Some lives spend far too long holding their breath. When we focus on fulfilling our duties, caring for our families, and trying not to let go of our responsibilities, we may only realize later how exhausted we truly are. Even when we continue working with a smile on our face, there may be times when we cannot clearly explain what is making things so difficult.

Even the strength to endure has limits

One lecture offers the metaphor of a haenyeo, a diver who descends deep into the water. The deeper she goes, the more she can bring back, but she cannot stay below for long. She needs time to come back up and breathe. If she skips that time and keeps descending, she will eventually run out of breath.

Our work can be similar. A single period of focus and a single act of responsibility are valuable, but when they repeat every day and even our opportunities to rest disappear, the situation changes. Recognizing that something is difficult is not proof of weakness; it may be a sign that we have endured for too long.

Where are my breathing spaces?

Breathing room does not always come in the form of a grand vacation or complete freedom. There may be moments when time passes quickly while talking with someone, or moments when we become so absorbed in an activity that we lose track of time. In the transcript, such moments are called one’s “breath.”

We do not need to decide the entire direction of our lives right now. We can simply ask ourselves:

• What am I doing when I feel calm, as though I have briefly come to a stop?
• With whom can I be without having to explain my story?
• Is my current work truly what I want, or am I holding on to something that merely looks good?

It is okay if the answers are not clear. Simply holding these questions can help us step a little way out of a life lived entirely through endurance.

Choosing the next scene while breathing again

There may be things we still need to endure for some time. If so, we need moments to come back up and breathe along the way. We might also gradually look for work and relationships in which we do not have to hold our breath as much.

Either way, the point is not to drive ourselves harder. It is to learn where we become short of breath and where breathing comes more easily. What looks good and what we can truly give our hearts to may be different. As we slowly examine that difference, pausing becomes a time to choose our direction again, not a form of giving up.

For someone who has already made it sufficiently far through the first half, there is no obligation to hurry and prove anything in the second half. Today may be the first day of the rest of our lives, but we do not need to run at full speed from the very first day. Even a brief moment of setting down the pen and looking out the window can be a choice that makes room for the breath we need to live again.