There are seasons in life that feel like they serve no real purpose- days that blur together, moments that feel directionless, and a version of ourselves we barely recognize. It’s like being stuck in a filler episode: not much happens, the plot doesn’t move, and you’re left wondering when the real story will pick back up.
Recently, I’ve learned that these quiet, in-between moments aren’t meaningless. They’re the spaces where we learn to love ourselves the most. The spaces where the director is purposefully holding onto that very moment and whispering, “Let’s hold this shot for a little while longer.” This episode may not be flashy or full of milestones, but it holds a different kind of value; the kind rooted in healing, reflection, and rediscovering our worth outside of constant progress.
I feel like I should always be doing something. And when I’m not, I convince myself I’m wasting time and taking up space. I could work 40+ hours, and on my off day, feel like a bum for sleeping in. I start to believe that rest is laziness and that slowing down means falling behind. I bully myself into believing that I’m not doing enough, after doing the most.
The rational part of my brain knows that constant productivity and rest cannot co-exist. But the rational part of my brain seems to always be overruled. Too much calm triggers the overthinker in me, “What could you be doing right now?” “How could you be adding value to your life right now?” “How is what you’re doing right now going to make a difference?” I have to give everything meaning. Everything needs to make sense. It’s like a constant scramble to prove myself; prove I am worthy of being the main character in my own damn story. We are conditioned to believe that only movement counts; a side effect of hustle culture. That if we’re not chasing something, we’re losing something. But life isn’t meant to be lived in constant pursuit.
I said yes to everything: girls’ nights out, after work happy hours, picking up extra shifts, weekend trips I barely had time to pack for. My calendar was full. As booked and busy as I was, I was drained. Every moment blurred into the next, and I couldn’t remember the last time I did something just for myself. I thought movement equaled meaning, but I was really just running on fumes and iced coffee. It wasn’t until I slowed down, skipped a night out, and said no without guilt that I realized how much life I had been rushing past. Living isn’t about filling every hour; it’s about feeling present in the ones that matter.
Stillness is not stagnation. It’s processing. It’s the moment in the movie where there’s no dialogue, just background music and a sequence of scenes; the in-between. It is the time to recover from burnout, recharge your social battery, rewatch your favorite comfort shows, scroll through TikTok, and exist without performance.
Being stuck in a freeze frame while craving momentum can feel defeating. But this is not failure or laziness; it is an emotional cooldown. Just like your body needs rest after a workout, your mind and heart need space to recover after big moments- after the push, the rush, the endless saying yes. Every high point, every burst of energy, every season of doing eventually demands a season of being. The quiet that follows isn’t empty; it’s where you process what just happened, where lessons settle in, and where you begin to understand what truly mattered.
A montage isn’t about the big climactic moments. It’s about the slow unfolding; the clips that seem small at first but add up to something bigger. The quick flashes of everyday life: brushing your teeth, sipping your coffee, sitting in traffic, a casual meet up with the girls to catch up, finishing a book. None of these scenes feel important on their own, but together, they tell the story of who you are becoming.
Living life in montage means accepting that not every day will have a headline. It’s learning to find rhythm in repetition and appreciate the slow stretch between what was and what’s next. There are going to be months, even years, that feel like background noise- slow, quiet, a little directionless. And that’s normal. Every scene of your life isn’t going to be glamorous, but each “dull”, in-between, behind the scenes moment means something.
I’ve spent so much of my life chasing the next big thing, trying to hit the next milestone, the next version of “better.” But I’m starting to see that growth doesn’t only happen in leaps. It happens in pauses too. In the moments when I’m dilly dallying in TJ MAXX, on a hilarious phone call with my sister, a post-work cocktail with my coworker. These are the moments that rebuild me, piece by piece, without me even realizing it.
So if this season feels dull, let it. If life feels slow and blurry, live it anyway. Rest. Heal. Take the pressure off. This is what it means to live life in montage: to trust that every quiet scene counts, that every pause has purpose, and that even when nothing seems to be happening, your story is still moving forward.
