Autumn: Hey everyone, welcome back! Let’s kick things off with a question: How often do you wish you had a pause button for life? You know, when the world just feels like it’s spinning way too fast, and you're just trying to keep up? Rachel: Oh man, pretty much every Monday morning. Though, my "pause button" usually involves hitting snooze about five times. But seriously, Autumn, what’s the alternative? Can we “really” just stop everything? Autumn: Well, not exactly "stop," but that's where today's topic comes in. We're diving into The Art of Stillness by Pico Iyer. He basically asks us to consider: What if real fulfillment isn’t about cramming more into our day, but about intentionally stepping back, slowing down, and doing, well, less? Rachel: So, doing nothing is now a skill? Fantastic, I can add that to my LinkedIn, I guess. Autumn: Well, in a way, yes! Iyer makes a “really” interesting case for how stillness can be totally transformative. He uses stories—like Leonard Cohen retreating to a monastery—and draws lessons from people like Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk, to show how intentionally pausing can actually lead to inner peace, boost creativity, and help you see things more clearly, even when life feels super chaotic. Rachel: Okay, that sounds, I don't know, fairly poetic. But what does that actually mean for the average person? You know, someone juggling work, family, a social life, and about a million distractions? Autumn: Great question, because that's exactly what we're unpacking today! We're going to explore three key things: First, the power of stillness—why it's important and how it affects us. Then, we'll look at the practical stuff—how even small, simple practices can bring calm amidst a busy life. And finally, we'll talk about how stillness resonates with people across different cultures and times. Rachel: Alright, sounds like we’ve got some heavy lifting ahead. Slow lifting, I guess? Let’s see if you can convince me that “doing nothing” is the next big life hack, Autumn!

Autumn: Okay, Rachel, let's dive into Leonard Cohen's story. He's a fantastic example of how stillness can totally transform a life, even someone who was already super famous. He made this really conscious decision to step away from the spotlight when he was at the peak of his career. It wasn’t about escaping success; it was about seeking something much more profound. He actually spent years as a monk at a Zen center on Mount Baldy. Rachel: Wow, that's a pretty radical career change if you ask me. Trading sold-out concerts and adoring fans for… well, silence? Did he have an epiphany, like, "Aha! What I truly need is monastic life"? Autumn: In a way! He described it as finding something that was way more fulfilling than all the external chaos and attention. Cohen actually called stillness "the real deep entertainment," can you believe it? It wasn’t just about chilling out and meditating; it was about how that quiet solitude actually enriched his creativity and his understanding of life, you know? Rachel: "The real deep entertainment," huh? I wonder if Netflix is aware of the competition. All joking aside, it's fascinating that he saw stillness as entertainment. Most people think of entertainment as something external—a movie, a show, something stimulating. Just sitting with yourself doesn't exactly scream excitement, right? Autumn: Exactly, and that’s what makes his story so compelling! It's a direct challenge to our modern obsession with constant stimulation. Instead of always chasing external validation and distractions, Cohen discovered it in those really simple, introspective moments. What's even more remarkable is that his retreat wasn't an escape at all; it was incredibly productive. That period of stillness actually sparked some of his most profound creative work, like his album Ten New Songs. The themes—loss, longing, introspection—they were all deeply rooted in the clarity he found during those quiet years. Rachel: Okay, I’ll concede that producing a whole album after "doing nothing" makes it sound somewhat worthwhile. But Cohen was already a creative genius, right? Is it possible his time on Mount Baldy was a sort of recharging period, a really intense vacation? Autumn: That's a fair point, but it was definitely more than just recharging. His time there wasn't relaxing in the typical sense—it was disciplined, even grueling. The structure of Zen practice, with those long hours of meditation and minimal comforts, it stripped away all distractions and really forced him to confront his innermost thoughts, his emotions, his whole sense of self. That kind of intentional stillness allowed him to really reflect on what truly mattered, and I think that's where the transformation lies. Rachel: Alright, alright, I see where you’re going with this. Look, not everyone can just hit pause on their lives like Leonard Cohen, okay? The guy didn't have to worry about, you know, parent-teacher meetings or those overdue work reports. So, what does stillness even mean for the rest of us mere mortals? Autumn: Well, that's where Thomas Merton's perspective comes into play. Unlike Cohen, who stepped away from fame, Merton embraced stillness from the jump. He dedicated his whole life to being a Trappist monk, seeking meaning in silence and solitude. But here's the catch: he found that stillness isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. He actually called it an arena where you confront your own shadows. Rachel: Shadows, huh? Sounds kind of ominous. Care to elaborate on what those shadows entailed? Autumn: Oh, everything really—his fears, his insecurities, those unmet desires. He talked about how silence amplifies those parts of ourselves that we'd honestly rather avoid. I mean, think about it: when we're constantly busy, we tend to bury those uncomfortable thoughts under piles of tasks and endless distractions. But in stillness, there's literally nowhere to hide! Merton put it perfectly, saying, "The wish to be alone can produce in a man either a great scorn of his own life or a great love of it." Rachel: Scorn or love—So, stillness doesn’t really allow for lukewarm feelings, I guess. He's basically saying that stillness forces you to confront yourself, which can either go really well… or not so well. Autumn: Exactly! That’s the duality of stillness—its power comes from this incredible clarity that it brings, but clarity isn't always comfortable, you know? Merton embraced this discomfort as a path to truly understanding himself and, ultimately, to cultivating a greater love for life. It’s like cleaning out a really cluttered attic. You find things you've been actively avoiding—some maybe not so pleasant, some forgotten treasures —but the whole process leaves you feeling lighter, clearer, you know? Rachel: I definitely see the value in that approach. Although, if I'm being completely honest, cleaning out my basement seems a lot less scary than cleaning out my mind. But does one have to go full-on monk to reap any of these rewards? Because I'm pretty sure my boss wouldn't take too kindly to my extended monastery visit when my mental attic is completely in disarray. Autumn: Not at all! And that's where Pico Iyer's personal story comes into the equation. His retreat wasn’t in a monastery but in Kyoto, a city that offers simplicity and quiet in its own way. For an entire year, he intentionally slowed way down. No chasing those intense deadlines, no big productivity goals—just a really deliberate effort to focus solely on being present at the moment. He meditated, wandered around the temples, and really allowed himself to just be. Rachel: Kyoto sounds incredibly idyllic—those ancient temples and serene landscapes. But for someone stuck in a cramped apartment with noisy neighbors or battling constant rush-hour traffic, it’s a whole different world. So, what is the practical takeaway here that we're supposed to get from his experience? Autumn: It's really not about the specific location but about the mindset. Iyer’s main point is that stillness absolutely doesn't require you to have an exotic setting. It's more about creating those intentional pauses, even in the middle of your super busy life. That could mean just taking a few moments to breathe deeply, really savoring a quiet moment while you sip your morning coffee, or disconnecting from your devices for a little bit. He calls it “going nowhere,” not literally, but mentally stepping back, you know, to reassess and recharge. Rachel: So, a mini-retreat amidst the craziness. I like this idea. “Going nowhere” probably wouldn’t work as a vacation request at my job, though. But his perspective makes Stillness seem so much more…..attainable. Autumn: That’s the beauty of it, right? Stillness isn’t just for monks or musicians or writers. It’s truly universal. Every culture, every time period has its own version of this practice—whether it’s meditation, prayer, or just sitting quietly, you know? And unlike constant busyness, stillness doesn’t actually drain you. It renews you. Rachel: Alright, Autumn, you’re slowly but surely starting to win me over. Just a little. So, stillness isn’t about just doing less in order to be lazy; it’s more about reconnecting with ourselves, recalibrating, and maybe even igniting some of our creativity. I guess I can try this whole "doing nothing" thing out. Just keep your expectations low on me producing an album.

Autumn: So, that foundational idea—stillness isn't just for retreats, right? It kind of leads us to the big question: How do we actually fit these moments of stillness into our daily lives? Rachel: Exactly! Because, you know, as tempting as it is to just disappear and become a Zen master, I have a feeling my calendar would strongly disagree. Seriously though, what does Pico Iyer suggest for us regular, non-monk types? Autumn: That’s what's so great about Iyer; he's not asking for a complete life overhaul. He suggests things like creating "secular Sabbaths," reframing your routines, and even seeing travel as a chance for subtle stillness. Rachel: Secular Sabbaths, huh? Okay, unpack that for me. What exactly does that look like? Autumn: Well, it's basically taking a break—not for religious reasons, but as a deliberate pause from the constant noise. Historically, the Sabbath was a day to step away from work, focus on reflection, connection, maybe some spiritual stuff. Iyer reimagines it for our digital, always-on world. Rachel: So, it's like an old-school rest day, but without the fear of divine retribution if you dare to check your email? Autumn: Pretty much! Iyer sees the secular Sabbath as an antidote to our obsession with busyness. It could be as simple as setting aside a day, or even a few hours, to shut off devices, slow down, and rediscover life outside of constant notifications. Rachel: Okay, I like the idea in theory, but let's be real. Taking a whole day off sounds impossible for most people. Work piles up, kids have activities, life doesn't stop. How do you actually make that work? Autumn: It's about intention over perfection. Think of it as creating a "cathedral in time," like Abraham Joshua Heschel said. Even small things, like having an uninterrupted breakfast or spending an hour with your phone on airplane mode, can be mini-restorative rituals. Rachel: Got it. So, it's not necessarily a full-blown tech detox with chanting. It's more about setting boundaries and making space, even if it's just a little bit. Autumn: Exactly. And Iyer shares a story about him and some friends who committed to a day of shared silence. They went to a park, sat quietly, and just listened to the sounds of nature replace conversation. Birds, leaves—they found this real richness in just being present. Something so simple and quiet felt so meaningful. Rachel: That actually sounds kind of... nice. And strangely brave. Imagine trying to organize that with your friends: "Hey, wanna hang out? Great. But, uh, no talking." Autumn: It does feel radical, doesn't it? Because quiet connection challenges our default mode of constant chatter. But Iyer argues that it's this discomfort that makes stillness so transformative. It cuts through distractions and reconnects us to ourselves and others. Rachel: Okay, I get the appeal of intentional silence—like decluttering your mind instead of your closet. But a big hurdle seems to be this guilt we feel when we slow down. We're conditioned to think pausing equals slacking. Autumn: You’re so right, Rachel, and Iyer hits that head-on. He tells the story of a mother who started her own business while raising kids. She felt like stillness was a total luxury, maybe even selfish. But Iyer flips that. If we're constantly tapped out, those around us—family, colleagues—feel that, too. Rest isn't indulgence; it's actually responsible self-care. Rachel: Interesting. So, stress becomes contagious if you don’t deal with it, but stillness... it has this ripple effect in the other direction. Autumn: Exactly. And Iyer uses great examples to show this. Think of Mahatma Gandhi. He was incredibly busy, yet whenever he felt overwhelmed, he doubled down on meditation. Stillness wasn't a luxury for Gandhi; it was essential. He used it to reset and approach challenges with clarity. Rachel: I love that example because it's so counterintuitive. You’d think the busier you are, the less time you have for stillness. But Gandhi flipped that—more stillness, more focus. It's... oddly inspiring. Autumn: It really is. And it ties into another practical thing Iyer talks about—reflective travel as a form of stillness. He mentions that German social worker who turned her air travel into a quiet retreat. Instead of filling flights with work or entertainment, she chose to sit silently for hours and let her mind wander. Rachel: Okay, now I can relate to that. I've definitely done the "cram-the-flight-with-everything" routine—emails, podcasts, three movies back-to-back. But turning that commute into a reset? That's… intriguing. Did it actually work for her? Autumn: Absolutely. She said it helped her release stress and actually prepare for the vacation she had ahead of her. Iyer tried it himself on a flight. He didn't read or work—he just sat quietly, letting memories and reflections surface. By the time he landed, he felt refreshed, even energized. Rachel: So stillness doesn’t need temples or elaborate rituals. It can sneak into small, unexpected moments—like a plane ride or even a quiet corner in your favorite coffee shop. Autumn: Exactly! It’s about reframing those everyday moments—finding stillness in small pauses and recognizing them as opportunities to renew yourself. And yeah, Iyer also has really practical tools, like mindful breathing, technology-free time, connecting with nature, or even five minutes of reflection before bed. Rachel: So, we're talking low-commitment, high-return strategies here. You know, perfect for skeptics like me. Honestly, Autumn, I'm starting to come around. Maybe stillness has a place, even in the chaos of modern life.

Autumn: So, having talked about the practical side, let's zoom out a bit. One of the most powerful things about Iyer’s take on stillness is how universally relevant it seems to be. He doesn’t just see it as a personal hack—it’s framed as something deeply, fundamentally human. It cuts across cultures, time periods, all sorts of circumstances, and just hits this common chord of necessity. Rachel: A “universal necessity," huh? Are we talking about needing it to, like, “survive”, or is it more like a luxury we’ve just been too busy to notice? Autumn: Oh, far from a luxury, Rachel. Iyer's argument is that stillness is foundational. Not just for feeling good personally, but for things like community, even global well-being. Remember that German social worker on the flight to Los Angeles? The one who sat in total silence for twelve hours? Rachel: Right, you mentioned her earlier. No phone, no book, nothing, just… sitting? Honestly, if I saw that, I'd think their battery died or something. Autumn: Exactly! But that’s the point. She actively resisted the urge to fill that space with something. Instead of distracting herself, she made a point of pausing. And she apparently felt like she'd already shed all the stress of her job before she even got to Hawaii, giving herself permission to just “be” there. Rachel: That’s… different. I usually think of time as something to be “used”, especially on a long flight. The idea of using it to almost… reset? Maybe I’ve been doing downtime wrong all along. Autumn: Right? Iyer saw her do that, tried it himself, and apparently had some pretty profound results. Just by not packing every single minute with an activity, he found himself with clarity and a sense of calm that he hadn't expected. It really drives home that it's not about being luxurious; it’s about fulfilling a really basic human need to just reflect and recalibrate in a world that’s constantly trying to grab our attention. Rachel: Okay, so maybe I can chill out about maximizing every second. But you said this idea of stillness isn’t new, right? It has some history, some cultural roots? Autumn: Absolutely. Iyer also talks about Abraham Joshua Heschel’s idea of the Sabbath. Heschel beautifully described it as a “cathedral in time”—a period of time that's set apart from the daily grind. It’s more than just not working; it’s about rediscovering what matters, and fostering a sense of presence with yourself, your community, even the divine. Rachel: A “cathedral in time,” huh? I like that. But Iyer's also talking about how to make that relevant today, right? Because realistically, not everyone’s observing a traditional Sabbath. Autumn: Exactly. He proposes secularizing it, turning it into this intentional pause from constant motion. So, a secular Sabbath could just be setting aside time to disconnect from your devices, to realign yourself—emotionally, mentally. It’s that idea that while the roots are spiritual, the benefits are pretty universal—clarity, connection, a sense of peace. Rachel: Okay, I get the logic. Sort of a digital detox with a purpose. So how would this kind of reflective practice work in, say, really high-pressure environments? I’m thinking of somewhere like Silicon Valley. That doesn’t exactly scream "stillness." Autumn: Interestingly, Rachel, Silicon Valley is actually one of the loudest proponents of mindfulness these days, seeing it as a tool for productivity “and” emotional resilience. Iyer talks about Google’s “Search Inside Yourself” program. They train employees in mindfulness techniques to help boost creativity and manage stress. It's kind of amazing to see hyper-tech cultures acknowledging that innovation doesn’t just come from endless activity. It actually flourishes when people make room for reflection. Rachel: Wait, so a company built on speed and constant innovation is pushing stillness as a way to… perform better? That’s almost too ironic. Autumn: It might seem ironic, but if you think about it, it checks out. Modern neuroscience is backing this up. Our brains need downtime to process things, make connections, spark new ideas. So these intentional pauses—whether it’s, say, five minutes of focused breathing or a structured mindfulness seminar—they’re not just some feel-good indulgence. They're actually an investment in sustainable focus. Rachel: So instead of just grinding harder, knowing when to tap the brakes might be the smarter move. I get it. Going back to what you said earlier, though, Iyer goes beyond just personal benefits, right? He sees a bigger social value to stillness? Autumn: He does, and it’s one of the most compelling parts of his argument. He talks about how stillness becomes this tool for collective well-being. A striking example is the mindfulness programs they’re using with military veterans dealing with PTSD. Many of these people have been through incredibly traumatic experiences, and yet, through practices like focused breathing and meditation, they’re reporting a sense of calm, a sense of resilience. Rachel: Wow. I bet a lot of them were pretty skeptical going in. Autumn: Oh, absolutely. Iyer even shares this story about a Marine named Andrew, who initially dismissed the whole breathwork thing as being "soft." Over time, though, he realized how much it grounded him. He started describing it as a kind of strength—not the hardened endurance he was trained in, but a softer, deeper resilience that actually made him more stable in really high-stress situations. Rachel: So, learning that soft doesn’t necessarily equal weak; it equals adaptable. That's a pretty powerful takeaway, even outside the military. That flexibility, especially when life throws curveballs, often wins over brute force. Autumn: Exactly. And the ripple effect is big. Whether it’s boardrooms, families, or everyday interactions, when individuals prioritize their own calm and clarity, it radiates outwards. Empathy improves, collaboration strengthens, and trust deepens. In that way, stillness ends up transforming not just the individual, but also the communities they’re a part of. Rachel: Which brings me back to that paradox—how something that feels so solitary can actually be so… unifying? I think of that quote from Blaise Pascal, something about how all of humanity’s problems come from not being able to sit quietly in a room alone. There's definitely something to that. Autumn: Absolutely, Pascal’s observation still hits hard. By reconnecting with ourselves internally, we build the foundation for meaningful external connections. How can we truly engage authentically with others if we’re constantly distracted, overwhelmed, or frankly, disconnected to begin with? Rachel: And the craziness we live in—the noise, the demands, the tech—it feels all-consuming. Ironically, it's simplicity that offers the antidote. Autumn: Exactly. That's really Iyer's core conclusion. Stillness, at its heart, is humanity’s way of rediscovering what “really” matters. Whether it's through shared silence, nature, or even simple practices like breathwork, these moments of pausing cross cultures and remind us of what binds us together. A simple, yet vital, bridge to greater understanding and balance. Rachel: Alright, Autumn, I’ll give you that. I came in pretty skeptical, but it’s starting to sound less like “doing nothing” and more like “doing what’s essential.” Maybe… just maybe… I could get on board with this whole "universal stillness" thing.

Autumn: So, Rachel, today we’ve unpacked the art—and necessity—of stillness. From Leonard Cohen’s mountain retreat to Thomas Merton confronting his shadows, and even Pico Iyer’s experiments with “going nowhere,” we’ve seen how moments of intentional pause can renew creativity, foster clarity, and reconnect us with what truly matters. Rachel: Right, it's fascinating how these figures sought stillness, almost like a superpower. But what “really” hit me was how stillness isn’t just for monks or global thinkers, is it? It can actually fit into everyday life. Autumn: Exactly! Whether it’s a secular Sabbath, a quiet moment with your coffee maybe, or even rethinking your next commute, the possibilities for stillness don’t demand monasteries or plane tickets, do they? Rachel: I guess not. I always envision some remote mountaintop or something, but you're saying stillness can be…portable? Autumn: Precisely. Stillness, as Iyer argues, is universal. It transcends culture, profession, and circumstance. It’s not about doing less for the sake of slowing down—it’s about recalibrating, recharging, and ultimately rediscovering balance. Rachel: Recharging… I like that. So it’s not just about laziness, which is what my brain immediately jumps to. Autumn: Oh, definitely not. Rachel: And maybe letting go of the guilt we attach to rest, right? It’s not indulgence, it’s maintenance—for ourselves and the people around us. Think of it like taking your car for a tune-up! Autumn: Exactly! It’s preventative care for the soul, in a way. Rachel: Okay, I’m buying it. So, what's the takeaway here, Autumn? Autumn: Absolutely. So here’s the thought I’ll leave you with: If you find yourself constantly caught in the whirlwind of modern life, ask yourself—what would happen if you just paused? Not to escape, but to listen. To reflect. To truly be present. Maybe, just maybe, the answers we often chase are waiting in the quiet. Rachel: Hmm, interesting angle. It’s like, we’re so busy searching that we don't realize the answers are right next to us, waiting for us to be still enough to notice. Autumn: Precisely! Rachel: And who knows—by slowing down, you might actually get further. It's kind of counterintuitive, isn’t it? Who would’ve thought, right? Autumn: Who indeed. Until next time—here’s to a little less doing and a lot more being.