Lessons from the Labyrinth

This is the time of year when the noise ramps up.

Your inbox fills. Deadlines converge (oh god, what was I meant to be doing again?). Social demands multiply. Conversations inevitably turn toward “what’s next?”

And I always notice how little space there is for pause.

We’re trained to think in straight lines: finish one thing, start another, move forward. Faster, faster, faster. Progress as momentum.

But life, in my experience, doesn’t move that way. It moves more like a labyrinth.

Not a maze — there’s no trick to it, no wrong turns. Just one winding path that curves, doubles back, and folds in on itself before guiding you, eventually, to the centre.

I’ve encountered labyrinths throughout my life, in many of the places I’ve lived and travelled. I’ve built one under the oak trees on our ranch, in South Africa (see the picture!). They’ve always drawn me in. There’s something about the rhythm of walking — the repetition, the circular pattern — that feels almost like breathing.

You don’t control the route.
You simply keep walking.

And that’s part of the teaching: trusting that each turn holds something different, even if it’s only a shift in perspective.

Like life, the insights rarely arrive as grand epiphanies at the end. Most of the learning happens quietly, somewhere along the way.

The power of the spiral

One thing I hear often from clients — especially those with long, accomplished careers — is this: “I thought I’d already dealt with this.”

The same themes. The same questions. The same internal friction, resurfacing again. It can feel frustrating, even discouraging. But what if that return isn’t failure?

What if it’s the nature of growth itself?

A labyrinth doesn’t take you straight to the centre. It spirals. And each time you pass a familiar point, you’re not the same person you were before.

We move through our lives this way too. Each return carries more context: experience, perspective, wisdom, time. It doesn’t always feel like progress. Sometimes it feels like spinning.

 But the difference between a downward spiral and an expanding one is awareness.

Noticing the pattern: how you respond, what you tell yourself, where you tighten or resist; that is the work. Sometimes what feels like unravelling is actually your next layer of understanding. You just can’t see it yet.

On rest (and resistance) 

I’ll be honest: I’m not great at resting. I believe in it completely. I prescribe it. And I still resist it myself.

I grew up in a family and culture where worth was tied to output. You were only as good as your last accomplishment. I learned early on to prove myself by doing. Rest still feels uncomfortable. There’s always more I could have done.

But when I truly stop, something shifts. My enthusiasm returns. My curiosity. My sense of humour. My optimism. My energy genuinely recharges.

That’s why I now build intentional pauses into my year: December and January, time around my birthday in August, and adventures with my husband in Southern Africa. And I’m challenging myself in 2026 to take two solo breaks — time just for me.

Because our best actions come from intentional being, not constant doing.
Even the labyrinth has a centre — a place to stop.

The labyrinth as teacher

Walking a labyrinth is, at its core, a practice in trusting the process.

You enter.
You follow the path.
You pause - rest - in the centre.
And then you return, a little clearer, a little lighter, a little more present.

It’s not about solving anything. It’s about remembering you can slow down and still move forward.

So before the year turns, I want to offer a small invitation: take time to rest, reflect, and recalibrate. You don’t need a formal labyrinth: a walk, a journal, or even sitting quietly in a patch of sunlight will do.

What matters is the pause — and the willingness to notice the shape of your own spiral. 

Some questions to carry with you as you walk:

• What patterns or lessons have circled back for you this year?
• What’s changed in how you see them now?
• What feels ready to be released?
• What deserves a gentler beginning?
• What would real rest look like for you? 

We often end the year believing everything depends on the next plan, the next push. But what allows us to lead well — and live well — is the willingness to stop for a while, to be, before we begin again.

Wishing you a delightful holiday season, and pauses that enrich you and your life.