How Leaders Can Stop Rushing Through Life: A Practical Guide to Presence, Boundaries, and “Enough”

The other night, I was doing that thing where you mentally tally your to-do list and immediately regret it. My list felt like it was multiplying faster than I could even think the word overwhelmed.

My inner monologue went something like this: Ugh, there’s too much to do. I just need a day where time stands still so I can catch up. But if I had another day, I’d fill it too and still feel behind. Honestly, we should have a designated rest day where stores are closed, businesses are closed, nothing’s happening, and no one can schedule anything.

I shared this brilliant idea with Philippe, who looked at me and said, “Like the Sabbath?”

Touché. Humanity has understood the importance of rest for thousands of years — and many of us still treat it like an indulgence instead of a necessity.

The Strange Math of Modern Leadership

A few nights later, I found myself talking with my six-year-old about his birthday and Halloween — which happen in the same week because the universe enjoys chaos. With those moments behind us, he moved straight on to Christmas. The mothership of deadlines, sugar, and obligations.

We did the math: fifty-four days until Christmas.

Immediately, my brain sprinted into planning mode: Take a week out for Thanksgiving, two for Christmas break… which leaves five working weeks in the year. Add errands, holiday parties, shopping, and school events — suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in.

It’s the strangest kind of math: subtracting time by adding joy.

And right there, I felt the familiar panic rise. There’s never enough. There will never be enough. Even if I invented a thirteenth month, I’d somehow fill it.

When will sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee and a book be “enough”?
When does rest become time well spent — instead of something I’m “allowing” myself between deadlines?

People always say, “Just take it one day at a time.”

Sure. But how? Did I miss the class where they actually taught that? Because every time I try, my brain bolts ahead — like it’s allergic to now.

Maybe the Question Isn’t “How Do I Find More Time?”

I’ve read the books. I’ve highlighted Mary Oliver’s famous question about “your one wild and precious life.” I’ve underlined Oliver Burkeman’s reminders that we are finite mortals with limited time.

But knowing all of this hasn’t magically made me better at:

  • asking for help,

  • saying no, or

  • setting a boundary around a deadline.

So maybe the real question isn’t how to create more time —
but how to actually feel the time we already have.

Maybe presence isn’t about slowing down.
Maybe it’s choosing to be in this day, even when it’s messy, loud, and overflowing.

What I’m Trying This Week

Here’s what “presence” looks like right now:

  • Saying no to one thing this week without an apology.

  • Lighting a candle before I open my laptop.

  • Looking my kid in the eye instead of looking at the clock.

  • Letting one thing take as long as it takes.

There are fifty-eight days left in this year.
Not to use.
Not to maximize.
Just to live.

And if anyone starts a petition for a national do-nothing day?
I’ll be the first to sign.

Until then, the most radical thing I can do — maybe the most radical thing any leader can do — is simply be here.

Tiny Leadership Tip: What “Being Here” Actually Looks Like

I’m not talking about an abstract mindfulness exercise. I’m talking about small, physical cues that tell your nervous system you’ve arrived.

💡 The squeak of your sneakers in a quiet room.
💡 The clink of your spoon against your coffee mug.
💡 The odd grace of progressive lenses forcing your gaze forward.
💡 The soft sigh of unexpected time when a meeting ends early.
💡 The weight of your phone when you set it down — on purpose.

That’s presence. Not an app. Not a retreat. Just your body remembering it’s not behind.

A Little Nudge for You

If any of this inspires you to create more space, practice presence, or slow your inner sprint…

Go ahead and cancel a meeting with me.

I’ll still be here next week.

— Kate

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