The Cost of Constant Motion

By the time I was ten, I had lived in more houses than I could clearly remember. The Maples, the Gateway, Timothy's House, the Arbor House, the Sapling. Each move meant new rules, new dynamics, new people to navigate. We learned to pack light, adjust quickly, and never get too attached.

This constant motion taught me adaptability. It taught me to read a room instantly, to figure out the unspoken rules, to make myself useful wherever we landed. These skills serve me well in business now. I can pivot quickly, adapt to client needs, navigate changing markets.

But constant motion also has a shadow side.

It taught me that stillness was dangerous. That settling meant stagnation. That if you weren't moving, you weren't progressing. This drove me to build JASPER at breakneck speed, to take on too much, to mistake exhaustion for productivity.

The truth is, some things can only grow in stillness. Clarity doesn't come while running. Deep relationships aren't built in transition. Excellence requires focus, and focus requires staying put long enough to go deep rather than wide.

Learning to be still after a lifetime of motion feels like learning a new language. Every part of me wants to move, to start the next project, to solve the next problem. But I'm learning that stillness isn't stagnation. It's consolidation. It's allowing what you've built to solidify before building more.

In business and in life, we need both motion and stillness. The ability to move when necessary and the wisdom to stay when growth requires depth rather than distance. The challenge is knowing which season you're in and honoring what it requires.

If you grew up in constant motion, literal or metaphorical, you might struggle with stillness too. That's okay. But notice if your motion is purposeful or just habitual. Notice if you're running toward something or just running.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop moving and let yourself grow roots.

- Jasmine