Trusting Yourself in Empty Time
Letting go of urgency to listen for what really matters.
Prioritising Yourself.
Being still doesn’t seem like one of the ways.
Parts of me say inspiration is running out.
You have to squeeze it all into now.
It’s not going to last.
Time is running out.
You’ll never get to it.
You’re not going to make it.
It’s not safe to be still.
But if you’re a living, breathing animal on this Earth, then safety is your existence. It’s not just that we don’t want to be still—it goes deeper. It’s instinctual.
Like a computer program deviating from its code, stillness goes against the survival wiring. The program does what it does. And for us, the program has always been: survive.
So we move through our days pretending safety is handled, but everything about how we behave says otherwise. Slowing down feels dangerous. That’s why we struggle to do it. Most of human history has taught us to keep running.
But if you’re one of the lucky ones—your basic needs are met—then stillness may now be the most adaptive response we can cultivate.
The Delusion of "Getting to Everything"
Oliver Burkeman, in Four Thousand Weeks, gets brutally honest about time. He says: let go of the fantasy. You are not going to get to everything. You’ll never catch up. And the to-do list? It’s infinite. You won’t arrive at that magical moment when the conditions are finally just right for the thing you’ve been putting off.
So then what?
Burkeman suggests this: confront the terrible reality that you are going to fail—spectacularly—at doing it all. Take a breath. There’s relief in that. Now you’re closer to the truth. And from that place, the real question becomes:
How do I spend my time when I finally allow myself to make space for what actually matters to me?
The answer isn’t obvious. In fact, it’s more confronting than the to-do list. Because it requires something we’ve learned not to do: trust ourselves.
Busy vs. Free
This has been alive in me lately—this tension between “busy” and “free.”
Oddly, being busy is easier. It carries pressure, sure, but the decisions are made for me. No room for the question: What do I really want to do right now?
Freedom is harder. It asks me to choose. And to trust myself enough to follow through. It might mean doing something not obviously “productive.” Like writing. Like dancing—something I left on the back burner for far too long.
And yet, when the time opens up, I freeze. I hear myself say:
“I can’t trust myself with this time. Not me. I’ll mess it up. I’ll fail. I’ll be exposed. Everyone will see how flawed I really am.”
So I go back to control. To what I know.
Trust Doesn’t Mean Getting It Right
But then a quieter voice appears.
What if you could be yourself… and get it wrong?
What if that’s not failure—but freedom?
What if trusting yourself isn’t about being right…
but about being real?
What if right and wrong disappear—and only learning remains?
You can be beautifully imperfect.
And in this moment, with the space you have, that might just be the next best thing.