The Rhythm of Avoidance

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about rhythm.

Not metaphorical rhythm.

Actual rhythm.

My heart rhythm has gotten pretty bad again recently. Around 15,000 PVCs a day. If you’ve never experienced PVCs before, imagine walking into your bedroom fully expecting nobody to be there and suddenly someone jumps out of your closet wearing a clown mask screaming at the top of their lungs.

That split second where your body jumps.

That skipped beat.

Then the hard pound when your heart settles back in.

Yeah. That’s pretty close.

A while back I started taking metoprolol again. Things quieted down. Then recently I had to come off it before a procedure. It was incredible how loud everything suddenly became.

Every skipped beat.

Every flutter.

Every sensation.

It made me realize something.

We have no idea how much stimulation moves through our systems every day. Pressure. Deadlines. Responsibility. Business. Kids. Financial stress. Fear. Noise. Just constant noise.

Eventually chaos stops feeling chaotic.

It feels normal.

Recently I was sitting in my garage gym between sets intentionally trying not to pay attention to my rhythm. Music louder. Phone out. Walk around. Think about business. Focus on the next lift.

At one point I was literally pressing my chest against the speaker trying to drown out what I was feeling.

Not because it worked.

Because I didn’t want to feel it.

And sitting there doing that, I realized something uncomfortable.

Leaders do this all the time.

Entrepreneurs especially.

We glorify busy.

We celebrate overload.

We wear exhaustion like proof we matter.

But sometimes busy isn’t ambition.

Sometimes busy is avoidance.

Because if we slow down long enough, we might hear something underneath all the noise we’ve worked really hard not to hear.

Fear.

Loneliness.

Exhaustion.

Disappointment.

The realization that maybe we built something successful that doesn’t actually feel peaceful.

So we stay moving.

Another meeting.

Another project.

Another email.

Stay busy enough to not feel it.

The dangerous part is society rewards this behavior. High performers become incredibly good at functioning while hurting. Sometimes so good nobody notices.

Not even them.

Surviving sudden cardiac death changed how I think about almost everything. Time. Relationships. Stress. Success. Connection.

You realize productive distraction is still distraction.

You realize achievement doesn’t automatically create peace.

You realize being needed isn’t the same thing as being connected.

And maybe that’s really what I’ve been thinking about lately.

Rhythm.

Not heart rhythm.

Life rhythm.

Because eventually life develops rhythm whether we realize it or not.

Wake up.

Rush.

React.

Push.

Build.

Distract.

Repeat.

Do it long enough and chaos starts feeling normal.

Rest feels lazy.

Silence feels uncomfortable.

Presence feels unproductive.

Maybe the goal isn’t eliminating every irregular beat life throws at us.

Maybe the goal is noticing when we’ve drifted completely out of rhythm with ourselves.

Because your body keeps rhythm.

Your relationships keep rhythm.

Your emotions keep rhythm.

Your life keeps rhythm.

The question is whether we're listening.

I think about this a lot with my boys.

At the end of all of this, people are not standing around talking about how quickly you answered emails.

They talk about how you made them feel.

Whether you listened.

Whether they mattered.

Whether they felt safe.

Whether they felt loved.

People remember connection.

People remember presence.

People remember moments.

The stuff we neglect chasing significance is usually the stuff that mattered most all along.

So maybe the question is simple:

What are you staying busy to avoid?

And what would happen if you stopped drowning out the rhythm long enough to hear what it’s trying to tell you?

Not forever.

Just long enough to tell yourself the truth.

That’s usually where things start changing.