Meditative Freedom: Finding Joy in the In-Between Moments

By Juliana Mott Fabio, LCSW

For the past eight months, I’ve been riding my bike to work nearly every day. It wasn’t initially a grand lifestyle decision—my car died, and this became the most practical solution. But sometimes life hands us an unexpected transition that turns out to be a gift.

What began as necessity has become one of the most grounding, joyful parts of my day.

Each morning, as I get on my bike, I feel something awaken in me that feels both familiar and forgotten. There is a sense of being twelve years old again—the wind in my hair, the smell of early morning dew, the quiet hum of the world waking up. I watch the sun rise over the ocean on my way to work and set on my way home. These moments feel small and ordinary, yet deeply meaningful.

As a therapist, I often talk with clients about the importance of transitions—how the spaces between things matter just as much as the things themselves. Riding my bike has become my transition ritual. It gently separates home from work, work from family, responsibility from rest. By the time I arrive, my body feels awake, my mind feels clearer, and my nervous system feels regulated.

Biking also asks something of me. It requires preparation and presence. I have to make sure the tires are pumped, the chain is oiled, the brakes are working. I have to check the weather and choose the right clothing. I have to leave with enough time. There is no autopilot. And strangely, that responsibility feels grounding rather than burdensome.

One of the things I love most is that I don’t wear a watch when I ride. I have to remind myself that it’s going to take the time it takes. I cannot rush it. Traffic doesn’t bend to my urgency. The bike doesn’t go faster because I’m stressed. This feels like an embodied lesson in acceptance—something I talk about often in therapy, but here I practice it.

No one can reach me while I’m riding. There are no notifications, no emails, no demands. It is my time. Not productive time. Not optimized time. Just time to move, breathe, notice, and exist.

Yes, biking is exercise—but I don’t experience it that way. It feels more like meditative freedom. A rhythmic movement that settles my thoughts, connects me to my body, and reminds me that joy doesn’t always come from adding something new to our lives. Sometimes it comes from doing something simple, consistently, and with intention.

This ritual works because I have systems in place. My bag is packed the night before. My clothes are ready. My bike is maintained. As a therapist, I know that joy doesn’t thrive in chaos—it needs structure to support it. Freedom isn’t the absence of systems; it’s often created because of them.

What I’m reminded of each day is this: joy doesn’t have to be loud or extravagant. It can be quiet, repetitive, and woven into the fabric of daily life. It can live in the commute, the walk, the early morning air, the moment you choose presence over urgency.

So I find myself wondering—and inviting you to wonder too:

Where might there be a small pocket of freedom in your day?What transition could become a ritual?

What movement, pause, or habit might offer you a moment of joy that belongs only to you?

It doesn’t have to be biking. It could be a walk, a stretch, a cup of coffee outside, a few minutes of music, or simply choosing not to rush when you don’t have to.

Sometimes, the most healing moments are not the ones we plan—but the ones we allow ourselves to fully experience.