The Quiet Moments

 Every day, while commuting between home and office, I get nearly two hours of solitude. An hour each way — just me, the hum of the car engine, the slow crawl of traffic, and the city moving around me. What once felt like wasted time has quietly become something else — my space to breathe, to untangle, to simply be.

In those quiet stretches, there are no emails, no meetings, no conversations demanding attention. It’s just stillness — sometimes filled with soft music, sometimes with silence. And in that silence, thoughts begin to settle. The muddled noise of the day starts to sort itself out. Some ideas drift away, others take shape. Problems that felt tangled begin to look simpler, as if distance itself brings clarity. I’ve come to realise that these everyday moments of solitude are powerful — not because of what I do in them, but because of what they create in me. I don’t make decisions, I don’t plan actions, I don’t even try to think. But somehow, clarity emerges. A sense of balance returns. The rush of the day slows, and the mind resets.

In a world that constantly demands movement, it’s strange how stillness ends up moving you the most.

Sometimes, during these drives, I think of Siddharth — the energy, the curiosity — and I remind myself that quiet is not emptiness. It’s the space where energy regathers. The commute, once a chore, has turned into a quiet meditation — a bridge between who I am at work and who I am at home.

The older I get, the more I value this quiet — not as an escape, but as a return. A return to clarity, to self, to that soft inner voice that is so easily drowned out in the noise of everyday life. 

We often wait for retreats or vacations to “pause,” but sometimes, life gives us smaller pauses every day. A car ride. A morning walk. A quiet cup of tea.

In the silence between destinations, we often find our way back to ourselves.