I opened this week’s practice feeling the weight of a busy year already pressing on my shoulders. It’s only late January 2026, yet every day seems loaded with obligations and unpredictable change. Rather than escaping the pressure, I invited us to sit with it. Slowing down is not about checking out—it’s about learning how to stay with ourselves when life is demanding.
After settling into a comfortable seat or lying down, I guided us to notice the breath. A good breath needs space; a collapsed posture makes it hard to breathe deeply. In the same way, a collapsed schedule makes it hard to notice what matters. So we straighten our spines and make room for air to enter. Breathing becomes our first boundary: air moves from the outside world into our bodies and back out again. Feeling that transition is like noticing the boundary between work and rest. How do we let the world in without being consumed by it? How do we exhale and let go?
With the breath as an anchor, I spoke about edges and boundaries. In meditation and in life, much of our stress comes not from separation but from unclear boundaries. When we don’t know where we end and the world begins, decisions get murky. Think about a colleague who asks for help when you’re already overloaded—without a clear sense of your limits, you either overextend and resent it, or shut down entirely. Boundaries are not walls; they’re edges that make contact possible.
We began by feeling the body’s weight against the seat or floor. Sitting bones rooted, spine tall, hands resting. This groundedness is like feeling our feet under the conference table before a tense meeting. When we know what supports us, we can show up without clutching. I invited everyone to pay attention to subtle details: the texture of clothing on skin, the temperature difference between inhaled and exhaled air, ambient sounds in the room. These small sensations teach us that even in stillness there’s constant movement. At work, a heated exchange with a colleague can feel like one solid “problem.” But beneath the story are moment‑to‑moment sensations—tightness in the chest, heat in the face—that we can attend to and work with.
Then we zoomed our attention. First we spotlighted the center line from the crown of the head down through the throat, heart, belly and pelvis. This “inner line” represents our presence—our nearest and dearest parts. In daily life, it’s the part of us that holds core values, like integrity or compassion. I paused at each point, breathing into the heart space, the belly, the pelvis. A real‑life example came to mind: when my child melts down after a long day, staying anchored in my own body allows me to respond rather than react. I breathe into my heart before speaking.
Next we traced the outer edges—feet, legs, hips, ribs, arms, shoulders, both sides of the face. This “outer line” reflects our participation in the world: how we touch colleagues, family, strangers. In leadership, this might be the line where healthy accountability meets overreach. As we scanned from inside to outside and back again, I encouraged a gentle curiosity about places that felt vivid and places that felt vague. Just as we might feel confident about some responsibilities at work and unsure about others, the body has both clear and blurry edges. That’s normal.
Throughout the practice I asked a simple question: Where do I end and where does the world begin? It’s a question we can carry into a full inbox, a hard conversation with a partner, a crowded grocery store. Knowing what belongs to us and what doesn’t enables us to act wisely. The Stoics remind us to know what’s within our control and what is not; peace begins at that boundary. Clarity is a form of compassion—for ourselves and for others.
We closed by returning to the breath, allowing a few minutes of silence. Slowly we wiggled fingers and toes, gently coming back into the room. Before ending, I shared that our community continues beyond this recording. On Substack we discuss paying attention together; in daily life we practice it whenever we pause to notice. May this practice help you meet the edges of your life with kindness.
With Meta may you be well.
💬 Let’s Reflect Together
* When during your day do you notice your boundaries becoming blurry? How does your body signal that you’re overextending or shutting down?
* Think of a recent meeting or conversation. How might it have been different if you had paused to feel your breath entering and leaving your body?
* The Stoics advised focusing on what’s within our control. How does that principle show up in your work or parenting life?
* In moments of conflict, what simple practice could help you return to your own presence before reacting?
Use as journal prompts or share your reflections in the comments—I’d love to hear how impermance is alive in your practice.
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