Nur esti, ne fari
On stopping, not just slowing down
I’m Teague de La Plaine. This is Open Logbook—a public log of observations on humanity, shared systems, and the long future.
There is a phrase I keep returning to lately:
Nur esti, ne fari.
Just being, not doing.
It feels almost irresponsible to say it out loud in the world we live in. A world built on motion. On metrics. On proving you are still useful, still productive, still relevant.
We talk a lot about slowing down. But slowing down still assumes movement. A gentler grind. A quieter treadmill.
What I’m interested in now is something more radical.
Stopping.
The problem with “slow”
Slow food. Slow travel. Slow productivity. All good ideas. Necessary, even.
But slow is still framed as optimization. Slow better. Slow intentionally. Slow with purpose.
There is still a hidden demand in there: You should be doing something.
The ancient traditions understood something we’ve lost.
Sometimes the most important act is not to act at all.
Not doing is not nothing
In Taoism, there is wu wei—often mistranslated as “doing nothing,” but more accurately understood as non-forcing. Acting in alignment rather than against the grain of the world.
In Zen, there is just sitting.
In Stoicism, acceptance of what is outside our control.
In Pooh, there is sitting on a log and wondering if it’s time for lunch.
These are not retreats from life. They are returns to it.
Not doing is not absence. It is presence without interference.
La Vojo: the path without hurry
In the Human UNity framework, I’ve been calling this orientation La Vojo—the way, the path.
La Vojo is not about achievement. It’s not about scaling. It’s not even about improvement.
It’s about alignment.
La Vojo asks a different question than modern life does.
Not: What should I do next?
But: What happens if I stop?
Why stopping feels dangerous
Stopping feels wrong because our systems depend on motion.
Capitalism requires consumption. Social media requires output. Careers require momentum. Even “self-care” has been gamified.
When you stop, you fall out of the current.
And that’s the point.
Stopping exposes a frightening truth:
Much of what we do is not necessary.
Much of what we chase does not matter.
Much of our anxiety is manufactured by motion itself.
So we keep moving. Not because we must—but because stillness would force us to see clearly.
Nur esti, ne fari
This phrase matters to me because it is not aspirational. It doesn’t promise enlightenment or productivity gains.
It is permission.
Permission to sit without documenting it.
Permission to rest without earning it.
Permission to exist without justification.
Just being.
Not doing.
The world does not collapse when you stop. Often, it steadies.
A practice, not a lifestyle brand
This isn’t a retreat. It isn’t an app. It isn’t a morning routine you can optimize.
It’s smaller than that.
Sit somewhere. Don’t improve the moment. Don’t narrate it. Don’t turn it into content.
Let the body breathe. Let the mind wander and return. Let the world be unfinished.
That is La Vojo.
The quiet rebellion
In a time of cascading crises—ecological, political, psychological—our instinct is to do more.
But there is another response.
Refuse the pace.
Refuse the panic.
Refuse the lie that constant action is virtue.
Stopping is not giving up. It is opting out of madness.
Nur esti, ne fari.
Just being, not doing.
And discovering—quietly, almost accidentally—that this, too, is enough.
Once again, the eloquence of your words seem to resonate effortlessly and straight to my soul. I’ve been practicing this method of stillness every morning in my car at least 10 minutes before work. That is my peaceful “ me” time. This gives me a chance to clear my mind, take in my days goals and breathe knowing that “I” am enough. ❤️