Stop Rushing, Start Living

Time really does slip away when you’re not looking. Today is Monday, August 4th, 2025. Noon. Somehow it’s already August — the last month of summer. Another Bodrum summer almost gone.

I’ve been coming here every summer since 2000. That’s twenty-five summers in a row. A quarter century of mornings by the sea, late breakfasts, quiet afternoons with my laptop, and nights that smell like salt and grilled fish. I love this place — the food, the breeze, the olive trees. It feels like home.

But this summer, sitting under the Bodrum sun, a strange thought crossed my mind:

How many summers do I have left?

Ten? Twenty? Nobody knows. And when you really let that sink in, it changes everything.

The Endless Rush

For most of my life, I was running.

Running to hit milestones.
Running to earn more, build more, prove more.
Running so fast I barely noticed the present moment passing by.

Kids to raise. Bills to cover. Businesses to grow. A future to secure. That fancy car. That next big phone launch. That promotion or milestone. We’re raised — maybe even brainwashed — to believe one thing:

Work harder, hustle more, push through pain, and you’ll eventually get what you want.

And I believed it. Through my 20s and 30s, I worked day and night. I sacrificed weekends. I pushed past exhaustion. And yes, I achieved what I set out to achieve. But I didn’t realize the price I was paying until one day, I couldn’t push anymore.

The Crash After 40

It happened after I turned 40.

I woke up and felt… nothing. No drive. No spark. All the things that used to excite me — cars, gadgets, clothes — felt pointless. I was tired. Unmotivated.

I caught myself asking ridiculous but real questions:

Who am I?
Why am I working this hard?
How many iPhone models will I live to see? I’m on iPhone 13 now — will I make it to iPhone 30?

It sounds funny now, but back then it scared me. I felt lost. Like I’d been running a marathon without knowing where the finish line was — or if it even existed.

The Pause

So I stopped.

Not completely — I still worked — but the hustle died. No more late-night marathons. No more endless pushing. I let myself breathe.

And in that space, I started searching. I read Stoic philosophy. I dove into Rumi’s writings. I discovered a book called Reality Transurfing — strange title, but it clicked.

They all pointed to the same idea: forcing life rarely works. Setting an intention, taking small but smart steps, and then trusting life to meet you halfway — that’s where peace lives.

It wasn’t easy. I’d spent decades believing control was everything. But I decided to try.

The Question That Changed Me

I began with one tiny habit: asking myself,

“What am I doing now?”

That’s it.

I asked it while working, walking, eating, even arguing. And the brain — it always answers. The moment you ask, it pulls you into the present. No more spiraling about the future. No more replaying the past.

It’s simple, but it changed me. It anchored me to now.

The Shift

Over time, something inside me softened.

I worried less about the future. Regretted less about the past. My anxiety eased. I smiled more. I became kinder to myself.

I also stopped caring so much about what people thought — about my choices, my pace, my boundaries. That was huge.

And strangely enough, my businesses improved. Working less but thinking clearer turned out to be more effective than all those late-night hustles. I was calmer. Sharper. Even braver.

A Different Way to Live

I no longer believe in chasing everything. I set intentions. I take consistent, manageable actions. And then — I let life handle the rest.

There’s no rush anymore. No forcing. No hustle for the sake of hustling.

Just living.

Right Here, Right Now

This morning I sat on the terrace at 6am, coffee in hand, watching the Aegean. The water was flat, almost silver. A soft breeze came off the sea. Boats drifted slowly in the distance.

For the first time in years, I didn’t think about deadlines or milestones or what’s next. I just sat there. Alive. Present. Counting this summer as one more I got to live — and grateful I noticed it while it was still here.