Breaking the Loop
Breaking the Loop
How many more people will we hurt before we learn to take one deep breath?
I figured I’d write something about Groundhog Day and its connection to the 90’s movie where Phil Connors’ story didn’t change until he changed how he showed up. While true, our world won’t change until we change how we show up, I couldn’t help but pause on what’s happening in Minneapolis right now.
Two of my kids live in Minneapolis. One works in emergency services. The other is a student. I worry about how these events are impacting them. I worry about how these events are shaping our future.
I don’t want to get lost in the politics. I want to find a way forward in how we meet each other—with compassion—to find a new and better path. To figure out how, like Phil, changing our world might require us to change how we show up in it.
It starts with a breath.
I learned that part of Special Forces training is learning how to breathe. I thought that was funny at first—aren’t we born knowing how to breathe? The answer is sort of. What they focus on is learning how to breathe under pressure. When the stakes are high. When we’re about to start operating on autopilot—which is to say, we close ourselves off at the exact moment we need to be open.
When we sense a threat and let our amygdala hijack us, our field of vision literally narrows. We miss vital information at the precise moment we need it most. Our processing speeds up. Our interpretations become more biased. At a moment when the stakes and consequences are high, we’re hamstringing our capacity to make good decisions. We are far more likely to do harm than good.
When we sense a threat, we also have the capacity to intervene—to stay grounded in the moment, to act with intention. Lisa Feldman Barrett’s research reveals that emotions aren’t automatic reactions that happen to us. We actively construct them from bodily sensations, past experiences, and present context. We have agency in the process. That agency lives in the pause. As the saying goes, between stimulus and response there is a space—and in that space is our power to choose.
Navy SEALs call it tactical breathing, or box breathing: inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. Three cycles. About 30 seconds. Research shows it dampens the sympathetic nervous system—our fight-or-flight response—and improves decision-making under pressure. Lt. Col. Dave Grossman, who developed combat breathing protocols, calls it “a leash on the puppy.”
In Minneapolis right now, the bullets aren’t hypothetical. Two people are dead this month—a mother, and a nurse. The consequences of actions, whether consciously intended or unconsciously driven, are higher than anyone predicted.
If Special Forces operators can learn to breathe when bullets are flying and speed is of the essence—not to go slow, but to stay connected between their reactive instincts and their conscious intentions—then maybe we can learn to do the same before sending an email, reacting to a colleague, or responding to something that makes our blood boil.
What I’ve learned through my own mistakes and miscommunications: compassion isn’t a reflex we can count on. Being curious with others—without trying to change how they feel, meeting them fully where they are—that’s not easy. It takes practice.
The Practice
For yourself: This week, when you notice the familiar pattern starting—the tightening in your chest, the urge to react—try three breaths. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. Use the first breath to notice what’s happening inside. Use the second to notice what’s happening around you. Use the third to ask: What do I want to do next?
For someone else: Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön writes that feelings like irritation, resentment, and anger “are actually very clear moments that teach us where it is that we’re holding back.” The practice is developing curiosity toward discomfort rather than running from it.
I know this personally. My politics don’t always align with people I love. I find myself wanting to change their mind before I’ve understood their perspective. I haven’t gotten there yet. But I know the path runs through pause, not push.
This week, notice a colleague who seems to be carrying weight. You don’t have to solve it. You don’t have to agree with their perspective. Just give them space to not be okay. Sometimes the most compassionate thing we can offer is curiosity without agenda—and the simple acknowledgment: this is hard, and you’re not alone in it.
Phil Connors woke up to the same song every morning until he didn’t. The day didn’t change. He did.
The loop breaks with one breath.