In this week's post, I share what happened when a grief reminder interrupted my busiest morning, and what it revealed about the states we are working so hard to access. Join me for an exploration of the curious paradox at the heart of our practices.

FEBRUARY 19, 2026

“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” - Rumi

Yesterday was the anniversary of my best friend’s passing.

I have it marked in my calendar like a birthday because every year, especially on this day, I celebrate the friendship we had with deep gratitude.

This year, the reminder popping up on my screen startled me. Between getting the flu and trying to wrap up a challenging semester at university, I had been busy.

I had been lost in mundane struggles that we get lost in every day and the little green box with a shiny purple heart that appeared instantly made me pause.

In my mind, I was transported back to middle school, where we first met, during a difficult time after my family moved from Germany to Canada.

Our friendship spanned decades, encompassed all the ups and downs one can imagine teenagers and then young adults would go through, and was always the one thing I could count on when nothing else made sense.

As I looked through old pictures and found myself laughing at some of the incredible adventures we had, something in me shifted.

This morning, my world had been dictated by illness, deadlines, logistics, and the next task in front of me.

Suddenly, I found myself in an entirely different state of awareness.

Something had opened up inside me. I was no longer in task mode. Everything went silent and yet I could very clearly hear my own heartbeat.

The busywork that had consumed my entire morning suddenly felt absurd. Why did any of it matter when there is so much more to life?

I felt gratitude for the friendship we had. Child-like cheekiness at the ridiculous adventures we survived together.

My WhatsApp pinged, my phone rang, and more little green notification boxes appeared on my screen.

I sat there, stunned, wondering what had just happened.

But I hadn't meditated my way there. I hadn't done breathwork or journaling or any of the practices I use with clients. 

I had been yanked out of management mode by grief and memory, and suddenly everything I had been pushing so hard for all morning was just... there.

Available. Effortless.

I had spent the entire morning pushing through tasks, managing my flu, and trying to stay on top of everything. And in one involuntary moment, everything I had been working so hard to access was just there.

Flow. Connection. Presence. The very things we strive for through meditation practices, breathwork sessions, and nervous system regulation techniques had arrived the moment I stopped trying.

I think about how often we approach these states as something to achieve. We schedule time for presence. We effort our way toward flow. We work hard at letting go.

When we are in task mode, in management mode, or in survival mode, the nervous system is activated in a way that blocks access to the very states we are trying to reach. The harder we push to get there, the harder it becomes to access them.

Think about the last time you experienced unexpected flow or connection. Maybe it happened during a conversation you weren't planning to have. Or in a moment when you were frustrated about something, stepped away, and all of a sudden it worked itself out. 

What was happening right before that opening? Maybe you had been working through your email inbox, or prepping for your next meeting, or coordinating logistics with your team.

And what interrupted that pattern long enough for everything to become available again?

The paradox is that presence, flow, and connection are always there. But we cannot effort our way into them because the effort itself is what keeps them out of reach.

Could it be that we have built entire practices around accessing states that are only unavailable because we are practicing?

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