Bodies have skin; cells have membranes; water droplets have surface tension. These containing, enveloping boundaries allow a thing to exist. Without them, there is no “thing,” just an undifferentiated mass of stuff. With them, whatever it is can grow, flourish, and explore its unique way of being.

Or we might only give ourselves credit when we finish the whole job. Under those conditions, we get one pat on the back. That’s it.

You leave it gracefully, knowing that you’ve made a good start on a difficult task and the next step is ready for you.

The boundary helps us make appropriate distinctions between Me and Not Me, and so helps us remember who we are.

With the close-down, our options multiply. We don’t have to push through—

procrastinate because we hate filing papers. Or maybe we feel burdened by the enormous task of doing our taxes. We might even feel oppressed by the consequences of figuring out our purpose in life.

When the rhythms around us aren’t anywhere near our own, and when they’re loud, insistent, or pervasive, we can easily abandon our own rhythms.

This practice of letting what we did sink in is the key point. As you saw in the previous chapter, most of us focus so much on what we still need to do that we don’t notice what we have accomplished.

we acknowledge that taking real breaks generates energy;