Women over 60: It's time to press pause
and give yourself the gift of waiting
The Art of Waiting Without Withering
What would happen if, for one single day, you pressed pause every hour to sit still for just two minutes? Would you unravel? Or would something new begin to take root?
Yesterday, I decided to find out.
I set the timer on my phone for one hour. Each time the alarm went off, I walked to my favorite pink chair, settled in, and did a simple sitting breath meditation for two minutes. Then I reset the timer and went about my day.
I did this all day long.
Now imagine yourself with me: your phone buzzes, you walk to your own chair, you close your eyes. You breathe in… you breathe out. Just two minutes. The timer dings, you return to the dishes, the emails, the laundry, the scrolling. Then an hour later, you do it again.
Here’s what I noticed as the hours unfolded:
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I began to give serious thought to what and why I wanted — without slipping into the trap of figuring out the how.
Instead of a midday slump, my energy built as the day went on.( did NOT need a nap!) By evening, I felt a new pulse of vitality running through me.
I caught myself smiling for no reason at all. It just felt good to feel good.
My creative block burst wide open. I found myself back at the easel, painting again — after such a long dry spell I had nearly convinced myself I might retire from painting.
And a forgotten desire surfaced: I’ve always wanted to learn how to decorate cakes. That dream bubbled up as if it had just been waiting for a little disruption to bring it forward.
Now, what does this have to do with being a woman over 60?
In a word — everything.
I just gave you a snapshot of one ordinary day, disrupted on purpose. I tested an idea. I documented the experience. And I discovered how tiny, intentional breaks in rhythm — paired with meditation — can reset the spirit in ways I didn’t expect.
Here’s the bigger truth: waiting is not wasted.
Waiting doesn’t mean nothing is happening. It means the roots are going deeper.
I thought about John Jacob Astor, who at age 70 disrupted his entire life. After his wife died, he couldn’t bear to stay in the home they had shared. So what did he do? He destroyed it and built the Astor House Hotel.
That’s disruption on a grand scale. But here’s the connection: even a massive reinvention like that doesn’t spring from chaos. It grows out of a willingness to wait inside the unknown until the next right vision appears. Astor actually waited a few years before taking that giant step.
Astor’s disruption was a hotel. Mine, at least yesterday, was two minutes in a pink chair with a timer. The scale is different — but the principle is the same: refusing to wither while you wait, and instead using that waiting as a springboard for what’s next.
And that’s where you come in. Disruption doesn’t have to mean tearing down a house. Sometimes it’s as small as shifting when you brush your teeth, walking a new route, or sitting quietly for two minutes an hour.
Each disruption is a clue — a breadcrumb on a treasure hunt — leading you back to parts of yourself you thought were gone. Painting. Cake decorating. Smiling for no reason at all.
So I’ll leave you with this question: what small disruption could you invite into your day today — and what treasure might it uncover in you?
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