The Art of Stopping Time

Have you ever felt like you’re racing through your days—always busy but rarely present? That unsettling sense of being out of sync with time is what Pedram Shojai, a Taoist monk and integrative healer, tackles in The Art of Stopping Time. He argues that we’ve become slaves to the clock, living in a constant state of hurry, stress, and distraction. Shojai contends that by learning to ‘stop time,’ we can reclaim our attention, deepen our presence, and experience what he calls time prosperity—a life in which time feels abundant rather than scarce.

Shojai draws from Taoist philosophy and modern life optimization strategies to show how mindfulness, rhythm, and conscious living allow us to reshape our relationship with time itself. The book builds around a powerful practice called the 100-Day Gong, an ancient Chinese discipline of repeating a chosen ritual daily for 100 days. Each short ‘day’ exercise in the book invites you to slow down, notice life, and realign with natural rhythms—the sunrise and sunset, breath and heartbeat, rest and motion.

Why Time Feels Scarce

Shojai begins by reminding us that time is not our enemy but our currency. We exchange time for money, attention, and experience. Yet the modern world’s obsession with multitasking, screens, and nonstop productivity has stolen our ability to feel time’s flow. The result is what he calls time compression—a sense of being squeezed between past regrets and future worries, leaving no space to live in the now. Our impatience, insomnia, and anxiety are symptoms of this warped relationship with time.

To heal that relationship, we must first slow our internal clock. Shojai weaves practices like mindful breathing, gratitude, and reflection through everyday activities—eating, walking, talking, sleeping—to reestablish harmony between internal and external rhythms. He reminds us that humans once lived by light, seasons, and cycles. Our ancestors rose with the sun, rested with the moon, and understood that the world had seasons of both action and rest. Today, artificial light, caffeine, and digital chatter keep us permanently in ‘summer’ mode: fast, bright, and burning out.

The 100-Day Gong: A Path to Time Mastery

The structure of Shojai’s book is as important as its message. By engaging you in a 100-day series of small, focused rituals—each lasting only a few minutes—it mirrors the cycles of change he describes. You don’t add more to your schedule; you replace habitual distractions with moments of presence. For example, one day’s exercise may ask you to notice the quality of morning light; another to chew your food slowly; another to turn off all screens for an hour. It’s a form of spiritual strength training: micro-adjustments that build awareness through repetition.

Shojai contrasts this with Western approaches that promise instant transformation. Real change, he reminds us, comes from consistency, not intensity. The gong is a sacred container of accountability and reflection—a way to track progress and honor each day’s lesson. Over time, these accumulated moments expand your perception of time itself. You begin to feel that hours stretch longer, tasks flow easier, and life regains a sense of spaciousness.

Living in Natural Time

Shojai blends physiology and spirituality to show that time is inseparable from biology. Our circadian rhythms, heartbeats, breath, and hormonal cycles all create patterns of time within the body. When we defy those patterns—by working late, skipping rest, or ignoring nature—we experience stress and disease. Reconnecting with those natural rhythms, by synchronizing with daylight, observing the seasons, or taking mindful walks, restores what he calls biological harmony. In this view, mastery of time isn’t about optimizing your calendar—it’s about syncing your consciousness to the clockwork of the universe.

He calls this the essence of the Taoist way: the ability to perceive the flow of life and move with it, not against it. The more we harmonize with the ebb and flow of the world—the light shifting through the day, the breath moving through our bodies—the more we feel anchored in eternal time rather than trapped in the rush of linear time. He connects these practices to modern findings on mindfulness, neuroplasticity, and stress reduction, echoing insights from Jon Kabat-Zinn, Thich Nhat Hanh, and other wisdom teachers.

From Time Scarcity to Time Prosperity

Ultimately, Shojai’s goal is not to give you more hours in the day, but to help you experience time as abundant. He distinguishes between time poverty—feeling rushed, anxious, and behind—and time prosperity—feeling calm, purposeful, and present. The paradox is that when you slow down, you actually accomplish more. The quality of your time deepens, and tasks stop feeling like a race. In this state, restful mornings, meaningful conversations, and mindful work feel rich, not rare. You begin to see that eternal time—the infinite now—is always available beneath the surface of your rushing mind.

“The only way to have more time is to be present for the time you already have.”

As with his earlier work The Urban Monk, Shojai blends ancient wisdom with modern practicality. His promise is not mystical escapism but an actionable life art: by mastering presence, you master time. The art of stopping time is, at its heart, the art of being fully alive—moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat.

Shojai begins the 100-day journey with a grounding metaphor: your life is a garden. Just as a gardener must decide what to plant, when to water, and what to pull out, you must cultivate the elements of your life intentionally. Without conscious cultivation, weeds—time-sucking habits, toxic relationships, or meaningless obligations—take over. The lesson is simple but profound: you cannot nurture everything. You must decide what deserves your finite energy.

Choosing Your Plants

He asks you to list your core priorities: family, work, health, spirituality, friendship, creativity—your “plants.” Then you assess how much water (time, energy, attention) each one needs and whether you’ve been overwatering weeds instead. For instance, endless scrolling through social media is like nourishing crabgrass instead of the fruit trees you want to grow. Shojai challenges you to audit your commitments and trim away obligations that drain life force without giving joy or meaning in return.

This intentional pruning is akin to the essentialism popularized by Greg McKeown: focusing only on what’s truly essential. Yet Shojai’s framing as a ‘life garden’ brings sensuality and care into what might otherwise sound clinical. You’re not cutting tasks; you’re tending living energies.

Weeding Out What No Longer Serves You

Each weed you pull is a release. Maybe it’s a toxic friendship that drains your peace, an overcommitment to workplace politics, or clutter that fills your home and steals mental space. Shojai’s advice here resonates with Buddhist nonattachment and Marie Kondo’s idea of only keeping what sparks joy. Every ‘no’ you say creates more time for what matters. “By saying yes to everything,” he warns, “you are saying no to your own life.”

Watering with Focused Energy

The next step is learning to water your chosen plants regularly and consciously. That might mean scheduling gym time for your health, blocking off dinner hours for family, or reserving sabbath time for rest. Shojai insists that what’s not on your calendar doesn’t get done—the calendar becomes the irrigation system of life. This principle underpins his concept of ‘time chunking,’ where you dedicate specific periods to specific goals, minimizing mental switching costs. Cal Newport’s “deep work” concept parallels this focus on undistracted attention.

The Inner Gardener

Shojai reminds you that your energy is the soil of the garden. Self-care—breathing, exercise, rest, and nutrition—keeps your soil fertile. Neglecting it causes even your best intentions to wither. By the end of this exercise, you’re not just managing time; you’re designing an ecosystem of purpose. The reward is clarity: fewer tasks, deeper roots, and the beauty of seeing your chosen plants thrive.

Much of Shojai’s philosophy is a rebellion against the cult of busyness. He views overwork and constant connectivity as spiritual diseases disguised as ambition. Society glorifies the hustle—‘rise and grind,’ ‘sleep when you’re dead’—yet this constant motion erodes our vitality. Shojai draws parallels between economic overproduction and personal burnout: just as the Earth suffers from depletion, so do humans who never rest.

Learning When to Push and When to Rest

Shojai emphasizes cycles of yin and yang: the alternation of activity and rest. Some periods, like harvest or deadlines, naturally demand effort. But those must be balanced with restorative ‘winter’ phases of sleep, silence, and slowing down. Chapters like “When to Lie Low” and “When to Go All Out” mirror these rhythms. The key practice is learning to read your internal seasons—your true energy levels—and act in harmony with them rather than against them.

Chunking and Framework Before Work

Where time management meets mindfulness, Shojai introduces practical strategies like time chunking—dedicating uninterrupted blocks to one task—and framework before work, meaning you plan before acting. These ideas echo Stephen Covey and Cal Newport but are infused with Taoist calm. By structuring tasks into defined chunks, you reclaim cognitive bandwidth. Suddenly, work feels less frantic and more rhythmic, like waves rolling in and out.

Slowing to Go Faster

It seems paradoxical, but Shojai shows that pausing increases flow. When you slow your breath, focus on one thing, or take micro-breaks every 25 minutes, you create space for reflection. The body stops releasing stress hormones, decision fatigue ebbs, and creativity begins. You start inhabiting time rather than fighting it. Productivity becomes less about speed and more about resonance—like a musician hitting every note in perfect tempo with life.

In dozens of short, poetic exercises, Shojai transforms ordinary moments into windows of awareness. Each day’s task—breathing, eating, walking, stretching, showering—is a doorway into presence. The goal isn’t to meditate for hours; it’s to infuse consciousness into everything you already do. This aligns with Thich Nhat Hanh’s notion that “washing the dishes can be meditation if you wash them to wash, not to finish.”

Eating and Digestion as Sacred Acts

Mindful eating chapters like “Mealtime” and “Time to Digest” highlight how food connects you to life itself. By pausing to breathe before eating, Shojai argues, you shift from the stressed sympathetic nervous system into the relaxed parasympathetic, where actual digestion occurs. He invites you to look at each meal gratefully, recognizing it as life transforming into your life. This sacred attitude toward nourishment turns a daily necessity into gratitude practice and physical healing.

Movement and Stillness

He pairs intense focus on the body with reflection on stillness. Breathing exercises (“Five Breaths for You”), stretching (“Relax the Back of Your Neck”), and movement (“Cardio Time,” “Sweating”) turn fitness into mindfulness rituals. You learn that even raising your heart rate can help you sense different ‘velocities of time’ inside your body. By contrast, practices like “Doing Nothing” and “Progressive Relaxation” show you the power of deep silence. Each moment becomes an experiment in awareness—a rehearsal for stopping time itself.

Micropractices for Modern Chaos

Shojai’s genius is accessibility. He frames mindfulness for the urban worker: phone audits, social media fasts, chair-free days, and conscious snacking are all simple but transformative. Each one breaks modern autopilot, forcing you to reinhabit your five senses. If meditation has intimidated you, these practices offer stealth entry points. The more you repeat them, the more time stretches open.

Shojai frequently pulls you outdoors—to trees, lakes, moonlight, bird songs, and starlit skies—because time in nature is time recovered. The natural world teaches the art of cyclical awareness: every dawn, tide, season, and year shows you that nothing meaningful happens out of sync with rhythm. Modern people, sealed in climate-controlled boxes, have forgotten this primal timing. His daily invitations to step outside are grounding rituals that reawaken ancestral wisdom.

The Lessons of Trees and Lakes

“Time with a Tree” and “The Rings of a Tree” teach humility through natural metaphors. A tree’s rings record its seasons of growth and hardship; your own body does the same in scars, wrinkles, and memories. “Time on a Lake” shows how still water mirrors still mind. When you sit beside a lake, your inner current slows, allowing you to perceive eternity’s reflection on the surface of time.

The Rhythms of Sun, Moon, and Stars

Shojai takes you through exercises like “Time in the Sun,” “Time under the Moon,” and “Time with the Stars.” Each connects cosmic patterns to your personal habits. Watching sunrise signals vitality; sunset rituals invite slowing down; moonlight evokes emotional reflection. Observing light changes strengthens the pineal gland’s rhythms, correcting insomnia and mood imbalances. He insists that these astral cycles are not mystical metaphors—they’re biological truths we ignore at our peril.

Nature as a Moral Teacher

These lessons extend into environmental ethics. In “You’ll Be Pushing Up Flowers,” Shojai reflects on mortality and ecological responsibility: our bodies become food for future life, so how clean or toxic is our contribution? This transforms sustainability from an abstract issue into a spiritual duty. By aligning with nature’s rhythm, you honor both your time on Earth and the Earth’s time itself.

Shojai observes that much of our time poverty comes not from busy schedules but from emotional baggage. Unprocessed trauma, guilt, and resentment act like energetic knots that keep us trapped in past time zones. “Digesting Emotions,” “Traumatic Events,” and “Dream Time” guide you to revisit these moments consciously, feel them fully, and release them. The goal is not to erase pain but to metabolize it, freeing attention for the present.

Turning Back the Inner Clock

He teaches visualization techniques drawn from Chinese medicine and psychology: breathe white light into an old memory, forgive those involved, and reimagine the scene infused with love. This rewrites the emotional timeline so your energy stops looping backward. (This echoes Peter Levine’s somatic trauma work and Carl Jung’s active imagination.) Healing the past “reclaims stolen energy from yesterday,” as Shojai puts it, and integrates fragmented aspects of self.

The Alchemy of Letting Go

True relaxation, he argues, requires confronting what keeps you tense. In “Utter Relaxation,” you ask your tight muscles why they can’t let go—often uncovering buried fear or grief. Through breath and patience, those contractions release, leading to both physical ease and emotional spaciousness. When the body finally relaxes, time itself softens. Peace becomes not an idea but a physiological state.

Shojai reminds us that time is relational. Every emotional exchange shifts our temporal experience. Some people calm the room; others accelerate its chaos. In “People Have Different Time Stamps,” he encourages you to sense the energetic speed or frequency of those around you. Are you drawn to fast, jittery energies or slow, grounded ones? Learning to modulate your own vibrational pace allows you to harmonize relationships rather than clash with them.

Family and Community as Sacred Time

He warns that neglecting family time is one of life’s biggest regrets. Chapters like “Quality Time with Your Family” and “Time for Your Neighbors” remind us that connection requires presence, not just proximity. He suggests device-free dinners, shared walks, or moments of eye contact—small yet profound acts of human repair. In these spaces, love and time intertwine; seconds become sacred.

The Power of Still Communication

Exercises such as “Prayer,” “Vow of Silence,” and “Eye Contact and Face Time” reveal that silence and attention are the deepest forms of communication. Words often waste energy; presence transmits peace. Shojai’s advice—speak less, listen more—is ancient (mirroring Lao Tzu’s counsel in the Tao Te Ching) yet radical in our age of noise. When you align your speech and attention with compassion, time in conversation expands, not evaporates.

One of the book’s most moving themes is mortality. Shojai insists that understanding death is the gateway to meaningful life. Exercises like “Deathbed Wisdom,” “How Many Heartbeats Do I Have Left?” and “Building a Legacy” invite you to measure time not by years but by heartbeats, each one a finite currency. Realizing that you have only about 2.5 billion beats focuses the mind on what truly matters.

Thinking from the Deathbed

By imagining your future self looking back, you identify regrets before they harden into reality. This reflective practice parallels Bronnie Ware’s research in The Top Five Regrets of the Dying: we wish we’d been truer to ourselves, less focused on work, and more open to love. Shojai’s twist is compassionate pragmatism—you still have time. Every realization becomes a redesign of your current rhythm.

Legacy as Planetary Service

For Shojai, legacy is ecological and spiritual, not just professional. “You’ll Be Pushing Up Flowers” asks: when your body feeds the Earth, what residue do you leave? Living cleanly and sustainably becomes an act of reverence for future generations. Death, then, is not an end but a recycling of energy into the great continuum of time. By facing it now, you stop fearing it—and start truly living.

In his conclusion, Shojai defines the destination of this 100-day journey: time prosperity, a state in which time feels expansive, meaningful, and aligned. It doesn’t come from quitting your job or escaping civilization. It comes from awareness. When you synchronize your body’s rhythms, manage boundaries, heal the past, and connect deeply, time transforms from an enemy into an ally.

Reassessing Time ROI

Shojai borrows the business term ROI—return on investment—but applies it spiritually. Where do you spend your minutes, and what is their return in joy, health, or growth? By consciously choosing high-return uses of time—exercise over gossip, nature over screens—you shift from extraction-based living to regeneration-based living. The goal is efficiency that nurtures, not exploits.

Surfing the Wave of Time

Shojai closes with a metaphor: time is a majestic wave. You cannot stop it, but you can learn to surf it gracefully. Mastering this art doesn’t freeze the clock—it frees you from it. When every breath, action, and relationship flows in natural rhythm, you realize that stopping time means finally being here, now, alive.