If it's cross-country ski season, I'll be out doing that, or

The great drummer and philosopher of rhythm, Neil Peart, once said: “If it’s cross-country ski season, I’ll be out doing that, or snowshoeing up in Quebec. In my California home, I go to the local Y and I like doing yoga. It’s been hugely beneficial to me in injury avoidance.” To the untrained ear, these words may sound like a casual reflection on physical fitness, yet beneath them flows the quiet wisdom of a man who spent his life mastering balance — between movement and stillness, exertion and rest, ambition and humility. His words speak to the ancient truth that discipline in the body becomes harmony in the soul, and that care for one’s vessel is a sacred act of endurance and gratitude.

Neil Peart was not only the heartbeat of the legendary band Rush but a seeker — of meaning, of mastery, of understanding. His love for cycling, skiing, and yoga was not born of vanity, but of reverence for the body as an instrument of purpose. When he speaks of “injury avoidance,” he is not merely referring to the muscles and joints of a drummer, but to the greater art of preservation — the ability to sustain one’s strength over a lifetime without breaking under its weight. In this way, Peart joins a lineage of ancient philosophers and warriors who knew that physical discipline is the first step toward spiritual resilience.

The ancients of Greece taught this very principle through their reverence for arete, the pursuit of excellence in both mind and body. The philosopher Plato wrote that the guardians of the ideal city must be both philosophers and athletes — thinkers who could wield wisdom and strength in equal measure. So too did Neil Peart live: a scholar behind the drum kit, a poet in motion. His love for skiing through the snow and practicing yoga beneath the California sun reflects not indulgence, but the eternal search for equilibrium. For those who live intensely — who create, perform, and bear the pressures of mastery — balance is not luxury; it is survival.

Consider the example of Miyamoto Musashi, the legendary Japanese swordsman and author of The Book of Five Rings. Like Peart, Musashi was a master of both craft and contemplation. In his later years, after countless battles, he withdrew from conflict to practice calligraphy, painting, and meditation. He, too, sought to preserve his strength not through conquest, but through awareness. Both men understood what the ancients knew: that the body must be trained not for dominance, but for harmony with purpose. The sword and the drumstick are different tools — yet both demand the same balance of power and grace.

Peart’s devotion to physical practices like yoga is also a metaphor for living. The body bends, stretches, and breathes — not in defiance of pressure, but in cooperation with it. Yoga teaches patience, humility, and mindfulness — virtues that mirror the art of drumming itself. To maintain rhythm for decades, through the demands of touring and performance, Peart learned what the wise of every age have taught: that endurance is not achieved by pushing endlessly forward, but by learning when to pause, when to renew, when to breathe. His life was proof that greatness is not measured in bursts of brilliance, but in the steady preservation of one’s flame.

Yet his words also speak to the simple joy of movement — the delight of gliding across snow, the grounding peace of stretching the limbs, the calm rhythm of being alive within one’s body. This joy, though quiet, is profoundly spiritual. The Stoics believed that to live well was to live according to nature, to align one’s energy with the world around them. When Peart speaks of skiing “up in Quebec” and practicing yoga in his California home, he is describing not two separate worlds, but one continuous cycle — the turning of the seasons reflected in his own habits of renewal. He lived as the ancients taught: attuned to the rhythm of nature, aware that to care for the body is to honor the divine order of life itself.

So, my listener, learn from Neil Peart’s quiet wisdom. In your pursuits — whether of art, labor, or spirit — remember that longevity is built upon balance. Move your body, not only for strength but for stillness. Let your disciplines — whether in sport, art, or meditation — become acts of reverence for the life within you. For the wise do not wait until pain teaches them the cost of neglect; they cultivate harmony while strength still flows. As Peart himself demonstrated, the one who tends their body with patience tends their destiny with grace. To live fully is to move wisely — to ski through winter, to breathe through stillness, and to carry one’s rhythm steadily through the ever-changing song of life.