STOP. JUST F*CKING STOP.

A love letter to doing less, caring more, and deleting 50 gigs of digital clutter in a cold bedroom in Mexico

Let me tell you about Danny, a young man I’ve known for ten years. He just turned thirty.
Between his job and obligations, he's got no time for anything. None. Zilch. And now, he’s my first guest here in San Miguel de Allende since I bought the house back in November. I was working most of the day—he was hiding out in the bedroom, which mercifully stays cool in this heatwave that feels like the devil’s armpit.

When we finally met up for dinner, I asked what he did all day.

“I went through photos,” he said.
“Like a few hundred?” I asked.
“No,” he said, smiling like he’d just scratched an itch in his soul. “Like fifty gigs worth.”

Fifty. Gigs.
Gone.

You could see the freedom in his face.
“I’d never be able to do that at home,” he said. “I’d never find the time.”

And that hit me harder than I expected.

Because here’s the thing—we’re all suffocating under the weight of shoulds.
Should post.
Should reply.
Should follow up, go out, show up, stay relevant.
Should get ahead.
Should not fall behind.
Should, should, should—until we don’t even remember what stillness feels like.

And stillness?
It’s not a luxury.
It’s a f*cking requirement.

It reminds me of this woman in the UK who runs a retreat for women where they don’t do yoga, or group healing, or curated transformational bullshit. They just… read.

Yep.
They sit in castles or by pools, wrapped in blankets or bikinis, and devour books like oxygen. Maybe someone books a massage. Maybe there’s a wine tasting. But mostly? It’s about checking out of the noise and checking back in with yourself.

Tell me that’s not revolutionary.

We’re so addicted to productivity, we’ve forgotten how to be. Not hustle, not optimize, not improve. Just… be.

So here’s a wild idea.
If you're planning a retreat—or hell, just planning a life—what if you left room for the pause?
Not the filler activity.
Not the optional happy hour.
But the kind of pause where someone can delete fifty gigs of crap they've been too busy to deal with. Or finally nap for three hours without guilt. Or—god forbid—read a damn book from start to finish in the same chair, under the same patch of sun, without needing to prove anything to anyone.

Maybe we don’t need to cram more into our lives.
Maybe we need less.
Less chaos.
Less content.
Less performing.

Just enough space to breathe again.
And maybe that’s where the real magic happens.

So go on. Build your retreat. Plan your days. Live your life.
But for the love of all things sacred—leave room for the stillness.
Leave room for the nothing.

Because sometimes, that’s exactly where everything changes.