Practice the Pause

Most mornings, I run. During the week, it’s usually the treadmill. On weekends, I head outside — stretching into longer distances, wandering through our neighborhood. I like to think of myself as observant on these runs. I notice the sky shifting colors, the leaves changing, the slow creep of dawn as fall edges in.

One evening, my 7-year-old son asked if he could come with me. At first, I bristled a little. Running is my time. My sanctuary. And yet, I was touched that he wanted to join me in something I love.

The next morning, I set out alone first. Crisp air, the scent of autumn beginning to fold over summer. My headphones refused to connect, so I ran unplugged, more aware of the world around me. When I circled back for him, he was waiting eagerly.

We set off together. We ran to the end of the street, then slowed to a walk. That’s when the magic happened. Over and over, he said, “Mom, wait! Look at this.” A leaf, a cloud, a crack in the sidewalk, even something caught in his sock. Each time, I stopped. At first, reluctantly.

Then came the little purple flower — growing out of the pavement. He looked at me with wide eyes and said, “Mom, take a picture!”

That’s when it clicked. He’s seen me pause, seen me stop for beauty, seen me capture awe. And now he was practicing it too. He wasn’t slowing us down — he was showing me a different rhythm. A rhythm of wonder.

We didn’t go far that day, and it took longer than I planned. But what we gained was something else entirely: a reminder that pausing is the point. That noticing is its own kind of journey.

So today, practice the pause.
What did you notice?
What beauty stopped you in your tracks?
Did you take a picture?