Quiescence and the Beauty of the In-Between

December is noisy. It hums with the rhythm of obligations: gifts to buy, dinners to plan, and lists that seem endless. But even in this hustle, there are moments where life presses the pause button.

And every so often, something makes you stop.

Quiescence comes from the Latin quiescere, meaning "to rest" or "to be quiet." It’s a word that feels soft, like a whisper, but carries weight in its meaning. To pause, to settle, to let the world spin while you take a breath.

Day to day, the pauses come in different ways. Lately for us, it’s after dinner. When we hang around the dining table for a round of NYT's games: Connections, Strands, Spelling Bee, Letter Boxed—each one pulls us in, and suddenly the day feels lighter. There’s something calming (and frustratingly challenging) about trying to find the right match and words. It’s the kind of togetherness that doesn’t demand much, but gives back so much more, all of 15 to 20 minutes. Afterwards, we either drift back to do a little work, catch up on a book, or stream something we both found interesting. The quiet lingers, though, softening the edges of the evening.

But quiescence isn’t just something we find at home. It sneaks into our travels, too, making those moments even more vivid. It’s funny how the quiet times—when we’re not rushing to see a landmark or catching flights—are the ones that stay with us the longest. Sometimes, it’s in the spaces between.

Let me tell you about a few of those pauses over holidays past.

I remember the night in Salzburg during Christkindlmarkt at Cathedral Square, the crowds of tourists had melted away by dusk. With fewer people, the air was calm, and the quiet made everything feel more real—just the glow of lights and the warmth of a drink in hand. We sipped away from the center of the square, lights starting to come on, holding our mugs in the dropping temperature like tiny heaters. It was the kind of stillness you only get when most folks have called it a day and gone home for the evening.

In Vienna, it was the sound of snow crunching under our boots. A late dinner was behind us, and the night stretched ahead, soft and silent. We passed the storefronts along Stephansplatz and Kärntner Straße, and for a moment, the city belonged to just a few of us. A quiet gift wrapped in cold air and twinkling lights. At one point, we would look at each huge ornate holiday light and how it illuminated the street below on our walk back to our hotel. It was simple, but perfect—like the city had decided to pose for us.

Paris gave us a different kind of stillness. After days of markets in Strasbourg and Reims, we walked along the Seine. The city was bright, but the night was calm. No crowds, no rush. Just the sound of water and our feet on the cobblestones. We stopped along one of the bridges along Quai des Tuileries and just watched the river go by. It was almost funny how peaceful it felt in a city that never really stops moving (it helped it was well past 11pm).

Budapest had its moment too. After spending a whirlwind of days doing what tourists do, leaving the city for another adventure had us at the historic Keleti train station. After settling our tickets, destination, and bags, I remember standing on the platform, watching the comings and goings of a morning. It was still early enough where the day had yet to unfold with the movement of humanity in a city. And there I was with a few minutes to wander and admire one of the grand stations of a bygone era. As a train/rail enthusiast, this was bliss. I can still summon the details, the smell of the air, the sounds, the light.

In Prague, we stayed at a former Augustine monastery turned hotel in the Lesser Town district near the foot of Charles Bridge. The thoughtful restoration blended its monastic roots with modern comforts, yet the spirit of the space felt unchanged. The grounds, with their peaceful gardens and quiet corners, were a haven we hadn’t fully anticipated.

Between exploring Prague’s spires and famous squares, we found the former monastery grounds to be a welcome retreat. One afternoon, we sat in the courtyard braving the cold temperatures, surrounded by the original architecture, taking in the stillness. It was easy to imagine the monks who once walked those paths, finding the same sense of calm. We had read about the property beforehand and knew its history, but being there was something else entirely—a respite from the holiday rush.

These “spaces in between” are all around us during the holiday season, no matter where we are. In the crackling quiet of wrapping paper, in the glow of our neighbor’s lights, or even in the shared laugh over a simple exchange while at a checkout line. They’re scattered through December like little gifts, waiting for us to notice.

Quiescence doesn’t shout. It whispers. It’s in the smallest things—the ones you only notice when you’re not rushing to the next.

Here’s to those moments. They’re easy to miss, but they’re the best part of this busy season. Find them. Savor them. Let them remind you what the season is really about.