This week, I hit pause. We travelled to the Gard in France with friends, and stayed at Maison Aeterna with an extraordinary woman, Sandrine, whose story, and whose olive groves, changed the way I think about slowing down.

Rolling hills shimmered in the afternoon sun, the silvery leaves of olive groves whispering in the breeze. Inside, the smell of warm bread and fresh oil lingered in the kitchen.

Every corner of the farmhouse told a story. Handmade ceramics reclaimed from the quiet corners of local flea markets, weathered stone, walls painted the colour of soft earth.

Sandrine had once been deep in the corporate world. After decades in a successful communications career, she took a hard look at her life. She had fallen in love with this corner of France and decided to make a change. So she stepped into the unknown, retraining as an olive oil specialist, restoring a crumbling farmhouse, and filling it with light, colour, and the hum of life.

One evening, she invited us to a tasting. “Don’t just taste,” she said. “Smell. Feel. Let the flavours open slowly. Let them swirl through your mouth.”

We gathered, cradling small glasses of golden green. The first sip carried the fruité. The bright, green perfume of fresh olives and sunlit groves. Then came the amertume, a gentle bitterness, like the edge of an unripe almond. Finally, the ardence, a warm, peppery fire in the throat, the heartbeat of the oil itself.

In that moment, I realised this was about far more than olive oil.

This is what a reset does for the soul. It slows the pace. Sharpens the senses. Brings forgotten parts of yourself gently back to the surface.

You can’t always take a week. But you don’t have to. Resets can be found in small acts. A quiet walk after dinner, closing your eyes for five minutes, turning your phone face-down while you eat. Even the smallest pauses can hold great power like tasting a single drop of olive oil and discovering layers you didn’t expect.

I rarely notice how much I need a reset until I’ve had one. My drive to keep moving forward keeps me on the treadmill until I finally pause. Those moments let me settle so clarity can emerge.

When I do, I see that the most meaningful resets are often made possible by the people around me: friends, family, and teammates who remind me that stepping away isn’t indulgence. It’s a necessity. They are the ones who, like skilled blenders, balance the fruité, the amertume, and the ardence in my life.

Calm isn’t a luxury. It’s the soil (and the oil) where creativity, clarity, and connection grow.

So my question this week is: When was the last time you gave yourself permission to pause?

Find out more about Sandrine and Maison Aeterna here: https://www.maison-aeterna.fr/en/hove-home/