Sammy and the Space Between

Over the past few weeks, as I’ve made my transition from one side of the country to the other, as I pruned, purged, and packed my entire life to fit in two relatively small boxes (well, three if you count the car, which carried the most important part of my life: me, and my best friend), traveling through eleven states, living out of two suitcases, one of which was packed much more appropriately than the other, staying in hotels and ultimately an Airbnb (which would become my apartment once those two boxes arrived), and despite all the doing and going, I’ve also done a lot of one thing… waiting. As a Cancerian, it’s vulnerable to be out of my shell, and for me, my shell, my sanctuary is my home, my cozy, hygge-esque little nook.

We’re Always Waiting for Something

We’re always waiting for something. It’s easy to have a sort of greed, desire, or longing for something to come or something to go away. Some of us are waiting until things are just the right conditions. Others are waiting for a shoe to drop, or a beat to drop. Me, I’ve been waiting for my U-Haul boxes to arrive. And waiting for life to start again.

Sammy and the Seven Minutes

One of the ways I filled my time while waiting was spending time with my new housemates. Over dinner one evening, the older of my two housemates noticed the ravenous desire to overconsume all the food. He likes to call this part of himself “Sammy,” naming it the way parts work does, so he can see it as a pattern wearing his face rather than mistake it for who he actually is. The younger one suggested waiting seven minutes to see if his body truly needed more sustenance, or if Sammy was mindlessly stuffing his face.

Here’s my logic on the seven minutes, for what it’s worth. It’s not settled science so much as my own practice, built from a few different places. The research on satiety puts the real delay at closer to fifteen or twenty minutes from your first bite to your brain registering fullness, not your last bite. So if you’ve already been eating for seven or ten minutes by the time a craving for more shows up, waiting another seven gives those first-bite signals time to finally land. The brain knows you’re eating, so it releases dopamine as a reward, even though your digestive system hasn’t caught up yet to tell you you’re full. Seven minutes is my number, not science’s. It’s close enough to work.

This reminded me of when I smoked weed. I was told to smoke, then wait seven minutes before smoking more. If I truly needed more, I would notice that seven minutes had passed and the desire or craving is still there. If I didn’t need more, time would pass without ever noticing the clock. Clearly I didn’t need more.

The Practice of the Pause

There’s a lot to be said for the pause, the waiting, the noticing, and allowing things to do what they will. We want an instant fix. We want immediate safety or comfort. And the amount of time we’re willing to wait has shortened to almost zero. But what happens if we slow down, for seven minutes, at least once a day? There are so many benefits and ways to apply this practice. Notice the place where you find a pattern or habit you want to change. Any pattern, big or small. I suggest a small one. You’ll be surprised at how interconnected it all is: practicing being present, noticing what’s going on in your mind, body, and soul, allowing time to do its thing, slowing down to notice the systems and momentum that have driven patterns and manifestations in your life. Introducing the energy of change in one segment of our lives ripples out into every facet. None of our inner being, our patterns, our habits lives in isolation. To pull on one string is to move the entire fabric. Practicing the pause with food has translated to noticing when I’m on my phone attempting to feed a craving for connection, allowing me to stop scrolling and start reaching out to friends directly.

To pull on one string is to move the entire fabric.

No Script Required

Waiting seven minutes to change your life. The invitation here is not to do nothing for seven minutes. It’s to become present, curious, and playful. There is not one script for this process. It really depends on your entry point, your area of focus, and your environment in any given moment. I’ve sat and meditated, intimately noticing the sensations of my body as I breathe. And if I’m out at dinner, for example, I might just tune into one sense, really listening to the room. When I take that bit of food that makes me notice I’m still eating, I will drop into the textures of my food changing as I chew, slowing down, allowing the process of breaking down my food to unfold with a moment of ease rather than expediency. I might journal for a few minutes, or if I am with a friend that’s able to meet me, I might talk about what I’m noticing in my mind and body with them in real time. The process will enlighten both of us, as we’re both now pausing and noticing.

Waiting in My New Skin

In the case of my transition, the pausing, curiosity, and presence afforded me the time to experience my life as it’s unfolding. It allowed me to experience the way I moved into this new environment: presence let me set up without getting in my own way, without abandoning myself, and it yielded an efficient unpacking and settling in. And it let me see what old patterns and habits I’ve carried with me in this meat suit of a vehicle, driving a Subaru Crosstrek 2,000+ miles across the country.

Waiting in an Empty Room

That same waiting has followed me into circle. This month has been slim. For a couple of weeks now, I’ve shown up to Recalibration Circle and sat there alone. Last week, one circle member dropped in for a few short minutes to receive some positive energy while their partner was going through a health issue. Another was attempting to show up. Beyond that, it’s mostly been me and the empty screen.

There is something to showing up and waiting to see who will join me. It’s part of the practice of recalibrating, and of this waiting. Being present with what is unfolding as it’s unfolding. Being with the thoughts that move through me. Noticing my tendency to fill the time with other stuff until someone else shows up, yet here I am showing up for myself, noticing where I land with that: in ease, or in discomfort. What’s the story I’m telling myself? And how does that feel in my nervous system?

The Invitation

So here’s an invitation, if you want it. Pick one small craving or habit this week, a snack, your phone, anything you reach for on autopilot. Wait seven minutes before you act on it. Notice what’s actually there once you do. You don’t need a script. Sit with it, walk with it, journal it, call a friend and think out loud together. Just give it seven minutes, once a day, for a week, and see what you notice.

And if you want to bring what you notice into a room, I’ll be in circle. Waiting, present, and curious for when you’re ready to join. Mondays at 7pm ET / 4pm PT.

This post is part of Echoes from the Circle — reflections, teachings, and practices drawn from the Humanity Recalibrated community. If something here resonated, there’s more waiting for you at HumanityRecalibrated.org

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I’d love to hear from you:

What are you waiting for right now — and what would it feel like to wait on purpose, just for seven minutes? Drop it in the comments.