“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
Aristotle
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.”
Heraclitus
There are moments in life when we find ourselves in unfamiliar places, both physically and emotionally. We wake up in a different city, a hotel room that could be anywhere, in a space that feels suspended between reality and dream. Outside, the world continues its tireless movement—cars weave through crowded streets, voices rise and fall in rhythms we do not fully understand, the pulse of existence beats on. And yet, internally, we feel still. Too still.
But what is this stillness? Is it rest, or is it paralysis? Is it a moment of contemplation, or is it inertia? The mind, left unchecked in these moments, can become a labyrinth, turning endlessly in on itself, trying to find meaning in the silence.
This is the paradox of stillness. Ancient Greek philosophers understood it well. Heraclitus reminds us that life is always in motion, that even as we stand still, everything around us shifts. And yet, to stand apart from the current for too long is to risk disconnection, to feel adrift rather than grounded.
The Struggle Between Action and Waiting
Modern existence is relentless in its demand for action. Productivity is the altar at which we are all expected to worship—move faster, do more, achieve, accumulate, conquer. To sit still, even for a moment, feels like falling behind, like relinquishing control. But is that true? Or is stillness a form of wisdom?
Plato wrote of the nous, the rational mind, the ability to reflect and gain wisdom from contemplation. He would argue that in moments of stillness, we are not failing but preparing. Preparing for the next step, the next move, the next great act. But waiting can feel unbearable when the world seems indifferent to our movement. When doors remain shut and voices do not answer back.
So, what does one do in the waiting?
The Anxiety of the Unwritten Chapter
There is a peculiar form of dread that comes with feeling untethered—when the road ahead seems obscured, and every attempt at forward motion feels uncertain. The mind races ahead, predicting failure, rejection, irrelevance. The weight of potential presses heavily on the shoulders.
Socrates famously stated, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” But what happens when we examine life too much? When self-reflection turns into self-doubt? When the sheer number of choices available leaves us paralyzed rather than liberated?
There is a temptation in these moments to retreat, to wait for clarity to arrive like some divine revelation. But clarity is rarely given freely. It must be sought, unearthed through movement—through being in the world rather than observing it from the sidelines.
The Danger of Prolonged Stillness
If stillness is necessary for wisdom, then movement is necessary for survival. The ancient Stoics believed that virtue was not found in retreat but in engagement with the world. Marcus Aurelius, one of the last great Stoic philosophers, wrote, “Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.”
To wait for motivation, for the right moment, for external validation—this is to surrender to fate rather than shape it. The reality is, there is no perfect moment. No divine sign. No absolute certainty that guarantees a path forward. There is only the choice to act or to remain stagnant.
But action does not always mean grand gestures. Sometimes, it is a small step: sending an email, making a phone call, writing one sentence, stepping outside. Small movements that defy the weight of inertia.
Finding Meaning in the Unfinished Story
If Heraclitus is right, then we are never the same person from one moment to the next. The version of ourselves that sits in stillness today is not the same as the one who will move tomorrow. This is both liberating and terrifying. It means we are not defined by what we haven’t done, by the doors that have not yet opened.
It means that each moment holds the potential for transformation.
Perhaps the greatest lesson of stillness is that it is temporary. That no moment of uncertainty lasts forever. That waiting is not inaction, and stillness is not defeat. The river moves forward, whether we resist it or not. And eventually, we move with it.
“To him who is in fear, everything rustles.”
Sophocles
Fear magnifies the unknown, but motion diminishes fear. So, what is the next step? Perhaps it is simply rising from the chair. Opening the door. Taking a breath and stepping into the day. The future is not waiting to be discovered. It is waiting to be made.
Photo by Jordan Whitt on Unsplash
