How Impulse Steals the Moment

A Note on Discernment, Small Acts, and the Paths We Walk

Author

Mathilde Pribula
January 06, 2026

Hello friends,

As we enter a new year, we often talk about change—new intentions, new habits, new goals. Around this time, many of us quietly ask: What will this year bring?

We look for ways to orient ourselves—through planning, reflection, conversations meant to bring clarity. Often, the question underneath it all is: What do I want? How do I prepare?

Lately, though, a different question has been holding my attention. One that feels less abstract, more intimate, and more pressing:

What is actually worth acting on for me this year?

Because action costs something.

Time.
Energy.
Attention.
Nervous system capacity.

Every yes is also a thousand quiet no’s. And every commitment—big or small—shapes the life we are already living.

What makes this difficult isn’t a lack of options. It’s that we’re constantly invited to act. To respond. To adjust. To intervene. We’re always doing something, even when we don’t realize we’re choosing.

And that’s the part I keep returning to:
Our lives aren’t shaped only by big decisions, but by small, often invisible acts—the tone we bring into a moment, the pace we choose, whether we tighten or soften, whether we pause or push forward.

This is where discernment becomes essential.

Discernment is the pause we create between impulse and integrity. It allows us to choose not just what we do, but how we do it—and from where. Without that pause, action easily becomes automatic, something we fall into rather than choose.

I saw this clearly while traveling recently. We were moving a lot, managing logistics, tired. Even though I knew the plan was fine, I felt a strong pull to tighten everything. To arrive earlier than necessary. To check the timing again. To control the margins.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I knew I was acting out of impulse. I could feel myself getting rigid, more stressed than the situation required, and not particularly pleasant to be around. I also knew that this wasn’t how I wanted to move through the moment. And yet, I couldn’t seem to stop.

It wasn’t until I was walking through the airport alone with my daughter that I finally asked her, half-joking, half-serious:
“Am I being totally grumpy and difficult right now—or do you see my point?”

She didn’t hesitate.
“You’re just being a total grump,” she said.

We both laughed. And something shifted.

Nothing about the logistics changed. But the experience did. I did. The rest of the trip home felt light and connected—one of those rare flights where everyone seems relaxed and at ease.

What stayed with me wasn’t the moment itself, but what it revealed:

Even very small acts—softening mid-stride, letting go of control, choosing a different tone—can completely change the path of an experience.

Because discernment isn’t about never acting from pressure. It’s about recognizing when action has shifted from being intentional to being compulsive. When movement no longer serves what matters, but instead serves our discomfort.

It’s also about remembering that action isn’t fixed. Even once we’re in motion, we can redirect. We can choose again.

This matters because our lives aren’t built through dramatic turning points alone. They’re formed through micro-choices: how we speak to each other, how we respond when things don’t go as planned, how quickly we tighten—or how willing we are to soften.

Over time, these small acts accumulate. They become patterns. And patterns quietly become paths.

As I look toward 2026, I find myself less interested in doing more or making grand resolutions, and more interested in choosing with care—moment by moment. In paying attention to the kinds of actions that shape my days from the inside out.

So instead of asking what big thing you’re going to act on this year, I’ll leave you with a gentler question—one meant to invite curiosity, not pressure:

What small acts might form the path you want to walk in 2026?
What ways of responding, pausing, engaging, or letting go are quietly asking for your attention?

Not because they’re impressive.
Not because they’ll change everything overnight.
But because, over time, they shape how it feels to live your life.

One small, honest act at a time.

With warmth,
Mathilde

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