My son forgot his computer this morning.

 

He called and asked if I could bring it to him.

 

So, I got in the car and headed to his school.

 

On the way there, I had a thought I didn’t used to have.

 

I created a life where I have the space to do this.

 

There was a time when something like this would’ve irritated me.

I would’ve had something scheduled—something “important”—and this would’ve felt like an interruption.

 

But today, it didn’t.

 

Because lately, I’ve been seeing the value of something I used to overlook:

 

Space.

 

This is my son and me looking up at the stars in one of the darkest places in the US.

 

 

Space in my schedule.

Space in my mind.

Space in my life.

 

I’ve positioned myself so that not every hour has to be filled chasing money or checking a box.

 

And what that’s given me is something I didn’t realize I was missing.

 

The ability to be available.

 

Available to think.

To reflect.

 

To actually enjoy the life, I’ve built.

 

To have a real conversation without my mind being somewhere else.

 

To show up when my son needs me—even for something as small as a forgotten computer.

 

And I’ve asked myself the same question you might be thinking:

 

Is this productive?

 

I used to believe that if I wasn’t filling every second with something “useful,” I was falling behind.

 

But now I see it differently.

 

Filling every moment can look like productivity…

but sometimes it’s just noise.

 

Sometimes it’s anxiety.

 

Sometimes it’s distraction.

 

Sometimes it’s a way of avoiding being alone with ourselves.

 

Space, on the other hand, asks something of you.

 

It asks you to sit still.

To not reach for your phone.

To not rush to the next thing.

 

To be present enough to notice what’s actually going on inside your life.

 

That takes discipline.

 

It takes a settled spirit.

 

And for most of us—it takes practice.

 

But when you allow that space, something interesting happens.

 

You start to see more clearly.

 

Astronauts have a term for this.

 

When they leave Earth and see it from space, something shifts in them.

 

It’s called the overview effect—a sudden awareness of how small we are, how connected everything is, and what actually matters.

 

Problems that once felt overwhelming… don’t feel the same anymore.

 

Things they chased… don’t seem as important.

 

What stands out instead is connection, fragility, and meaning.

 

They didn’t change their lives.

 

They just created enough space to see it differently.

 

And in a much smaller way, I felt a version of that on this drive.

 

I realized something I might’ve missed before:

 

My son won’t always be in school.

 

These moments won’t always be here.

 

And what I pour into him now doesn’t just stay with him—

 

it carries forward. Into his future. Into the lives he’ll touch. Into a legacy I may never fully see.

 

That kind of perspective doesn’t come when your life is packed to the edges.

 

It comes in the space.

 

We often think doing nothing is a waste.

 

But I’m starting to believe the opposite.

 

When we create space, we’re not doing nothing—

 

we’re making room.

 

Room for clarity.

Room for connection.

 

Room for the things that actually matter to find

us.

 

And yes, it can feel uncomfortable at first.

 

That discomfort? It doesn’t mean something is wrong.

 

It might be a sign that something important is finally being allowed in.

 

I also see now that leaving space isn’t just for me.

 

It’s generous.

 

Because you never know who’s going to need you.

 

Or what moment is going to matter.

 

Or what thought is waiting to reach you—but can’t, because there’s no room for it to land.

 

So maybe the goal isn’t to fill our lives as much as possible.

 

Maybe it’s to leave enough space…
so, we can actually live them.

 

Wishing you plenty of space in your life,

 

Bert