I went to the Lyons Folk Festival—one of those magical weekends that’s part music, part soul revival. Barefoot in the grass, I danced under the open sky and let the music remind me of who I am when I’m not thinking about what’s next. That kind of presence doesn’t just feel good—it sharpens my intuition, my clarity, my ability to lead with integrity.

Back home, I swam laps in my pool and floated long enough to lose track of time. I laughed (hard) over rounds of the game Hitster with friends. Mel—always the curious experimenter—perfected a quiche recipe that’s now become our Sunday staple. (Some versions were better than others. We ate them all.)

And my garden! I’ve been growing tomatoes, basil, mint, and more—harvesting them just in time to toss into salads that taste like sunshine. There’s something deeply satisfying about eating food you’ve nurtured from seed to plate. It’s slow, it’s quiet, and it grounds me in a way no strategy session ever could.

This season reminded me that when I’m restored—when I let joy, laughter, and rest take the wheel—I return to my work with more creativity, more courage, and more clarity. Rest isn’t retreat. It’s recalibration.

So here’s my invitation to you:

What would it look like to take your foot off the gas, just for a little while?

What if rest isn’t the opposite of productivity—but the root of your next brilliant idea?