the ‘end of day’ hindsight, something you would have slotted in?

Would you take something out? Something that didn’t add value or which, with the benefit of knowing the whole, the end point, you might just simply not do?

Would you change the sequence? Swap two pieces around?

Would you start something earlier or later? Or maybe finish something sooner?

Would you change durations? Do more of something or less of something?

Do you have any regrets?

If we start from the end of our day, looking back, how might our choices be different? Tomorrow, imagine you are starting at the end. What choices might you make, before you begin?

Then, at the end of tomorrow, review your day. Anything different?

Sketch by: Joe Nammour


like antimatter…


When do you pause?

I suspect you pause all the time. Mostly just for a second. To draw breath. To find your words. Distracted. Maybe you pause between listening and speaking? Maybe between speaking and listening? Maybe you pause to reflect? Maybe you pause before beginning? Maybe when your attention moves? Maybe you never pause? Maybe you just never notice your pause?

I wonder if in fact it’s all about the pause?

Maybe the pause is the important part? Everything else is just there to fill the gaps between the pauses.

Like antimatter perhaps?

What if we were to notice, honour, embrace the unseen pause?