For people whose job is fine and whose head isn't
Not meditation. Not an app to install. Six small things you can do at your desk, between one task and the next, to stop the overwhelm before it takes the whole afternoon.
They're all on this page — and one of them you can do right now, here, in forty seconds. The email version exists only so you still have them tomorrow, when you'll need them and won't remember this page.
Show me the one I need nowNo sign-up wall. Nothing hidden behind an email.
Right now
Mid-morning
Breathe in for four, out for eight. Three times.
Try it before you read on
Follow the circle. It grows while you breathe in, shrinks while you breathe out — the out-breath is twice as long, and that's the whole trick.
Ready when you are
Three rounds · about 40 seconds
Sound familiar?
The overwhelm hits before 10am and your chest tightens at the inbox. Hours disappear into half-finished tasks, and at night your brain replays every one of them. You're busy for ten hours and somehow still behind.
None of this means something's wrong with you. It means your nervous system has been running at the same level since nine this morning, and nobody ever told it the task was over.
The checklist, in full
Run them where you already are. No mat, no silence, no app. Tick them as you go — this page remembers, so tomorrow you'll see where you left off.
Before the first email, write the single thing that has to be true by tonight for the day to count. One line, on paper. Then open the inbox.

Why it works: the inbox hands you other people's priorities in the order they arrived. One line written first gives you something to measure them against — so the day stops being whatever lands.
Close every tab except the one you're working in. Not minimise — close. Anything you're afraid to lose goes in one line on the same sheet.

Why it works: open tabs are unfinished decisions. Each one keeps a small part of your attention busy holding it open, and you feel that as pressure rather than as a list.
In for four, out for eight, three times — about forty seconds, and you can do it while a page loads. The circle above counts for you.
Why it works: a longer out-breath than in-breath is the simplest lever you have on the part of the nervous system that decides whether you're under threat. It doesn't ask you to feel calm first.
Say silently what you're feeling in three words — "this feels unfair" — then stand up, walk to another room and come back.
Why it works: two things at once. Putting the feeling into words takes it out of pure reaction, and moving spends the physical charge that was about to go into a reply you'd regret.
Write tomorrow's first task, close the laptop, and say out loud that work is over. Out loud, even if it feels ridiculous. Especially then.

Why it works: the day doesn't end because the clock says so — it ends when your head has somewhere to put the unfinished parts. Tomorrow's first line is that place.
Read one page of anything on paper before sleep. One page is the whole commitment — if you keep going, that's your business.
Why it works: it isn't about reading. It's a signal your body can recognise — same low light, same stillness, same time. The signal does the work, not the book.
That's the whole thing. If one of the six is useful today, it did its job.
Keep them
We'll send the six resets as a one-page sheet you can print or keep in your notes. After that, one short email a week about working with a quieter head — and nothing else.
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Straight answers
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