This morning was like any other. Commuters filled the roads of Fort Collins, eyes fixed ahead, minds already deep into their to-do lists. You could see it at the stoplights—the tension, the focus, the urgency. Everyone on a mission. Everyone going somewhere fast.
Then something unexpected happened.
A pair of geese and a trail of seven or eight fluffy goslings began waddling across a major road. No crosswalk, no warning—just nature doing what it does. And something remarkable followed: every car came to a stop. No honking. No frustration. Just a quiet collective pause.
It was as if time bent for a moment. Not because we chose it, but because something outside of us demanded it. Something soft and wild interrupted the chaos. And everyone—strangers, commuters, busy people with places to be—sat still and watched.
It struck me how rare and beautiful these forced pauses are. How often do we stop just to notice? Not often enough, at least for me. But moments like this—whether it’s a solar eclipse, a herd of elk, or a gaggle of geese—remind us that there’s a rhythm to life beyond our schedules. That wonder still exists, if we’re paying attention.
Here’s the thing: slowing down isn’t always convenient. It usually doesn’t fit neatly into a planner. But it might just be essential to living fully. We weren’t meant to live at full speed all the time.
So here are two ways I’m trying to be more intentional about slowing down:
1. Build in “stop and notice” time. Whether it’s five minutes on the porch in the morning or turning off the podcast during your drive home—make space to notice what’s around you. Look up. Look out. Let your senses guide you for a few minutes a day.
2. Let nature interrupt you. When something beautiful shows up—a sunrise, snowfall, or a goose crossing—don’t rush past it. Let it stop you. Welcome the pause as a sacred interruption, a subtle reminder that there’s more to this life than just getting things done.
What moments have stopped you in your tracks lately?
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