When I finish this project. When the season’s over. When the company stabilizes. When the kids grow up a little. When I close out this year. When I earn that much. When I buy the new car. When I sell the car. When I lose the weight. When I gain it back. When I start. When I finish. When this. When that.
Then I’ll stop. Then I’ll catch my breath. Then I’ll live.
Sound familiar? We all say it — we just swap in a different this or that. And we believe that somewhere out there, just past the next goal, a moment is waiting when everything will finally be settled enough for us to rest.
I have bad news. That “then” never comes. Or rather, it runs away. And so, waiting for that moment to arrive, life passes.
The ladder rises faster than you climb
Why doesn’t “then” come? Because the instant you grab this, up pops that.
You set a goal: a promotion, a higher salary, a new job, stability. And just as the fruit is within reach, the happiness that was supposed to come with it somehow slips away. A new rung appears. The ladder rises again.
I always think of Tantalus. He was condemned to stand forever in a river of clear water, with ripe fruit hanging within arm’s reach above his head — and to be eternally hungry and thirsty. When he reached for the water, the river drew back. When he stretched for the fruit, the branch pulled away.
We’re all a little like Tantalus, in our own torment. The race has no finish line because the goal isn’t fixed. The goal keeps running.
So “when I earn enough, then I’ll stop” sounds reasonable, but it’s actually a promise we can never keep to ourselves. Because the wanting moves every time you get close to it. Until you stop and become aware: where am I going, how much do I really need, how much (and what) do I actually want — and why all of it?
I wrote about this in the post “How Much Does Happiness Cost.” Take a look.
Why can’t we stop
It’s not just about character.
Newton described it three centuries ago: a body remains at rest or in steady straight-line motion until a force stops it or changes its course. And the greater the mass and the speed, the greater the force needed for that change.
A twenty-year marriage is harder to change than a two-month relationship. A ten-year job is harder to leave than a one-year one. The pace of the chase you fall into over the years becomes a mass that you can only stop by force.
That’s why you don’t stop. Physics, too, is working against you. A body at full speed needs serious force to halt — and since we’re doing well enough, or badly enough to bear, we wait. You wait for “the right moment.” And the right moment is just one more “when” that never comes.
And so you wait. And while you wait — life doesn’t.
The price wasn’t money. It was life.
I’ve worked for a long time with people who are successful, powerful, well-off — at the top. And more and more I see the same thing: they have everything, and yet it’s as if they have nothing. They ran for years, convinced that somewhere at the end of the race a reward was waiting. And at the end of the race, there is no reward. There’s only exhaustion, and a silence in which a question is heard for the first time: what was all this (or that) for?
The cost of all those years without a conscious pause wasn’t money. It was life. Everything that didn’t contribute to the next goal looked like a waste of time — family, friends, caring for your health, learning new things, curiosity, and idleness. And so, year after year, with more and more of the fleeting, there’s less and less of the people, less of the good emotions, less strength in the body, less of you. There’s no one and nothing left — and it seemed like you had everything.
I know this not only from other people’s stories. I know it from my own.
There was a day when I slowed down. And I remember, precisely, all the lies I’d told myself before that to mask one clear thought: that what I was chasing wouldn’t lead me to well-being, but was already pulling me far away from myself and from everything that truly matters. I kept telling myself, “just this one more thing,” “just until,” “later.” That “later” never came on its own. I had to grab it and take it by the throat.
Nothing in nature moves only forward
Now look around. In all of nature, there’s nothing that moves only forward.
The heart doesn’t work by clenching nonstop — that would be death. It clenches and releases, clenches and releases. An inhale makes no sense without an exhale. Winter isn’t a break from growth; it’s part of growth — a tree that doesn’t rest in winter won’t bloom in spring or bear fruit in summer. A muscle doesn’t grow during the workout, but in the recovery after it.
Everything alive knows what we’ve forgotten: progress isn’t a straight line. Progress is rhythm. A dance. An alternation. Clench and release, climb and rest.
Only we insist on the straight line — “just forward, just more, just faster” — and then wonder why we run dry. Burnout is, in essence, an organism that has forgotten to exhale.
That’s why stopping is part of the step forward. More than that — it’s its (pre)condition. There’s no motion that didn’t begin from stillness. The only question is whether you’ll choose that stillness, or wait for someone (or something) to force it on you.
Enjoyment isn’t the reward. Enjoyment is the fuel. The reward is peace.
Here’s where we make a big error in the math. We think: first success, then happiness and enjoyment. First, fall apart, and once you’ve made it, enjoy.
Science says the order is reversed. Happiness isn’t the consequence of success; it’s its source. A content person is more productive, more creative, sharper, better at solving problems, and more resilient when things get hard. You don’t make good decisions when exhausted — you make them rested.
So you don’t rest in order to work. You work well precisely because you know how to stop and rest.
Enjoyment isn’t the reward. Enjoyment is the fuel. The reward is peace.
Who chooses the day you stop
Here’s a truth there’s no escaping: one day you will stop. Everyone stops. The only question is who chooses that day.
If you don’t choose it, someone or something will choose it for you. A crisis. Illness. Loss. A body that one morning simply says no. A December you collapse into.
That’s why I’m inviting you to stop. On purpose, now, while you still get to choose. You can do it on your own. You can do it your own way. But stop.
Why I created reSTART
I haven’t been the same since I understood three things.
- That to stop is a step forward, not backward.
- That to enjoy isn’t a reward for some “later” — to enjoy is to live, now.
- And that I’m clearest when I’m unclouded — when I stop, in a race where I can no longer see myself or what I’m chasing.
When I brought regular restarts into my life, something I hadn’t counted on happened: every start of mine after a restart was a leap. Stopping didn’t slow me down. It threw me further.
And then I wanted to take others down that path too. To take away the choosing of the moment, the place, the content, all the logistics, and every operational step — so that all that’s left for you is the hardest but also the loveliest thing: to enjoy.
reSTART: a word and a map
There’s one word that holds all of this. reSTART. Read it slowly, and you’ll see it carries the whole journey inside it.
REST — rest, silence, stopping. What nature does, and what we’ve forgotten. The beginning of everything.
ART — art. Every art lives through emptiness. In music, the pause is literally called a rest — and without that silence, there’s no melody, only noise. On a canvas, empty space is the beginning of the composition. The pause is part of the process.
STAR — a star. Your own. The north that guides you isn’t somewhere outside you. 90% of our lasting happiness doesn’t depend on the world around us but on how our minds process it. You are the measure of the world. You are the star of your own life — the lead, the beginning, and the end.
re- — again, and differently. “Stop doing everything the same way expecting different results.” But that “differently” is born in the pause. Without stopping, all that’s left is a bare start — and you go on in the same circle. Like a hamster. On a wheel. A golden one, maybe; maybe a slightly cheaper one. But a hamster. How insane is that!
Read in order, the word gives you its own instructions: you’re stuck in START–START–START, out of breath. Stop → REST. See that silence is art → ART. Remember that you are the star and the lead of your own life → STAR. And only then (re)START → you move, but differently, because that “re” was created in the stopping.
reSTART is the only start that begins when you stop.
What Gaga’s reSTART is
reSTART is an eight-day premium on-site mentoring program — to close 2026 consciously and to meet 2027 with a clear plan. Waiting for you: 1-on-1 mentoring work with me, two masterclasses and two workshops, a carefully chosen group of just ten people, a private villa above Chaweng Bay on Koh Samui, and thoughtfully organized encounters with Thai culture. All in just six working days.
And who is it for?
- For those who lead — and whom no one asks how they are.
- For owners, directors, and entrepreneurs who spend all year solving everyone else’s problems, with no one to tell their own to.
- For those who know they can do more, but keep going in circles.
- For those tired in a way a long weekend can’t fix.
- And for those who choose depth, not surface; real work and honest conversation, not a postcard from a wellness retreat.
Applying isn’t getting in
The group is small — just ten people per round — and I choose each one personally. That’s why applying isn’t the same as getting in. First, you fill out a short questionnaire. If I sense that you’ll get what you’re coming for, and that the group and I will get what we need from you, we talk, live.
You’ll find everything about the days, the villa, the price, and the travel in the brochure. And if you feel that now is your moment, and you don’t want to wait for this or that — if you want to step out of the “when‑this‑or‑that, then‑I’ll” loop — apply here.
Stop. Then start. That’s Gaga’s reSTART.
Take care of yourself. You are everything to yourself. Act like it.
2020
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