(Because Kevin the Imaginary Dog Says I Should, and He’s a Very Wise Boy)
Last week, I talked about the joy of being alone—rambling through cities, arguing with spreadsheets, and conducting internal monologues like a slightly overworked barrister who’s had too much espresso and not enough hugs.
It was glorious. But there’s something I left out.
Solitude, as marvellous as it is, only truly works if you remember to breathe. Which, shockingly, is not a given. Apparently, I’ve been doing it wrong for 63 years. Like a man trying to play the cello with boxing gloves.
Turns out, I wasn’t breathing. I was just not dying. A key difference.
I Didn’t Get a Dog. I Got a Diaphragm.
After last week’s musings about getting a dog named Kevin (loyal, slightly judgy, good with eye contact), I was politely reminded by Stella that we don’t do spontaneous responsibility.
So instead of a spaniel, I adopted breathwork. It doesn’t need feeding, it never chews the skirting boards, and it won’t look at me with disappointment when I forget bin day.
Why Breathwork? Because I Nearly Threw My Laptop at a Biscotti
Picture the scene: me in a café, surrounded by the gentle chaos of strangers and steam. I’m alone, soaking in the silence, mid-espresso. And then—WHACK—a man starts watching football highlights on speakerphone. No headphones. Full volume. I felt my blood pressure rising like a Bake Off soufflé.
But instead of exploding (or using biscotti as a projectile), I tried something new:
I closed my eyes…
Inhaled slowly through my nose…
Exhaled even slower through my mouth…
And silently whispered: “Not today, Gary. Not today.”
Meet the Vagus Nerve: Your Internal Pub Landlord
This magical bit of wiring runs from your brain to your belly and is basically the bouncer of your nervous system. When you breathe slowly and deeply, it kicks into gear and does three lovely things:
- Lowers your heart rate
- Drops your blood pressure
- Tells your brain: “You’re not being chased by debt collectors. You’re just in Costa.”
It’s like a wise old pub landlord saying, “Alright, love—put the stress down, have a sit, breathe it out. Life’s daft enough already.”
Modern Life is an Asthma Attack
Let’s be honest—everything’s designed to make you forget to breathe.
- Emails demand “quick turnarounds.”
- Group chats ding like emotional whack-a-mole.
- People say things like “circle back” and “double click,” and we pretend they’re speaking English.
In this chaos, breathing is my new protest. Like wearing socks with holes in them out of principle. Or refusing to say “Let’s unpack that.”
Where I’ve Tried Breathwork (And Mostly Failed)
1. On a Plane:
Child kicks seat. Man sneezes with the force of a tuba. Someone opens tuna. I breathe deeply and regret all my choices.
Zen score: 2/10
2. In a Tokyo Hotel Room:
Ambient temple bells. Lights dimmed. Vending machine hums like it’s judging me. Then, a loudspeaker shouts in Japanese about bins (or nuclear threats—I never know).
Zen score: 4/10, plus bonus for the auto-closing toilet.
3. In My Living Room:
I sit cross-legged. Begin 4–7–8 breathing. Stella walks in and asks why I look like “a haunted Victorian chimney sweep waiting for judgement.”
Zen score: 7/10, mostly for commitment.
4. Hiding From Graham at a Sales Conference:
In a disabled loo, whispering “inhale, exhale” while praying Graham doesn’t find me and want “just five minutes.”
Zen score: 6/10, 10/10 for stealth.
Breathing Techniques I Trust More Than My Sat Nav
1. 4–7–8 Breathing
Inhale for 4 seconds
Hold for 7
Exhale for 8
Repeat until something unknots itself in your soul (or at least your lower back).
2. Box Breathing
Inhale 4, hold 4, exhale 4, hold 4
Picture a box. Or a biscuit tin. Either works.
3. Coherent Breathing
Breathe in for 5 seconds, out for 5
Steady. Rhythmic. Like the drumbeat of your ancestors, if your ancestors were tired and had a 9am Teams call.
The Moral of the Breath
We breathe around 23,000 times a day.
Most of that while stressed, scrolling, or silently judging someone’s sandwich choices.
But just five intentional breaths? That can change everything.
- Mood: Improved.
- Thoughts: Less shouty.
- Shoulders: No longer auditioning for a turtle impersonation.
Kevin Would Be Proud
If I’d got the dog, he’d probably remind me to breathe. But as I didn’t, I’ll keep reminding myself.
“You’re not drowning. You’re just overwhelmed.
You’re not failing. You’re just tired.
You don’t need to respond to Graham. Ever.”
Breathe, Steve. That’s the work.
Next Week: Rhythm Over Balance
We’ll explore why “work-life balance” is a myth peddled by people with personal assistants and no toddlers. Instead, I’ll offer the idea of rhythm, because life isn’t a set of scales. It’s more like a messy jazz solo with a tambourine and occasional emotional breakdowns.
Off now to find a café with no Wi-Fi and questionable tea.
Kevin (still imaginary) is coming with me.
Yours in calm rebellion,
Steve
