Growing older is giving me strange and unexpected gifts—clarity, simplicity, and a deeper knowing of the kind of life I want to live. But these gifts do not arrive all at once, nor do they come through striving. They seem to reveal themselves slowly, often hidden behind the foolishness, complexity, or certainties I once held dear.
There is a particular exhaustion that comes from always striving but never arriving. It feels like treading water—working harder and faster yet staying in the same place. I see it in my own life and in the lives of so many around me: a restless anxiety that tells us we must always be productive, always improving, always securing our own future. The pressure is relentless. And the moment we pause, doubt creeps in: Have I done enough? Am I enough? If I rest, will everything fall apart?
Walter Brueggemann (Sabbath as Resistance) names this restlessness as more than a modern affliction—it has deep theological and cultural roots. The Protestant work ethic once tied faith to proving one’s worth through service, but over time, this emphasis on work became a broader cultural expectation: our worth is measured by what we produce.
Neuroscience helps explain why this belief is so deeply ingrained. Our brains are wired for reward-seeking behavior, and in a culture that equates worth with productivity, we become addicted to the dopamine hits of achievement. Psychologists call this the hedonic treadmill—the cycle of chasing the next goal, believing it will bring fulfillment, only to find the feeling fleeting. Meanwhile, our nervous system remains in chronic stress, conditioned to stay in a constant state of striving.
We see this everywhere: the pressure to sink or swim by our own effort, the belief that treading water is never enough—we must always be moving toward the next goal, the next success, the next win.
But at what cost? This cultural script is exhausting and dehumanizing. It leads to burnout, stress, loneliness, anxiety, and a gnawing sense of inadequacy. It cannot produce healthy, whole people.
We struggle to rest because we’ve internalized the lie that to stop striving means failing. That rest equals weakness.
Yet, the wisdom of spiritual traditions—and the rhythms of nature and our own bodies—tell a different story. The good life is not about endless striving but about learning to trust, to let go, to surrender. To develop a rhythm of rest.
If treading water is the metaphor for anxious striving, then floating may be the image for rest. Floating requires trust—it means being held up by the water’s buoyancy rather than fighting against it. Science confirms that when we allow our nervous system to shift into rest (what some researchers call the relaxation response), our bodies heal, our minds clear, and our sense of connection to others deepens.
The reality of being held means recognizing that we are sustained by something greater than ourselves. It means allowing grace, community, and Presence to uphold us instead of exhausting ourselves trying to stay afloat. It means believing we are loved and worthy—not because of what we produce, but simply because we are.
So how do we move from treading water to being held? It begins with small, embodied practices:
- Pausing before reacting – Creating moments of stillness, even mid-conversation, to remember we do not have to prove our worth.
- Practicing sabbath – Intentionally stepping away from productivity to embrace rest as a sacred act.
- Breath prayer or silent sitting – Letting go of the need to fill every moment with thought or action.
- Leaning into relationships – Allowing others to help carry what we were never meant to bear alone.
The great gift of being held is this: We were never meant to hold ourselves up alone. We do not have to prove our worth through ceaseless effort. We are already being held. The only question is whether we will trust the water of reality enough to stop flailing and let ourselves float.
You are.
I am.
Here.
Shane Ash 