I can’t quite yet put my finger on it. Anxiety, delusion, ignorance, performance, ego, hubris. With each stage, my heart rate increases, my breathing constricts. “What’s wrong with these people!?” I keep asking myself. “How did I live here just a year ago?” So many asleep. I keep wanting to grab strangers by the shoulders and shake them and scream, “Wake up!” This is insane.

To be clear, what I’m feeling is fear, and it’s the type I consider to be healthy and that I listen to and trust.

Have I changed this much? Has the population? Both? As I read the US headlines from the jungle over the last year, I remember them seeming like a thriller movie. Now, the jungle is the fantasy as I witness firsthand this zombie plague emanating from city centers, spreading through suburbs like wildfire, everyone pretending everything is normal. Don’t Look Up and Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die nail it.

With each stage of modernity, I can feel the population’s increasing trust in and obsession with artificial systems, processes, optimization, technology, longevity, Mars, media...their fading belief in humanity, connection, nature, play...subconsciously putting their faith in a glimmering mirage as part of a vain attempt to create security amidst the exponentially increasing threat of the inevitable. Like a substance addiction, offering only temporal relief by feeding off the true safety it promises, trading reality and love for illusions and transactions. Truth and beauty and free will for convenience and cleanliness and control.

Each morning, I look at my phone, and there are two distinct worlds. One in WhatsApp — “Hola Andy, buenos días, como amaneciste?” my mechanic left me an upbeat voice memo this morning...“Hey good morning Andy, how’s your day going?” And the other in my US inbox — “what time lunch.” a friend has written.

I never really understood the word “materialism” until now. It’s a religion whose worshippers are drowning in its seduction, aloof to its existence. “What the hell is water?” to quote David Foster Wallace, to which I only add — you too have a choice of how to live.

I keep hearing Rumi whisper to me, “Don’t go back to sleep.” It’s taking every ounce of strength I have to keep my head above water, and even more to do it with compassion, which I’m admittedly finding lacking. “Solo con amor”, maestra’s whisper is slowly fading into the background. Anger is my last defense.

But my compassion for my clients and those more intentionally on a path of awakening is growing — “How do you do it here!?” I’m asking. “Is it even possible??” For the first time so clearly feeling the straitjacket forcing itself back around my torso, the pressure of the cold rubber boot choking down on my neck. I’m not sure it is possible. For me anyway.

The other day my therapist played If This Is The End for me. I wept.

I’m using voice-to-text to transcribe this as I drive through the desert of southeastern New Mexico at 3 am, following the visceral desire in my gut that overcame me late yesterday (?) morning to speed out of the city. A friend from Taos had called me as I was in the thick of it and reflected back to me, “you gotta get outta there.” Thanks man.

And just now, coming around a bend, there was no artificial light visible in any direction under the clear night sky of the new moon. Suddenly my headlights illuminated a giant brown hawk taking off from the road in front of me. I braked hard and swerved. I slowed to a stop and turned off the truck. Got out. Stood on the dusty gravel barefoot. Breathed in the cool, dry air. Gazed up at the stars under the Milky Way.

“Ahhh, yes...” I exhaled. The tide switched directions. The first wave began rolling back out…

Watching and experiencing the climate, political, and technological events of the last few years, I fear this is the part of the apocalypse movie when all the animals are losing their shit, and most people don’t know any different. For some time, I’ve practiced living as if I only have five years left. Enough to need to pay the bills, not so much to take things for granted.

How will you spend your time? Nearly all my clients are amidst big changes, particularly in where they live and where they work. What is your soul whispering to you? Do you have the courage to listen?

For me right now, it’s hanging out with friends in the high desert in between coaching and looking at return tickets to the jungle.

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An old friend recently asked what it is exactly that I do in my coaching. For years, I’ve struggled to come up with a good answer. When I ask clients, they’re at a loss for words, too. Many have said things like, “I didn’t have any idea what I was getting into. And I’m really glad I’m doing this now.” Something about the last ten days and writing this article has helped me find some words…

I help successful people be genuinely happy. Most folks’ baseline involves a low-grade bracing or dissociation they’re not yet aware of. I’m sensitive enough to feel things in my clients they don’t, and I have the practice and training to help them process what they’re ready for. Over time, people who work with me learn to notice and tend to subtle and difficult sensations on their own, which brings true peace, freedom, self-love, joy.

I have space for one more client right now. Drop me a line if you’re interested.

Before I get started — if it’s not already obvious from my photo — I’m not a doctor or lawyer! So, nothing here constitutes medical or legal advice. I recommend following the guidance of your people and obeying the law wherever you may be.

Okay, that out of the way, here we go! I think it’ll be helpful to talk about how I stepped into this world to kick things off…

The Early Days Of My Practice

I’d been experimenting with intentional use of psychedelics in the months leading up to a silent meditation retreat some years ago. Previously, I’d already had deep experiences of sati (remembering, commonly translated as mindfulness), samadhi (gatheredness, commonly translated as concentration), anicca (impermanence), anatta (not self), and dukkha (unsatisfactoriness, commonly translated as suffering), as well as tastes of the jhanas (absorption), on pure, unadulterated meditation retreat. I’d lived alone in the woods for a year, given up alcohol and caffeine, cleaned up the diet and sleep, was exercising regularly, and I’d been meditating daily for over 5 years by this point (a practice which I'd learned as a kid and had since “forgotten”), many months on silent retreat, and several thousand hours of cumulative practice. I felt ready for some deeper glimpses into these core teachings as well as into the ultimate, deathless…nibbāna — translated as an extinguishing of the fire of greed, hatred, aversion.

So, back to retreat — it was a 10-day, starting with samadhi and leading into an advanced Tibetan awareness practice. As there is never a place to use any kind of substance on meditation retreat, it was just me, the instructions, and my mind. About halfway through, there was an evening dharma talk describing the Tibetan awareness practice and the resulting states of euphoria, bliss, rapture. I literally raised my hand in the back of the hall to ask if any mere mortal had ever ventured into this territory — thankfully, the teacher didn’t call on me.

Now, something interesting was happening on this particular retreat — I was noticing that in the 30- and 45- minute sits I was regularly having 0, 1, 2, 3 total thoughts, most of which were, “Whoa, I haven’t had any thoughts this sit…”

Something else was happening — my skin was itching, burning intensely. At first, just some spots here and there; by the end of retreat, about a third of my body was covered in rash. It became the object of my meditation as it started, as everything is amplified on retreat. I began softening into the pain and discomfort, feeling it, curious about it, noticing the desire to scratch, what happened as I didn’t…how it intensified, how it transformed.

Since the best opportunity for awakening at Spirit Rock is sleeping through the morning meditation(!), the day after the Tibetan awareness instructions were given, I made my way to the hall for my first sit while the rest of the retreatants were having breakfast at around 7:15 am. After about a half hour of practice, my first thought was the usual — that there hadn’t been any thoughts. The second thought was new — remembering the instructions from the night before. They were presented with the caveat that these techniques are normally taught around year ~8 at the monastery and take ~2 more years to master. The intention of our retreat was for us to touch, but not yet dwell in, these states. I tried a few of the methods described for entering this place, and to my surprise, some flashes began. “Whoa, cool!” I thought.

Next I remembered something from my psychedelic journeys in the prior year — the first time I went into the DMT space, there was nothing, total blackness, stillness, silence, off. I thought I’d experienced samadhi before, but boy was I off, way off!

My second time with DMT, the place I’d previously thought to be completely empty, I noticed lava lamp -like bubbles moving upwards…“iiinteresting”, I thought; I moved closer. Illuminated by the blobs, I made out what appeared to be a room I was in. The bubbles in the top-left corner were leading into a whole other world I previously didn’t know existed — it was filled with amazing colors, patterns, shapes. I knew that to cross the threshold from my quiet, safe, dark room into this other magical one was to die, and I felt too afraid.

On my third time going in, having prepared mentally before, I came to the threshold, and I felt a sense of, “okay, it’s time…let’s go.” I surrendered and was catapulted straight into Candy Land, having become part of it and its infinite dimensions, spontaneously shifting and collapsing and remerging in and out of each other, all comprised of a liquid that is clearly life itself. The liquid gave rise to three gentle feminine beings who greeted me, “welcome back…we’ve been waiting for you.” You know the feeling when you come back to the breath in meditation after the mind has been wandering? I had this feeling stepping into this world, except the wandering mind was all of my prior life, and this, this was presence. I knew I had died. When I came out of it 15 calendar minutes later, and what felt like a lifetime in there, I was completely shocked to be alive. I was totally at peace with having died. This is what’s known as “ego death”.

Well, back at meditation retreat, I remembered the, “okay, it’s time…let’s go” motion, and I tried that…now unaided by any substance, and holy shit! I found myself right back in Candy Land, my body sitting alone in the retreat center hall, substance-free 🤯. WTF!? And I stayed there, for several more hours in continuous meditation that morning. And then eyes open as I walked to the bathroom. And still at lunch. In the afternoon sitting and walking meditations. Into my dreams. All the sits for the rest of retreat. I could enter at will. But I wasn’t so good at turning it off, yet! That’s what I refined over the next several months after retreat ended, most definitely still substance-free.

I saw my teacher as I was walking out of the bathroom outside the meditation hall that morning — she was one of the ones leading retreat. Seeing my deer-in-headlights eyes, she approached and breaking silence, asked me what was going on. The advice she offered was really helpful — to basically stop meditating, go for brisk hikes, hot showers, etc. To spend time grounding. The next night, her colleague was giving the dharma talk and quoted Chögyam Trungpa…

The bad news is you’re falling through the air, nothing to hang on to, no parachute. The good news is, there’s no ground.

When the 10 days were up, a fellow retreatant offered me a ride to my friend’s place down in Mill Valley where I’d be staying the next few nights. Seeing the rash on my arms beneath the sleeves of my t-shirt, the fellow meditator driving me mentioned he was a doctor and asked if I was okay. “Oh yeah, I’m fine…” I shrugged it off, “just something that’s been there, not really sure what it is.” He asked if I'd been hiking in the woods. “Every day!” I responded proudly — that was the best way I'd learned to come down from Candy Land. “I’m pretty sure that’s a really terrible case of poison oak; we should go to the emergency room,” the good doctor went on. “Umm, okay?” I agreed. I was in such a pleasant state; it really wasn’t bothering me. And. I trusted him.

“So, what kind of doctor are you?” I asked...

“I’m a psychiatrist.”

“Oh cool.” I let some time go by…

“Hey, you don’t know anything about the intersection of meditation and psychedelics, do you?” I followed up. “I’d been playing with psychedelics and then just had some pretty wild stuff happen on this retreat after. I don’t really know what to make of it all…”

“Yeah, seems like it,” he looked down at my pussing arms. “I’ve been sitting multiple retreats a year here for decades, and I don’t have anywhere close to the amount of samadhi to have sat through what you just did! And yes, as a matter of fact, I do — I helped organize the first spiritual pyschedelic conferences back in the 70s with Dr. Hofmann, the McKenna brothers, Ram Dass, Jack Kornfield, Joan Halifax, Ann Shulgin…”

“Holy shit!” I interrupted, “no way!?”

“Sure did,” he chuckled.

“Well, what would they tell me if they were here in the car with us…what’s the most important thing?” I asked…

Dr. X, let’s call him, didn’t skip a beat — “they made it abundantly clear that, combined skillfully, psychedelics hold great potential in the spiritual journey. And. Unskillfully used, it’s a very slippery, dangerous slope.”

Clear enough. Lesson learned.

The doctors at the urgent care confirmed it was indeed poison oak. They were beside themselves about how it’d gotten so bad without my getting medical attention. They loaded me up with some ‘roids, I went to the Safeway next door to pickup some fruit and water, and my friend scooped me in his grey Jeep out front.

Several Years Later

Fast forward a bit, and I find myself in an extremely intense ayahuasca ceremony. At 5’9” barely weighing 120 pounds, my body was not strong. I’d just come out of a monthlong silent meditation retreat. It was my 3rd drinking in less than a week. Unfortunately, it was in my early days with ayahuasca, and I found myself in the company of a very unskillful facilitator. She served me three cups that night to move through the block that was surely my system resisting her. Since it takes time for medicine to fully leave the system, the effects were compounding from the prior ceremonies that week. Needless to say, this dose was enough to hurl me over the edge.

There’s a phenomenon with psychedelics where certain people, sensitive ones I believe, can become hypoglycemic. Well, this time, instead of my ego dying, it was my body’s turn. So attuned coming out of the meditation retreat and with so much medicine in my system, I could literally feel organs showing down, especially my pulse, blood pressure. Laid out, I couldn’t move. I was basically alone, not in the best company.

“Remember your practice,” I heard a voice echo from the depths of my soul.

And just like that, it clicked. It was effortless. After millions of repetitions of being with the breath in formal practice, it would have taken effort to not be present with each of my body’s slow, long inhales, exhales.

The physical pain was excruciating. It made the poison oak feel like the kiddie pool. It was as if my torso had been split open, a surgeon’s hands wrangling my guts.

I’d read the chapter in the Gita that morning about how to die and remembered the instructions — focus attention on the light eminating from the third eye. I could instantly see it. It was blinding, euphoric; there was complete freedom from the pain. And then something would shift in my guts. Forgetting my practice, I’d be drowning all over again in torment. Until the next inhale, “remember”. And so I went, cycling through this loop dozens and dozens of times.

Until after an hour or so, I just decided, “I’m not dying here, now. I’m walking out of here.” I fixed my mind on a piece of fruit, one of those bright juicy oranges in the kitchen about 500 meters down the hill. I saw it clearly in my mind’s eye, its ripe flesh bulging against the pith.

I continued visualizing my salvation for some time. I could taste the sweet nectar. Lying in savasana, hands outstretched by my sides. When all of a sudden, a half of a cold, wet orange is gently placed into the palm of my right hand. It took all the energy I could muster to lift my arm, bend the elbow. And at last. The pure primal substance of life itself, touching the skin of my lips.

The next day, I tracked down the person who’d brought the orange. “Why did you do that?” I asked, “where did it come from?”

“I don’t know.” is all he said.

Putting It All Together

Tibetan Buddhists talk about three levels of understanding…

1. Conceptual — learning about a thing, like impermanence

2. Experiential — experiencing the thing, not resisting change

3. Pervasive — abiding in the thing, complete surrender to everything changing, always

As I’ve pieced together my experience and Dr. X's advice over the years, I’ve seen a pattern where I’ll learn about a thing in meditation, a dharma talk, therapy, reading, etc. I’ll experience it to some degree in my daily life, meditation. Then, there’s a plateau. Sometimes, after the flattening out, I’ll sit on a meditation or plant medicine retreat, and the understanding becomes pervasive. I can’t quite say when or why I choose meditation vs. plant medicine, outside of saying I know in my gut. I guess if I’m feeling really stuck after meditation retreat, sometimes medicine helps — it’ll show me a marker, a north star, that I can take back to my cushion after and practice. But without holding onto it ← slippery slope. If I’m feeling really expansive and needing to come back to earth, meditation retreat helps — this in turn helps me cultivate the stability and resources that are key to the psychedelic journeys.

One thing I do know is that my meditation practice fundamentally shifted on that poison oak retreat — I'd made peace with the thinking mind and stopped fighting it. That's persisted, and every time I've since closed my eyes to sit, there’s been peace, even when shit’s bonkers outside. And I’m not attached to that. Maybe that’s part of why it’s still around…

What does all this mean?

There are two general ways people use psychedelics — spiritually and recreationally. They can’t be used for both, and, doing it right, much of the journey won't be any fun at all.

If you’re solely interested in expanding consciousness, this article is for you. Otherwise, if you’re at all interested in having fun with drugs, at least be as safe as you can 🤷🏼?

Related, “bad trips” are only a matter of when, not if, recreational use is involved. You won’t get lucky 10 times in a row. Because set and setting are a mess. Spiritually speaking, I often experience difficult journeys. The difference between bad and difficult on the front end of the journey involves surrender and curiosity, versus resistance and grasping. On the back end of a journey, this yields healthy transformation versus traumatizing terror.

Now, this isn't to say that if you dropped acid in college, you can't make the switch. Though if you do want to make the switch, I do believe committing to using psychedelics exclusively intentionally and completely giving them up recreationally is necessary. And while there is a spiritual argument for joy, it's far too nuanced, and risky, for me to cover here.

Alright, if you're still reading, I'll assume you're one-hundred percent committed to exploring your mind. After all, this is what the word psychedelic means — in Greek, psyche (mind) + deloun (to make manifest) produces “mind-manifesting”. I include therapeutic use of psychedelics in this bucket because, whether or not the participant is aware, I believe all parts of the growth journey boil down to a spiritual quest.

Now, there are two ways people try to use psychedelics to expand consciousness — with love, and with hate. Bros searching for an ego death are motivated by self-hate ← don't do this. This, any desire to “break” through, “fix” a “broken” self, “improve”, etc. is, ironically enough, the ego talking, and ultimately fear. It only leads to “bad trips” or ego strengthening under the guise of a “mystical experience”. The word growth even falls into this camp, but alas, words are what we’ve got here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

If you aren’t at least a little bit scared approaching psychedelics, your ego is fully in the driver’s seat, and I recommend a gentler path (loving-kindness meditation, soft massage, a gentle therapist) for many years before introducing psychedelics.

If you're still with me, I'll assume you're interested in exploring your mind, purely. It takes a great deal of responsibility to walk this path upright, as psychedelics harness a great deal of power.

Why are most psychedelics illegal?

Nixon branded psychedelics as illegal drugs to target and suppress the anti-war, counterculture, hippie movement in the 1960s. Fortunately, that is finally being undone, as plant medicine has been used by indigenous people for millennia to successfully treat a variety of conditions. As of the publication date of this article, in the US…

• DMT is in Phase 2a clinical trials

• LSD is in Phase 2

• MDMA completed Phase 3 and is doing it again for kicks and grins

• Psilocybin is becoming decriminalized and has completed its Phase 3 clinical trials

• Esketamine is FDA-approved for treatment-resistant depression

• Marijuana, sometimes considered a low-grade psychedelic, is widely legalized and has a variety of well-documented medical uses

Preparation

In The Months Leading Up

Step 1: Meditate every day for 20 minutes for 90 days, minimum.

If you can’t do this, you’re still looking for a shortcut, afraid of suffering, and you shouldn’t fool around with psychedelics. Before hitting the NOS, learn how to drive! Diet pills won't give you what you really need, and if you’re an adult, you know there are serious consequences of using anything, especially a substance, as a quick fix, escape, easy way out — just read about the side effects of GLP-1s!

On the adult part, I recommend waiting until your late twenties or early thirites at least when starting down this direction. Ideally, you've meditated daily for years, as well, since you'll need all you've learned in your practice, and much more, to help keep you upright. The more you meditate, the more the ego will soften and allow you to remain present, grounded, open in journeys. People who come out of their first ayahuasca journey thinking they’re God, enlightened, evolved, better-than, are the ones who skipped the years of skillful meditation step ← please don’t do this.

Wrapping up this section, meditation, especially on retreat, enhances neuroplasticity, gradually. Psychedelics do it rapidly. Learn how to drive slowly so when your mind is malleable you change it for the better. And choose your inputs (guides) wisely. You are ultimately the only one responsible for yourself and can do yourself and others a great deal of harm if you don’t go about this right.

Find a guide.

Don’t do this at home alone, kids. Find someone qualified to shepherd your journey — who has done their inner work, has high integrity in and out of the medicine, is kind, has been trained and guided many times before, will get to know you and your intentions in preparation sessions, and will support you afterwards. When things get difficult for you on a journey, you'll thank yourself for having done your homework here. It's difficult to explain the nuance and importance of helpful support ahead of time, but you will most definitely know it when you do (or don't) receive what you need!

These days you can throw a crystal and hit 27 enlightened beings offering to show you the way. Hint: RUN the other way!

As a friend of mine says of spiritual communities, “hospitals are not for the well.” And with medicine this strong, you'll unfortunately find that most of the doctors and nurses in this hospital are really just patients who've promoted themselves without anybody’s blessing. It’s beyond perverse.

It takes an unworldly amount of integrity to wield such power without being corrupted by it. I usually more trust women, and some men with very developed, mature feminine sides — balance is the key. You want someone caring, who knows when and how to let you work through it on your own, and when to offer assistance. When going through something on your own, you know and feel you’re still supported by them. Too many guides fall into the trap of playing hero by assisting too much, which will only teach you to be a victim ← if you currently identify with this kind of energy, psychedlics and even meditation may exacerbate it.

And for medicines like ayahuasca, the list narrows for me, also requiring 10+ years of indigenous training (I pretty much exclusively drink from folks from the Amazon).

I could write a book about this section, and at the same time, I couldn't, because it's more of an art than a science, and unfortunately, I mostly have learned through trial and error, which is dangerous. I guess a few things I do in selecting guides are to look at their photo, listen to their music, have a conversation with them, all the while checking in with my gut and listening to the most subtle energetic cues.

What most people new to this world don't understand is that more important than the medicine is the guide. Once you take medicine with someone, you are giving them a key to your body, heart, mind, soul. This is especially true of ayahuasca — the medicine on its own will do things, but the maestro, curandero (if you ever meet someone who calls themself a “shaman”, also run the other way) is the one who directs it through song to do especially wonderful things. And they are the ones who hold the energetic boundary to protect the space and keep bad things from happening — dark spirits are attracted to the light. You might not understand this before having medicine, and trust me, you don’t want to learn this one the hard way. Drinking ayahuasca on your own, with someone who doesn't know what they're doing, or worse, with someone of questionable integrity, is like lighting a cigarette in a room full of gasoline and fireworks ← actually, I might prefer my odds here.

Choose your guide responsibly, and make sure your meditation practice is strong so that you may be safe when, not if, you run up against dark juju.

Balance

This section could be another book — for the Shipibo-Konibo people of Peru, renowned stewards of ayahuasca, balance is at the core of living an ethical life. Living in harmony with nature; only taking from the land what’s needed; ensuring the animals, plants, rivers are healthy.

When it comes to ayahuasca, balance takes many forms — respect for this limited resource, dosage, frequency of use, mindset, ego.

Ethics Practice

Buddha’s first dharma talk after his awakening covers The Middle Way, The Four Noble Truths, and The Eightfold Path. Whle books have also been written on each of these, here’s the gist…with some other teachings sprinkled in…and a little artistic license…

Born a prince, Siddhartha has everything. Still, there was dukkha — commonly translated as suffering, I prefer “unsatisfactoriness”. He leaves the palace in search of an end of dukkha and became an ascetic, renouncing worldly pleasures, including things like clothes, shelter, food. He becomes a master of the jhanas, able to enter profound states of consciousness at will, but he always comes down after he opens his eyes (note the parallel with coming down from psychedelics). Six years of this, malnourished and on the brink of starvation, he remembers the pleasant meditative state he knew as a child, and asks himself, “hmm, might there be another way?” He decides to give up the ascetic thing, have a proper meal, and sit and meditate under a tree until he’s free from dukkha. Some time later, he’s fully awakened and liberated. Thus, The Middle Way is born, one of the most pure, simple distillations of Buddhism.

Central to the path are the Four Noble Truths:

1. There is dukkha (unsatisfactoriness, suffering). This exists, y’all. The end.

2. There is a cause of dukkha. Namely, it’s the never-ending grasping onto things we want, aversion to the things we don’t want. Buddha used the word tanha, which literally means “thirst”, an insatiable thirst. You see, the wanting and not wanting is the suffering. And this is rooted in the ignorance of our fundamental, interconnected, always-changing nature. Dukkha manifests as clinging to a false, static, separate sense of self and world around us.

3. There is an end to dukkha. Hooray!

4. Here’s the way. It’s the Eightfold Path, which boils down to three groups. We practice right ethics, right meditation (paraphrasing since the common translation of samadhi, concentration, is especially misleading for this audience), and right wisdom (right view and right intention). This leads to the end of dukkha.

So what’s right ethics? Basically, non-harming. Self or other. For lay people, we practice the Five Precepts:

1. I undertake the training to refrain from intentionally taking life.

2. I undertake the training to refrain from taking that which is not given.

3. I undertake the training to refrain from misuse of sexuality and the senses.

4. I undertake the training to refrain from speech that is false, harsh, divisive, or meaningless.

5. I undertake the training to refrain from intoxication which leads to carelessness.

The six sense doors (mind consciousness is the sixth sense in Buddhism) are the gates of dukkha. Restraining them with strength and love is key to waking up, a practice for all times in life, and especially with psychedelics. I take the Five Precepts most mornings and always before every journey. Whatever your religion, any person can take up these practices.

Screening

If you have a personal or family history of mental illness, especially anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia, be especially cautious with psychedelics. The same goes for heart problems. Discuss this completely openly with your guide, medical team, etc., to determine if this is a safe and helpful path for you, now.

Choose your medicine and dosage.

Yes, this is medicine.

No, this is not food.

If you have any kind of frequent “draw” to psychedelics, this is dependency and a huge dead-end. I recommend stopping use, returning to your pure meditation practice, and only considering experimenting some years after the addiction, yes, addiction, has weaned. If you or people in your family have a history of addiction, tread very carefully. Addictions to “healthy” things are very common and not so healthy.

Choosing medicine and dosage is best done with your guide. When in doubt, err on the side of a gentler medicine, lower dose. I prefer natural over synthetic.

If anxious, step down. I generally believe psychedelics more reveals than create anxiety, and at low doses, one can work with this — learn the tools to be with the anxiety, which very well may be the doorway to freedom in turning towards what’s most difficult.

On that note, suffering is not an obstacle to go around or conquer; it is the way of freedom — in and through the suffering. This is a lot of what I’m up to with psychedelics — choosing to walk through this, sometimes very scary, doorway, over and over again.

Or if you want to dip your toe without any substances, Holotropic Breathwork can be great, creates psychedelic conditions. The selection of guide here is paramount and very difficult since most I’ve encountered fall into the spiritual materialism trap.

Feeling the call from ayahuasca? Grandmother is not for everybody. Not to be rushed. Feel into the quiet whisper of your soul. Listen. And really double down on your meditation. To help clear up any fantasies of this path being unicorns and rainbows...do you remember being sick as a kid? And knowing there's medicine that'll help? But it was so unpleasant you weren't sure if you wanted to take it? So you had to take some time to muster the courage? Ayahuasca is like that, times a million...so, extra important here is the selection of guide and the person who’s preparing our brew, as their energy will enter our being on our journey — we’re signing a karmic contract when we consent to drink.

Purging is part of the process. It's sacred, not to be feared. The medicine, aided by the skillful direction of a maestro, will find the illness of the body, mind, spirit that is ready to heal. And then she will get to work. Sometimes, things need to come out. It can be through vomiting, excretion, yawns, tears, sighs, spasms, etc. “Ayahuasca cura, cura medicina.” Ayahuasca cures, medicine heals. Trust in the process.

If you've had ayahuasca a handful of times, and it's been all unicorns and rainbows, check the ego, look deeper.

Rapé (pronounced ra-PAY) is a nice place to start with plant medicine. Not psychoactive, it’s a finely ground blend of tobacco and other medicinal plants. The powder is blown into the nostrils, and depending on dosage, the experience can range from mildly to extremely unpleasant at first. Purging is possible, though normally through spitting and tears. Rapé brings a strong sense of grounding, embodiment, and connection with nature and other beings.

Select a location — set and setting are key.

I recommend a place where what you’ve chosen is legal and in nature. It’s very important that you feel completely safe — with the people, the sounds, the smells, the nature. Don’t override any subtle feeling in your gut. When in doubt, walk away.

In The Weeks Leading Up

Set an intention.

Doesn’t need to be anything crazy. Not too vague, not too specific. One of my early ones that was noteworthy in my development was, “Mom.” I recommend something spiritual, open-ended versus materialistic, deterministic...trying to achieve an outcome. (Self) love, kindness, service are good examples. Be more productive, get a raise or job, marry this person...not so much!

Check the motivation.

Cultural appropriation is real ← don't do this.

You should only head down this path with curiosity, reverence, respect for the indigenous traditions in which these medicines are used versus an extractionary, individualistic, selfish motivation (which includes things like, “I'm God, and I'm going to save the world”).

Are you interested in getting more 🔴, or are you interested in learning to be with what is 🟢?

Do you value the mind over the body 🔴, or do you (want to) see their interconnected nature 🟢?

Clean up your life.

Diet.

This isn’t just about food and drink. Abstain from alcohol, tobacco, recreational substances, scrolling, media, sex (the biggest energy transfer out there), stress, etc. On food, limit especially animal products (and most especially pork), processed food (especially sugar), spices (especially salt), and fat. Eat whole food, plant-based. For ayahuasca, follow the even more specific instructions from your guide.

This comes from the dieta tradition of the Shipibo — thousands of years before Western doctors developed the Prolon Fast, this indigenous tribe was eating a ~500 calorie-a-day, ~10% protein, bland diet for weeks, months, up to over a year at a time, to aid in the purification of the body, mind, spirit.

Journal.

If you don’t already have one, begin a morning journaling practice. The recommendation (from The Artist’s Way) is to fill 3 pages within the first hour of waking. Don’t read anything written in the last 90 days.

You can write about your intention, fears, hopes, childhood, relationships, etc.

Going In

Recommit to your ethical principles.

Take the precepts. Like you mean it.

Mentally prepare for your leap of faith.

Recommit to an attitude of surrender, nonresistance, listening — when you see something dark, be curious about it, move closer. How is this here to help me? What does it have to show, teach me? Cultivate an attitude of being open to anything, everything. Unafraid. There will come a time when you’ll need to take a step and let go into a dark abyss, without any reassurance of what comes next, if anything will catch you. The Buddhist word is saddha, commonly translated as faith, I prefer the translations “confidence”, “trust”. You may encounter difficult things from the past, uncover memories you were not aware of — lean in, trust in the process, let things metabolize, release. Crying is normal and healthy.

Hopefully by this point you respect the gravity of this all and aren’t going to be casual about it.

Meditate.

Before, during, and after receiving medicine, I meditate. The entire journey, I meditate. I practice sitting upright, staying present. My system borrows from the hundreds of thousands of reps of returning to the breath after distraction that I’ve practiced in sitting meditation, such that when I get lost in a journey, there is an automatic return to presence upon my next inhale that brings me home, back to my body, here, now, safe. Do you understand why meditation is so important?

Let go of expectation. Don’t wait for some big experience — that will preclude it. Just meditate. Embrace beginner's mind, childlike wonder. And pleasant surprise when things happen. Once you are inside, ask questions, unattached to answers or results.

Ask for help.

If you’re the Stoic, hero type — everyone needs help sometimes. Nobody can do this alone. The strong thing to do is to ask for help when you need it. When you’re afraid.

If you’re the Eeyore, victim type — see if you can notice when you want to reach out, and first, come home to yourself, ask yourself what you need, offer it to yourself, to the child inside, pause for a moment before asking. If you still need help, do reach out.

Breathe.

Your breath is your best friend. Before it starts? Breathe. When it’s difficult? Breathe. When it’s amazing? Breathe. When you’re bored? Breathe. After it ends? Breathe.

Integration

“After the ecstasy, the laundry.” — Jack Kornfield

Your journey continues for weeks after it “ends”. Be slow. Take your time. Continue your diet of all the things. Don’t try to stop the waves. Learn to surf. There will be ups. There will be downs. Life happens.

You’ll be more sensitive. It’s not good. It’s not bad. It just is. Roll with it. Don’t judge yourself. Feel into your needs, boundaries. State them. Not too much. Not too little. Be The Middle Way. Gentle with yourself, others. Don’t act on big decisions. Recommit to your practice. Reflect. Journal. Make a vision board from your journey. Meditate. Spend lots of time in nature. Get massages. Go for walks alone. Spend time with nurturing friends. Practice gentle yoga. Sleep.

And don’t retell your experience over and over again. That’ll strengthen the ego, diminish the experience. Only share the deepest parts with select people, giving plenty of time before talking about it at all, with anyone. Very few will be able to fully hold, honor your experience. With most, you’ll feel judged, diminished. When I hear, “how was your journey?” I generally reply with something like, “great, how was your weekend?” and begin a listening meditation 😊. Others will listen performatively, exaggerating everything, strengthening everyone’s ego. Also not helpful.

Don’t hold onto what happened. Let go. Breathe. It will fade. That’s okay. You touched your true north. That was the purpose. Remember.

Listen to supportive music.

These are some of my favorite Spotify playlists I've made for preparation and integration…

• Ceremonia

• Help Me Open My Heart

• Peace

• Medicina

Meet with your guide.

I like to have 2-4 sessions after journeys to process.

Rapé

Rapé can be a very helpful integration tool, though one that's easy to get addicted to, as it's tobacco-based.

Microdosing

Occasionally? Fine?

Regularly? No. Just no. Regular microdosing is at best a crutch and at worst an addiction. If you’re doing this now, go back to the basics — sit on your cushion for 20 minutes each morning. If your mind is too busy, sit for an hour. If you can’t get to that magical place in your practice anymore, sign up for a 10-day silent retreat!

But seriously, if you’re looking for a still mind, you’re meditating wrong — meditation is a practice of learning to be at peace with the thinking mind, not controlling it into submission! And if you’ve had ecstatic experiences before, awesome! Now it’s time to let go of them, too. Trying to achieve anything in practice will only bring the opposite.

Recommend Reading

• How To Change Your Mind — read the book, skip the Netflix series

• Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism — if I could make this required reading for this world, I would

• Zen Mind Beginner’s Mind — informal talks by Suzuki Roshi distilling Buddhist teachings for OG Silicon Valley minds

• Mindfulness Meditation Misconceptions — by yours truly ;)

• Mindfulness Resources — a comprehensive set of tools I’ve put together over the decades

Recommended Viewing

• Fantastic Fungi

Articles From My Past Journeys

• I Choose Love. I Choose Living.

• Solo Con Amor, Part I

• Solo Con Amor, Part II

Before I defected to the jungle to surf ‘ery day, the answer for me was sadly just about once a week, goofing around on the tennis courts with my buddy David.

And before that, the answer was even more sadly…I dunno? Game nights here and there? That time my buddy set up the slip ‘n slide for the Memorial Day party in Austin?

In this post-Instagram era of robotic automation, virtue signaling, never-ending to-do lists, professional ambition…I can’t think of anything that’s had a more positive effect on my life than saying “screw all that!” in favor of frequent, consistent play!!

I think this is why I used to keep ejecting from the system so much — the summers abroad as a teenager, the year in Costa Rica mid-college, the partying and epic vacations once “real work” started, the year in Australia and Indo, the months in Hawai’i…

Until…

I finally realized I’m enough and deserve to be happy, now…every day…and moved to the tropics and let play be a centerpiece of life!

It’s social, it’s present, it’s joyful…it’s fun 🤪!

I’ve asked a few clients lately what they’re doing for fun, and I’ve heard about them doing a lot of things that sound nice on paper — yoga, meditation, journaling, jogging, spiritual reading, walks in nature…

And I was left wanting something more for them!

In the words of a play researcher...

“Everyone is so busy but yet unfulfilled,” Catherine Price, the author of The Power of Fun: How to Feel Alive Again, told NPR.

With a background as a science journalist, Price sought to parse out the ingredients for “true fun,” as she calls it. Her answer is the overlapping states of playfulness, connection and flow.

In grade school, I remember regularly having a paper assigned on a Friday (but seriously, WTF!?), due in a month or two (also, WTF!?), rushing home and starting work on it that evening 😔.

My mom would finally interrupt me just before dusk on Saturday, “okay Andy…that’s enough for now…time to go outside and play, have some fun…”

“But, but…I’m almost done!” I’d protest, “just let me finish…”

By the fifth grade, I’d already so deeply internalized the pressure to succeed that the circuits for worth and productivity had long been fused. The anxiety noose attached to my desk was so tight I could barely breathe.

Fortunately, my mother was insistent…

Moments after joining my friends outside and picking up the squirt gun or football, I’d long forgotten that silly paper…and was just having some ‘ole fashioned wholesome FUN.

We do it because it feels GOOD! Not for any reward. It’s one of the purest expressions of what it means to be human, IMHO.

Still need convincing? ← a small part of me died just writing this!

Buddha laid out seven factors for enlightenment. Guess what two of them are!?

Energy and Joy!

28.57% of enlightenment is about this!

So, what do you do for fun? How often? I find regular, daily play to be key to my happiness.

If you’re scratching your head, make one of those lists we’re so good at these days — “Fun Shit To Do”! Maybe it’s blank for a minute. That’s okay. Maybe you have some ideas. Cool! Don’t think or try too hard. If you do, it’s prolly not going to be any fun! Look to kids, animals for inspiration. Remember what you did when you were little; I bet the themes aren't going to be very different, now. And most importantly, commit! “I commit to having fun ‘ery day!”

Here are some from my list:

• Surfing

• Playing with Barkley

• Laughing with a friend

• Playing in the sand where it meets the water

• Watching something funny

• Goofing around the tennis court

• Pickleball!

• Going to a comedy show

• Pickup soccer

• Surf skate

• Read something fun

• Dance party!

• Wakeboarding

• Game night!

• Paintball

• Snowboarding (can you tell I like board sports yet!?)

K, time for us to put the devices down, go outside and play already!!

I spent a week at Plum Village in 2022 just before Thich Nhat Hanh passed away. While he wasn’t there in body, his presence was palpable. During the morning meditations on the deck of his hut, amidst the fog rising over the rolling lines of plum trees, in the sun rising over the Zen garden, throughout the woods during walking meditation.

At 7 am my first morning there, the retreatants were to congregate outside the kitchen to be assigned yogi jobs. I was walking across the grounds when the large bell in the center of the monestery rang, signaling the change of the hour. I stopped and closed my eyes. I breathed deeply.

Perhaps the most widely recognized practices across Thay’s worldwide network of monestaries is the one of stopping and enjoying the sound of the bell. Whether we’re walking, talking, cooking, eating...we stop. We listen. And we smile ☺️. It’s such a lovely interrupt. And this bell, it rings often! On the hour, on the half hour, to signal the beginning of an activity, to signal the end of an activity. With things happening throughout the day — meditations, meals, the work period, qigong practice, dharma talks, and so on — stopping is the norm.

As the sound of the bell merged with the quiet whistle of the birds, I resumed walking towards the kitchen. About twenty-five other yogis were already there, forming a wavy circle that swelled to include each new friend who arrived. We sang while we waited...

Happiness is here and now,

I have dropped my worries,

Nowhere to go, nothing to do,

No longer in a hurry.

Happiness is here and now,

I have dropped my worries,

Somewhere to go, Something to do,

But I don’t need to hurry.

I learned my job was to pick hot peppers in the garden after lunch.

The first half of lunch was enjoyed in silence. After the bell sounded, there was a period of mindful talking.

I found myself chatting with a thin, tall, pale-skinned monk, originally from Missouri. The bell sounded again as I spoke.

What a relief to stop and relax! I immediately noticed the tension engulfing my body, that just moments before was below the level of consciousness.

“It’s so nice having new friends here,” the monk commented as I remained in silence. It was the first week the monestary opened since the pandemic had begun. “It’s so easy for us to forget how precious the sound of the bell is.”

After our conversation and meal, I made my way to the garden where a young Vietnamese monk was picking peppers alone. I greeted the brother and introduced myself. He found a second basket and began to explain the work, making it clear that my priority, his priority, was mindfulness. Everything else came second.

Easy enough!

I began down the first row of shrubs, sensing my body as my right hand extended towards the base of the bright green chili, as its stem popped between my thumb and forefinger, as I placed it in the basket. I was working at a slightly slower pace than I might have otherwise. And it was pleasant. It was maybe the first truly peaceful experience of work I’d ever had. I’d thought these words were antonyms?

However, as the basket approached half full, the awareness...and peace...faded. I was nearly done with the third row when the bell rang. But this time, instead of stopping for it, I paused. My arm remained extended, waiting for the sound to end...so I could finish! Once it was out of the way, I sped up to pick the last bunch.

Then, out of nowhere, the monk appeared in front me, his posture, his smile, both gentle, and strong.

“Thank you, brother...” he extended his hands gracefully to receive my basket.

“Oh, I’m almost done,” I hurried ahead!

“It’s time for qigong, your work is done here. Thank you again. Go in peace.”

While my right arm felt a magnetic pull eminating from the dangling peppers at the end of the row, my heart swelled. My peace truly was more important. I choked up as I walked towards the meditation hall...

Early in our time together, most of my clients (and most high achievers I meet in general), hyperventilate as they talk. The subliminal modern instruction is, “work first, breathe later!” Come to think of it, I might have even heard that one growing up 🙃! So I'll interrupt, “heyyy, what’s happening in your body right now?”

“Ummm, I dunno?,” is the most common response. The mind has completely dissociated, sprinting forward at the speed of sound, whipping that begruged body that’s only holding it back.

“Were you breathing,” I ask?

“Oh. I guess not...”

It’s unfortunately common to hold the breath while talking and working these days. Screens exacerbate it. I call it work apnea.

“Would you be willing to try something? As you pickup where you left off, prioritize your breathing, not your talking. Talk around breathing instead of breathing around taking. Take all the time you need. I don’t care if there are pauses for minutes or if you finish the story at all. All I care is about is that you feel relaxed. Okay?”

I vividly remember the first time I said this to a client, a woman in her late thirties. The muscles in her face immediately softened as I spoke. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes. She literally didn’t open them or speak for the remainder of the session, about thirty-five more minutes. At the beginning of our next session, she started to tell me what was going on. As I noticed her body tighten, I remained silent and consciously relaxed. She stopped. She let her eyes close slowly, took a deep breath. As she resumed, her body completely at peace, she smiled.

When we’re doing this living thing right, we don’t need these epic rests from work — to collapse onto the couch and binge Netflix at the end of a long day, to have a glass of wine or six to take the edge off on the weekend, to veg out on the beach every summer until we forget it all. We can find a balance that’s sustainable, that’s actually nourishing.

If you take one thing away from this article, let it be this — your peace is more important than your work.

And work most especially includes the never-ending “to do” list we make for ourselves. Failing to understand, believe this is what Buddha calls delusion, the root of suffering.

Plum Village has a wonderful app where monastics guide meditations, and you can set a bell to randomly ring to help you remember to stop. Set it to sound throughout the day when the phone is on silent, and introduce the practice to your colleagues. They’ll thank you for it. And if they don’t, maybe find a new place to work!

I was on a ski trip with some friends many years ago, and one of the guys had done his PhD in obsessive compulsive behavior. He worked as a clinician, helping patients with true OCD. One evening, he and I were heading to our room to put on our bathing suits before going to the hot tub. We’d just split a joint, and now felt like the perfectly appropriate to blurt out — “Hey John! Can I pretty please with sugar on top ask you a 2-minute work question!?”

“Haha sure,” he chuckled as we walked into the room. Having lived with me for a few days I’m p sure he knew where this was going 🙃…

My rapid fire began with a smile — “Okay, so do I have OCPD?! Look at my side of the room! It’s hard for me to walk away from tasks unfinished, leave loose ends, when my car breaks down, when my body breaks down, when I lose or break something, when there’s a conflict in a relationship, when I'm shopping for the “right” thing…do I have it, do I have it?!”

Looking down at the perfectly folded clothes visible in my suitcase, he smiled compassionately. He took a breath. He reached and tugged the pair of shorts that was on top, jolting them to the right and leaving them out of alignment with the rest.

“Okay,” he began, “how do you feel right now?”

“Umm, a little uncomfortable...” I spoke with hesitation ← I can literally feel the feeling in my body as I write this.

“What do you want to do,” he asked.

“Put them back, duh!” I smiled ☺️

“Can we go to the hot tub now,” he went on...

“Um, sure?” I replied...

As John closed the door and we turned down the hallway to the hottub, he spoke clearly, in a casual tone, “you’re definitely on the spectrum...but you don’t have a clinical disorder...if you did, you wouldn’t have been able to leave the room with the shorts like that.”

“Cool” I said, with a sigh of relief, “so…what now?”

“Easy. Exposure therapy,” John prescribed.

Most valuable 2 minutes of talk therapy I’ve ever received!

Most “high performers”, “achievers”, type-As, founders, CEOs I’ve met learned the same lesson I did as kids — do it once, do it right, and all will be well. This is how we avoided the criticism, the sharpness. It’s how we got the positive attention, care, pats on the back, the “good boys”, and “good girls” that we so desperately needed. It’s how we kept ourselves safe, brought order to chaos. The link between achieving and desired love and safety is such an old and deep wound that most who still carry it do so with a badge of honor, completely oblivious to the harm they’re continuously inflicting upon themselves and deepening. Moreover, many will outright reject this upon hearing it (if this is you, definitely keep reading!).

So, what do we do with all this? We don’t want to abandon the doing all together, it’s what’s gotten us here afterall! Brings us all that “success”. And. It’s incessancy is making us sick, unhappy, exhausted, anxious. Not to mention unpopular and driving people around us crazy 🤪!

(1) First, we name it.

We do so boringly. We stop pathologizing — jokingly referring to our “OCD”…obsessive and compulsive are not nice words! Don’t kick a puppy, be nice to yourself! And plus, if we’re splitting hairs, OCD refers to flicking the lights like 17 times before leaving the room so your best friend doesn’t die; it’s not rooted in logic like the, I’ll call them, perfectionistic tendencies (the spectrum of “Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder” ← leave it to the Western doctors to name things in a way that’s least conducive to healing and keeps them employed). And don’t get me wrong, both OCD and OCPD are difficult — if you or someone you know is on either spectrum, deep sympathies. I see you. Truly.

(2) Then, we love it.

We don’t fight it. Fighting reality by trying to organize it perfectly and control it is what’s gotten us here. We practice allowing the tendencies (that’s right), seeing them happen real-time, breathing with them. Asking the little one inside, “what do you need right now?” ← hint, it’s typically safety, love. Pausing from this place, offering ourselves the hug we need, lying on our back, showing our bodies we’re not in danger anymore ← don’t skip this…no amount of thinking or talking about being safe is a substitute for feeling safe…in fact, oftentimes it has the exact opposite effect, ironically enough 🙃. Verbal processing is helpful…until it’s harmful and is actually re-triggering ← this is when the ego has taken over.

Or maybe we’re not resourced enough yet or in this moment for a pause and can simply notice the perfection without judgment. Including how we feel before, during, and after...noticing the thing and doing the thing. Mindfulness is enough. “Mindfulness is self-correcting,” as Gil Fronsdal says. If we’re aware when we hold onto the hot pan, we’ll eventually let go. We don’t need to berate ourselves anymore. Change motivated from a place of self-hate actually takes us backwards, prolongs the grip.

Or, or maybe we notice perfection and notice judgment of perfection ← most common starting point…in this case, no need to judge the judging! We can typically smile at ourselves with compassion (not sarcasm), here. Allow the judging, from a place of love. Meet yourself where you are. Start where you are.

At first, these exercises may take some time, or seem altogether impossible (please reach out if so), but with practice, we can offer ourselves this kind of compassionate awareness in minutes, seconds. And from this place, only from this place, we can try exposure therapy — in small increments…leave the shorts out of place, the task unfinished, the conversation open-ended. Say, “I don’t know,” and be curious. Learn to abide in uncertainty, which is the only certainty. And be mindful…before, during, after. Notice the discomfort at first, breathe with it, feel it, and let the body metabolize, digest.

This art of noticing is like that time as a kid when you ate way too much of your favorite cake and then had a belly ache after. Don’t fight it, just rest. This too shall pass.

And next time in present day you’ve finished the first piece of cake and are eying the second, you can kind of think about it like an inverted exposure therapy — notice wanting it, notice the pain of not having it, and practice refraining from indulging in the sense pleasure from a place of self-love. Remember the belly ache from last time. Then notice when the craving passes and how you feel no longer wanting ← most of the “enjoyment” of the second piece of cake is really only the cessation of the craving! Then notice how good you feel not feeling too full of cake!

With this practice, we eventually (mostly) stop eating way too much cake (without knowing, anyway)! Mindfulness isn’t just enough, it’s just right.

What is this not? This is no longer forcing ourselves to keep working through the pain of the body we’ve been suppressing, overriding, ignoring all these years. That’s literally taking years off the ends of our lives and degrading our quality of life. And for what? A better future? Maybe…if we make it that far, and if we’re in great health, with great relationships, in a safe and world, etc. Which I’ve literally never seen pan out for anyone playing this long con. Because it’s all a huge gamble with the given cost of losing the joy of the present moment. Which is the only moment. The past and future are but dreams of the mind.

Are we ready to finally prioritize our bodies, our health, our happiness, our wellbeing, our peace, our joy, each other over...the future, work, others' opinions of us? Let’s stop sacrificing the only thing that is real, the present moment, for this distorted, ego-invented future. Let’s wake up! Live in the Now. Because when we’re not punishing ourselves and when we’re doing something we love, we don’t hate life so damn much and actually enjoy appropriate work!

The fixation on the future is destroying our culture, our world. Let’s stop trying to find a way to live on Mars happily ever after, and just be here, now. We have all we need to be happy, healthy, free. And the quest for longevity, that’s just another control move, another fight, a denial of the body. We won’t find what we’re looking for there. We’re looking for spirituality, love, even if we don’t know it yet. When I forget, I typically remember the next time I talk with an older, wiser person. When I next meditate. When I next wake up in the morning. Let’s wake up. The time is now.

Many of the ~100 friends who flew down to the private beach hotel in Jamaica for my 5-day wedding extravaganza have since called it “the wedding.” It was indeed epic. As was the road trip from NYC to Panama one summer, the year off in Australia in Indonesia, the 3 months in Hawai’i, the year in Costa Rica, the summer in Europe, the summer in Argentina...

It was all compensating for the literal ~80-hour weeks I worked, exacerbated by the nonstop ‘what-if’ planning and scenario mapping happening in my head, that presisted even into sleep and dreams.

While both “Work Andy” and “Vacation Andy” (actual names given by friends) were highly celebrated, this is not healthy. Binge thinking, binge doing followed by a different type of binge doing, binge consuming. Eventually I needed binge isolating to rebound. Fully draining the battery. Then desperately trying to refill it, knowing deep down that letting it go all the way to empty deteriorates its capacity over time.

Fueling all this was my drive to always say ‘yes’ — to the work, to the person...FOMO, abiding in the ‘should’, in the wants. A slave to others, to the senses. Always anticipating, bracing. It’s so freaking exhausting!

I was actually forbidden from using the word ‘no’ in the household growing up. It was a punishable offense. ‘Yes’ was the cost of love, attention, praise. Hungry for that, boundaries were, needless to say, absent from the vocabulary. It’s a word I truly didn’t understand, might as well have been Greek 🤷🏼

So, as you might guess, the overcorrection there, too — taking it out, anger, rage, resentment.

Also...not healthy 🙃

What then, do we call this so-called middle ground, standing upright?

Integrity.

As we sway, we simply notice, with compassion, which side we’re on. Still on that side, we take a few deep breaths. We resist the urge to blame or indulge, to move into drama. We swallow the retaliatory narrative on loop, the desire to hurt another. We instead take responsibility, “ohhh...”

The ego will protest at first.

Then it might feel like a gut punch inside.

Keep going, allow it, feel the feeling. Not fighting it anymore. Not as a victim.

This is healthy.

From a place of calm, we ask ourselves what we need — maybe it’s rest, a hug, a workout, a scream, a walk in nature, time with a good friend, to play. And we give ourselves this. In a way that harms no being, self or other.

The boundaries we practice (‘set’ feels like a violent phrasing and misrepresents what they are at the core) come from a place of love. And are mostly with ourselves. Resisting unwholesome temptations — scrolling, stroking our egos with work or helping others too much, repressing our needs, etc. Most of the time these boundaries are silent. If you’re screaming about them to others, you’re doing it wrong!

And there does come a time to practice them with others — “Can we talk about something that’s been on my mind?”

If you hear in response, “ummm sure?” (this is what’s called a “soft no”, honor it), notice what happens in your body, and then in integrity your response will probably be, “hmm…I’m noticing feeling a little uncomfortable right now, maybe we can try again another time.”

If and only if we get a solid, clear ‘yes’, we proceed — “I’m telling you this because I want a closer relationship with you. I know you care...and...this <short, objective description of thing> is difficult for me. When it happens, I feel myself putting up a wall between us, becoming angry. What I really need is <blah>, and I feel <sad|scared|angry> when I don’t receive that.”

If this backfires, you most likely still showed up with blame, tension still in your own body, mind…which the other will feel and react to (no matter how much lipstick you put on the words you chose). It tends to take years of practice of both this skill as well as mindfulness meditation (where we learn how to fully feel and allow these uncomfortable sensations inside) to begin to communicate in a healthy way. If you didn’t have one of those rare amazing families growing up who taught you this, then, you can commit as an adult, now. Start meditating daily, and learn and practice this through your relationships — problems in relationships aren’t problems, they’re opportunities to grow. Truly. See this.

Now sometimes, a well-communicated need won’t be received. In which case, we have new information. This person either won’t or can’t meet us...now. It’s even more important to maintain responsibility, here — provided I’m aware of this fact, how do I want to proceed, adapt my relationship with this person? Double down on your commitment to not blame, or even more a la mode these days, to cut the person off completely (this option should be very rarely exercised, in extreme circumstances…where it can have its place).

With practice, over time the swings of the pendulum decrease in magnitude; it slows down; and if we’re doing it right, it completely stops at times, maybe just for moments at first. The periods of weightlessness can extend for hours, days, weeks — while continuing to show up in the world, earning a living, being a part of community. But regardless of how long the pauses lasts, time stands still. For this place is presence, peace, enlightenment. It’s eternal. We’ve all tasted it. And it’s a practice; it’s a choice.

What do you choose?

Me? There’s not so much of a difference anymore between a ‘work’ day, a weekend day, a vacation day in my body, mind. Whether I’m brushing my teeth, preparing food, meeting with a client, walking through the jungle with Barkley to go surf, spending time with a friend…there’s a smoothness to it all, a flow, a peace, joy. This is possible.

Because deep down, that’s what I believed I was, I deserved. So I attracted and sought out people and relationships that made it so. Because the wounded part in me saw the wounded part in them, offering them the care I so desperately needed, in a way nobody else could see. I waited weeks, months for replies to messages and then responded within minutes, grasping onto those coveted words as they came into reach, pulling them close to the broken heart of the little boy inside.

I tried to fill the void in all the ways — food, tv, sex, alcohol, adventure, video games, work, exercise, religion, travel. But it was bottomless. I brought flashlights, ropes, duct tape, company. But the abyss only grew wider, darker. We could call this anxious attachment. The Buddhists have a more visceral framing, the hungry ghost...tiny head, insatiable appetite. Whatever we call it, it’s born of suffering, breeds more.

I’d been slowly shifting out of this pattern for years, decades, until I saw it clearly, named it at the end of dieta, as I turned on my phone and saw one such message — “I’m done living off scraps!” I declared, from a deep place of self-love. I finally knew I am more, deserve more, already have all I’ll ever need. Right now, inside. It’s always been here. Always will. The little boy only needs my love, and of that, there is an unending supply. The vast, open, still place that’s exponentially expanding inside, that is the very universe itself, which I increasingly realize through my practice. All the attention and care I’d been pouring out into the cups of others all that time, secretly hoping they would in-turn fill mine…it was always for me, too.

One of the mistakes I’d been making was wanting to receive from the person to whom I gave. This is, of course, selfish, but deeper down, rooted in ignorance. They do not have what I need. No one does. There is only One source of such Love. Some call it God. Some call it Buddha. Some Nature. Some Spirit. Whatever one calls it, it is One. This is what we practice remembering, sati. This is what we wake up to.

Now that I can fill my own cup, oh how much sweeter the nectar that I am able to pour for others. Without expectation or want. Without hope. What a joy to simply give. And need not.

And the beauty of where I live now is, when I forget, my taxi driver Everardo, Juan who literally fills the water tank for my house, and Natali, the owner of the café I frequent, help me remember.

Two books I’ve recently read informing this journey are The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen and A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. I highly recommend both.

If you didn’t already catch Part 1, I recommend reading it first.

On Friday morning Maestra decided to serve Huachuma. Feeling complete after Wednesday’s ceremony, I took the journey super lightly — I put on my bright blue shorts and orange Juiceland t-shirt. I had a big bowl of oatmeal and banana just before. I drank some mint tea. I barely made it to the maloca on time.

She and her brother drank Ayahuasca to connect with and guide the spirits. I received my medicine and bopped along joyfully for the first hour of ceremony.

I got up to use the bathroom, and something interesting happened — for the first time, I began to experience my body as a living, breathing organism…seperate from this thing I call “the mind”. Like the plants, or maybe closer to fungi…faster fungi, or a slug…maybe a bit like a slow reptile. I could feel the subtle movements, intelligence inside…happening, without any influence from this “mind”. In most ways much more intelligent, comprehensive, present than this “mind”.

“Cool!” I thought as I walked out…I began to zig-zag between the trees on the way to the maloca, beginning to dance about…when a sunray warmed the back of my head. Slowly, I turned, bathing the sides of my neck in the light…then my face. A bird soared overhead — I opened my arms to fly with it.

The trickle of the nearby stream beckoned my body. Once my feet found themselves in its cool water, the light illuminating the chest up, “truce,” I whispered softly to the sun above, “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

And just like that, I let him back in. I lived blinded, consumed by fire for so long, I’d casted his intensity out a decade ago, not knowing how to balance the heat. Now I understood.

Once back in the maloca, Maestra called me up for my icaro.

At first my eyes were closed, but then I felt curious…peeking them open, the light was literally blinding. They instinctively shut tightly. Remembering my commitment to choose the light, I opened them again. I struggled, and with effort, they remained uncovered. Almost instantly they filled with tears as I allowed myself to take in all the light surrounding Maestra, accentuated by the rays streaming in behind her, refracted by the clear crystal hanging from her neck.

The icaro intensified, and my entire body seized — fingers locked like bird claws, ice cold. I couldn’t move. Without interrupting her song, Maestra’s hands reached out and grabbed mine. Pulled them towards her. Bathed them in agua florida. They instantly warmed. Subtle movement became possible. Tuning into her upbeat song, my body began to vibrate. At first internally, then externally…it shook, softly, and as it thawed, more rapidly, eventually joyfully.

“Concéntrate, Andy”, Maestra interrupted the party in my mind.

I closed the eyes and instantly found stillness.

Brilliant light.

The paralysis lifted.

A few minutes later the icaro ended abruptly.

“Beinvenido abuelito Huachuma!,” she chuckled as she looked me in the eyes — “Welcome grandfather Huachuma!”

I laughed and shuffled over to her younger brother’s cushion to receive my last icaro…

I host an annual medicine retreat at this center. I offer (cultural) translation; individual plus group support, coaching, and exercises during and outside of ceremony; as well as daily guided yoga and meditation.

Learn More

If you’re new to this world and curious, not interested in coming on this retreat (which is completely fine), please don’t just go drink Ayahuasca / with anyone. There can be serious consequences.

Part III is quite personal, and I’ve decided not to publish it publicly. Feel free to email me if you’re interested in reading, and I’ll feel into sharing it individually.

It was the morning of June 3rd, the day of the fifth ayahuasca ceremony of my dieta. I awoke feeling strong. The trees seemed to float in a light mist rising from the forest floor.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth, and then returned to the square thatched roof tambo that was my home. I set out the heavy bronze Kuan Yin statue I brought along and began morning chanting and meditation. I remembered Maestra’s gait as I walked to maloca for ceremony. It was there, under her guidance, that I touched the darkest place in my being the week before and felt no fear, a place that had previously elicited absolute terror upon mere contemplation.

I sat at Maestra’s feet and received my medicine — a healthy pour of a 22 year-old ayahuasca. I felt my heart rate increase. “Safe here, safe now…” I began to instinctively hear my solid Self comfort the little boy inside, something I’d discovered on a monthlong silent meditation retreat last year.

I returned to my cushion in the maloca, still reciting the mantra, and after a few minutes, the heartbeat slowed. Everything was pitch black. Empty. Desolate. Still. Ominous.

As Maestra’s icaros began, I noticed some physical tension arise in the front of my torso. I sat with it. Gradually, it softened. Her song was strong, upbeat, joyful. I felt the vibrations in her body, her arms lifting. Despite the nausea and fatigue present, my body began to emulate the movements of hers. The large, flawless quartz crystal hanging around her neck shone brightly. Sparkles appeared in my field of view. Gradually, they brightened into stars. Until, eyes still closed, the light was blinding.

Suddenly, the icaro shifted. The previously white sparks started changing colors — red, blue, green, yellow, purple…fireworks gave birth to wonderful patterns.

For the first time I understood what the Shipibo mean when they refer to “la lucha” in life, “the fight.” It’s a continuous, constant choice to choose light, love. I had been so scared of the dark, it’s all I was focusing on. But what I was really scared of, was the light. Once I realized this and that it was safe, I started opening my eyes, focusing on, cultivating light. And then there was no place in my being for darkness left to hide…

I host an annual Fall medicine retreat at this center. I offer (cultural) translation; individual plus group support, coaching, and exercises during and outside of ceremony; as well as daily guided yoga and meditation.

Learn More

If you’re new to this world and curious, not interested in coming on this retreat (which is completely fine), please don’t just go drink ayahuasca / with anyone. There can be serious consequences.

There’s this American view of freedom that goes like, “I can do whatever I want!”

But without restraint, we’re slave to our senses...yummy food, nice touch, sweet smells, pleasant sounds, pretty sights...and the kicker, that ‘ole sixth Buddhist sense, the monkey mind — what we want and don’t want!

For an angry child, freedom and getting what one wants are synonymous. But the thirst is never quinched. There’s a word Buddha uses to describe this, “tanha”, insatiable thirst. Trust me, I’ve tried to satiate it really hard, and it only makes it worse 🤪

The magic is in finding freedom from the wants of the senses to make space for the desires of the soul.

And the secret in doing this is not forcing restraint, for that just becomes control, another expression of the ego wanting and not wanting, the real source of all suffering.

We don’t want to cut out sense pleasures, entirely…we’re human afterall! The key is enjoying them mindfully. There’s a common mistake around mindfulness, equating it with complete abstinence. Not so! That would generally be awareness + judgment. Mindfulness, however, is awareness + compassion ← consider having the piece of cake, imagine how good the cake tastes, realize how it might affect your body, and then have the damn cake and enjoy it if you still want! Aware of this whole picture the whole time. That’s all mindfulness is.

There is such a thing as wholesome desire, too, like a wholesome desire to wake up. But this isn’t fueled by self-criticism, trying to fix a “broken” self ← unwholesome.

The path to waking up is simple — practice non-harming (neither self nor other — sense restraint practice is key, here), meditate skillfully (not too forced, not too lax), and true freedom naturally arises.

Want support? Drop me a line, this is the path I walk and with my clients, interwoven with relational and somatic psychology to assist along the way.

I recently realized deep fear of loneliness has pretty much driven my life.

Growing up, I fed the fear a mix of microwaved mac ‘n cheese + rom-coms, the fairytale love and connection so absent from the household. After years of desperately trying to fix my family to no avail, I left and fell in actual love with Latin America, the first place I truly belonged. Back in the States, I regressed to giving away all my love to romantic partners, just like I’d learned in the movies. And then I poured myself into work, travel, being the life of the party…never really receiving what I was hoping for…until 💥

I told a therapist in 2017, after my divorce, how my biggest fear had always been getting a divorce. It was the first time I’d said it out loud, I guess a bit late.

By that time, the pattern was locked in — fiercely independent, traveling the world solo, rejecting what wasn’t working, searching for something better. And self-fulfilling — attracting the same flavor of broken I learned to love as a kid, holding on tight, pushing or running away at the first sign of danger, isolating…rinse and repeat. Not so healthy!

Exploring this theme with a friend over the last couple of days, he mentioned a quote…

“And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. What do you call it, freedom or loneliness?” ― Charles Bukowski

At first, they might seem to be in conflict…freedom and connection. How can one be completely free and bound by commitments with others? But that’s the small view. As I mature, I learn that the first connection to nourish is the internal one, with myself. As that blossoms, it becomes obvious how freedom and external connection are actually interdependent.

My paternal grandmother was of Scottish descent, a people who embody this mélange. Her maiden name was Anderson, passed down as my given name. The Anderson clan motto is “Stand Sure.” I’m increasingly reminding myself that this is my clan.

Anyone who knows me knows just how fiercely I care for the small slice of humans I consider my people. I found myself lighting a candle for a friend going on meditation retreat yesterday and just after, thought…“I wonder what it’d be like to offer the care I show them…to myself…to offer the care they show me…to myself…especially when I’m feeling stressed, overwhelmed (read: afraid)...”

I started feeling this love effortlessly as I kneeled to chant after lighting the candle…and again making breakfast as I realized Barkley had an ear infection — encouraging myself to pause and breathe. It’s like a switch has flipped, and all the compassion practice from the last decade is clicking, in a way that feels genuine for the very first time.

Walking back from the surf this morning, I noticed I was rushing slightly, out of aversion to the heat and humidity of the jungle, the sand sticking to my salty skin. And then almost instantly I felt myself soften…slowing down…cooling down…and soon after I found myself willingly and then easefully being with the discomfort so I could pause to take in the way the sun was falling on some dark green leaves by my feet while the morning mist rose.

Comfort was a strong lever of control for me as a child, and I’m seeing just how crippling it was after. It’s what kept me from returning to Latin America for so long. But I finally felt more of a desire for the things I love — community, surfing — than fear of the parts I don’t.

What, then, is out there?

Surfing alone this morning in paradise, the sun rising over the jungle, the waves clean and fun, I noticed myself ruminating. I was thinking about something far, far away, that really has no relevance in the present. Running through all kinds of “what ifs”.

I remembered one of my favorite meditation instructions, “be willing to drop the thought mid-sentence.”

And so I did.

Back to paradise.

A rogue left-hander came in just that moment. Total focus. I was deep. Three strong paddles. My feet automatically found the board underneath. A vertical drop down a ten-foot face. Nailed the bottom turn! Made the first section. “Good job, Andy,” I heard in my head. The board felt nearly vertical traveling back up the face into the top turn. A few more of those combos and I kicked out just before the shore, smiling ear to ear. I paddled out swiftly back to the point.

Sitting on my board waiting for the next set, I reflected on what’d happened. All that’s ultimately “out there” is wanting things to be different than they are, planning for suboptimal outcomes, scanning for threats, suffering. It’s super unpleasant.

What was really out there was a beautiful island, rolling waves, thin white clouds, light blue sky. Pretty damn pleasant.

Walking home through the jungle, I found myself tracing this pattern back through my life...Then, I noticed the misty rays of sunlight streaming through the leaves, warming my face. “Present...pleasant,” I thought.

I’d remembered being sick a lot as a kid. Constantly changing positions to try to alleviate the discomfort, reaching for something out there that would never seem to come, or if it did, bring the relief I sought.

But what about love, beauty? Isn’t that “out there”?

Nope! That’s just anxious attachment!

There’s really nothing good “out there”, even things disguised as pleasure are just short-term distractions that ultimately exacerbate the discomfort lying dormant within.

I realized that spending the last decade turning towards the difficult stuff inside, that it’s not so difficult anymore...it’s actually kind of nice in here. Because underneath all the uncomfortable stuff, was all the good stuff, all along.

I don’t think anything out there is any better, or really any different, than anything in here. It’s just a giant mirage when I look out. I don’t have to keep chasing it anymore.

They’ve been doing work on the road to the beach for the last couple of months, and the lot has been empty. Carlos and his son-in-law Pedro have still been showing up, carrying the cooler of coconuts to their usual spot in the shade. There’s a slight malaise in Carlos’ demeanor, though it’s clear he continues to choose joy.

Every day, Carlos wears a different t-shirt, featuring a family photo. The shirts make up a collection of gifts he’s received from his loved ones over the years on birthdays and Christmas.

“Quien tenemos hoy?” I asked, “who do we have today?”

“La doña y el hijo,” “the missus and son.”

“Y cuanto tiempo lleva con la esposa, Carlos?” “How long have you and your wife been together?”

“52 años!” he replied proudly.

My eyed widened.

“Felicidades,” I congratulated him, “y como se hace,”...”how do you do it?”

He didn’t hesitate — “soportar el verde y el maduro,” he responded with a chuckle, “enduring the green and the ripe.”

I saw a banana tree not far behind him.

As he began to explain how the green times are the difficult ones, where we hold on and remember our love, the son pictured in his t-shirt walked up. He’s the foreman on the road construction that’s blocking the parking lot. Before greeting his father, he turned towards me with a kind smile and extended his hand, “Hola, buenos días.”

“Buenos días,” I replied.

Then he turned towards Carlos. Without saying a word, he just gave his dad a big hug. Carlos closed his eyes and hugged him back.

While they embraced in front of me, I reflected on the use of the verb “soportar.” While it technically means something like “endure”, it’s comes from the Latin, supportāre, which has a more physical connotation, like “carry.”

I decided to translate the expression as holding the young parts alongside the mature ones.

There’s a simplicity of it all that’s so clear for me down here. A father out of work so his son can instead, celebrating nature and family, remembering the good when it’s tough, embracing the beautiful when it’s present. What more do we need?

The winter of 2003 was a particularly cold one in New York City. 20” of snow fell on Central Park. In one night! It was December, exam time. From a small, warm town in the south, I was not having it. Procrastinating studying as per usual, I remember lying on my bed, looking at the classic dorm room tropical island photo.

“Effff this,” I literally said out loud, “I’m going there!” I spent the rest of the week planning my exit.

I was a freshman at Columbia. I’d just graduated valedictorian of a fancy boarding school I’d attended on financial aid — I’d played soccer and tennis in the state finals, sat first chair classical sax, had a profitable photography business, traveled the world on its earnings, learned a handful of languages, and won nearly every department award upon graduation. I wrote my ticket into whichever Ivy I wanted. The world was my oyster.

But no, not like this.

I scheduled a meeting with my guidance counselor for the Monday after exams.

I walked into her office, smiling ear to ear…“I’m going to take next year off and…”

She interrupted, “you can’t do that…”

“Oh yes I can ☺️,” I replied, “shall we discuss the terms 😉?”

Apparently I had to drop out. So I did. Right then. Right there. Didn’t think twice.

I was going places!

I was going to be a surf bum in Central America!

My high school Spanish teacher was a local from the country where I wanted to go. Her brother had spent six months at our boarding school learning English during my senior year. He and I got into a lot of trouble together 🙃.

He was my first email. He’d pick me up from the airport. I had a one-way plane ticket.

I landed in May of 2004, spent a week with him in the city. I found a beater 1984 Chevy Blazer for $700 in the classifieds — 4-speed, busted a/c and tape deck, dark blue with accents of rust. The seller was friends with the owner of a fancy 5-star hotel on the surf beach where I wanted to go. I got a job waiting tables there, touting that boarding school experience 🤣 (I only dropped two bottles on my first day!).

I was surfing every morning, making friends, partying at night. Not a bad life.

I’m pretty chatty in the water (kinda taboo amongst hardcore surfers…p sure they forgot the point of all this is to have some fun 🤪!) and struck up a conversation with the best local in the lineup. I mentioned I was looking for somewhere to live. He was looking for a roommate. Rent would be $90/month.

After a couple months of living with Pindeco, he asked me if I’d ever been down south. I hadn’t!

“Vamonos,” he said…”te enseño mi pueblito,” “let’s go…I’ll show you where I’m from.”

After a 2-day drive through the coastal jungle, followed by a couple hours in a boat, we made it to a remote corner of the world that shall remain nameless. We hiked up a hill to the most beautiful piece of nature I’ve still ever beheld. It was love at first sight. There were a few huts overlooking the ocean and an island in the distance. Humpbacks were breaching. Not a person in sight.

Every morning Pindeco, his friend Sandro, Guille (son of the owner), Mario (Guille’s friend), and I hiked down through the jungle to a rivermouth that fed an awesome lefthand point break. And surfed alone. All day.

Piña coladas over sunset. A candle after dark. Falling asleep smiling before it burnt out.

At dawn, the monkeys would howl to let us know it was time to get up and do it all over again!

Paradise.

I pulled the owner of the hotel aside after a week. I offered to translate for the ocassional (mostly European) tourist — I could speak English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, a little Italian. I’d cook, I’d clean, whatever it took. Could I pretty please with sugar on top do that in exchange for a room and food!?

He smiled.

I drove Pindeco north, got my things, and headed back.

Guille, Sandro, Mario, and I shared a room with 4 small beds. We mostly surfed and laughed, made up silly games, and laid around under the tin roof during the afternoon rains. We’d work the restaurant during meal times, carry guests’ luggage up the hill, take them through the park on tours, Sandro making use of the four English words he knew best, “you knowwww…tucan…it’s like…tucan!” Even though it was so long ago, memories from this time are crystal clear. Many times I had the thought, “I could die happy now.”

A few months later I ventured back to “civilization” for the first time — the closest town, where at best a few hundred people lived. A cute waitress at a local restaurant caught my attention, super cool, smart. Rebecca was her name. I started coming up with more and more excuses to head into town. She had this funny way of talking about nearly everything that always made me laugh. And she fed me! Lots! It was a family restaurant, the home attached. Eventually I left the hotel and moved in with her. Helping Rebecca and her mom and sisters in the restaurant, still carving out plenty of time to surf, of course! One of my favorite memories was making Christmas tamales as a family. It was such a warm, loving household. The central gathering place of the town.

But then surfing one day, I paddled out next to this leather-skinned white guy, sun-bleached hair. The waves were so perfect. The view majestic. And this guy was miserable.

“Shiiiit, I don’t wanna be thaaat guy.”

I paddled in, re-applied to school, and bought a plane-ticket.

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I cried when I unpacked my things that next January in New York. I’d been gone 9 months. There was just so much I didn’t need. And it was worth more than what all my friends back in the jungle owned, combined. What am I doing? Why am I here?

Little by little, I forgot…and fell back into “the swing of things” <- civilization

I didn’t hate it all, at the time. I loved computer science. I got some amazing internships. I partied. A LOT. I got 26 job offers before Christmas of my senior year. By civilized standards, I “had it all”.

But na, not really…so…road trip! Summer of 2007. NYC to Panama. With an amazing girlfriend I’d met the summer before (Latin American, of course). More surfing, more jungle. ALL the food. Asking locals from town to town for directions.

We made it back to Austin after a few months on the road and settled back into…the grind. I lasted 11 months at a big company before I was ready to eject. Joined a small startup this time. After winning the Genius Grant there for building something that helped them go public, back to the beach — Australia and Indonesia…for a year!

My super “successful” uncle wrote me an email telling me I “was throwing [my] life away for the veritable beach towel.” Now I knew I was on the right track!

I liked Australia but didn’t love it. Same for Indo. I missed Latin America. I’d spent my first summer there when I was 15.

It was the first, and really only, place I’ve ever felt welcome, like I belong, safe, loved, wanted. Rebecca was always convinced they’d confused me at birth in the hospital, certain I had “sangre latina”, Latin blood.

Hmmm, what if I could find a tech company in Austin that would pay me well, and I’d spend most of my time on a beach in Mexico!? Recruiters had gotten word I was back on the market, and the emails came pouring in. I had a canned response describing what I was looking for. I didn’t hear back from most, shocker! Until one day, I got my first nibble. He invited me to coffee.

Marc Davis was smiling ear to ear when we met.

“So, do you have something…” I eventually asked.

“Nope!” he was now full on laughing, “but I just had to meet the guy who wrote this email 😂!”

We had a good chuckle and later said our farewells. Cool dude, I was glad to have met him. Running recruiting for Trilogy, there’s a reasonable argument he’s responsible for a solid chunk of the tech talent that’s made its way to Austin over the years.

And then a couple weeks later he called me out of the blue, “you know what, Andy, if there’s one person who’ll hire you, it’s Chris Taylor.” He put us in touch (and surely got a nice commission)!

Chris was one of the early guys at Trilogy, too. He had branched off on his own to live a more relaxed life. He hired me to lead product at his 8-person startup that’d been coasting along profitably for years.

Working less than 30-hour weeks, making ~$200K a year, I spent 3 months of my first year out of the country (mostly in Mexico), surfing duh!

And after a couple years of that, nope, still not it.

It was time to try my own thing.

Chris smiled when I gave a 3-month notice, “We were taking bets on how long it’d be before this happened. We both know you belong on my side of the table, tell you what, why don’t you hang out around here as long as you want, get your venture off the ground, I’ll show you the ropes in the meantime?”

Yeah, he’s just that kinda guy 🤌🏻

Mike DeBonis gave a warm send-off in front of the company when it was time, “we can’t wait to read about you in TechCrunch!”

Also that kinda guy 👌🏻

While this wasn’t “it” for me, I was definitely getting warmer. Surrounding myself with better people, enjoying what I did more, working fewer hours, producing better deliverables, and still surfing!

So I did it, started my own thing. With some friends. We had a great idea. It helped people. We had a lot of fun. And I’m proud to say I made good on Mike’s wish.

But my motivation was wrong ⁠— it was mostly about filling out a lottery ticket. I burned out. I just wanted to get back to paradise, for good. I kind of resented it. Thanks for that “fierce conversation” Nils Marchand.

And so, not so surprisingly, it all fell apart in a span of just 3 months in 2017. My new wife was having an affair, my biggest investor filed a frivolous lawsuit to kill a big acquisition, a family member threatened me until I paid them every penny to my name.

Woof.

“Okay Universe, I’m listening! Not like this, either, hey?”

My grandad had taught me to meditate as a kid. I fell back into my practice. I surfed. I cried. I laughed. I screamed.

It was a tough year.

Eventually I took care of the lawsuit and exited the business on December 27, 2019…for orders of magnitude less than the earlier opportunity. I had a meditation retreat on December 28 I’d decided I wouldn’t miss for the world. And I wasn’t willing to operate the company after 2019. I was done.

The next 5 years were mostly healing. 7 months of meditation retreat. Dozens of Ayahuasca ceremonies. A year living alone in the woods. All kinds of therapy. Getting certifications to teach yoga, teach meditation, and coach. At first the motivation was to help myself. Then I started to realize people were asking me more about this stuff than tech. And I was helping them more. And liking it more. How cool that a part of my personal journey could be helping others with similar stuff (broadly speaking, shifting from living in fear to love) which in turn helps me more which helps them more and so on.

A lot of my crap had crystallized in early childhood; I’d been seeing therapists most of my life for it. Apparently, I was finally ready to begin to make meaningful change in 2020. The pandemic was supportive for that.

About 2 years ago I hit rock bottom (I hope 🤪). I wasn’t sure why I wanted to live. I did want to live, though, I knew that. I’m grateful I had the tools, resources, and support to navigate this phase.

Slowly, I started noticing sparks ⁠— a smile from a stranger at the grocery store, a star twinkling, the sun hitting the river, Barkley’s gaze, a random chat with a friend. These things made it all start to feel more worth it. With practice, I internalized these sparks and started noticing them within.

And then last summer, I stumbled into a retreat that brought me back south of the border. The retreat was…fine. But whoa, that feeling as I got back on my surfboard, hanging out with the locals, in the tropics…I started to re-member!

And just like that, as soon as I’d engage with the folks on the retreat, tension.

“Oh my god, I can do this now…I can come back…for good this time. All I need is an internet connection a couple days a week for clients” <- thanks Elon 🤦🏻

My thesis was that down here my nervous system would be stable and regulated enough to make the more meaningful change I’m now ready for. Something happens when I’m speaking, thinking in Spanish, so much of the trauma is just…not there 🤷🏻. Makes sense when you think about it.

And I was right.

I bounced around for the last 4 months searching for a place to call home, more easefully navigating difficulties, until this Tuesday, when I found myself back where it all started…reunited with Sandro at the hotel in paradise from 22 years ago, surfing the same river mouth all to ourselves, joking around like it was all just yesterday. I’d nearly forgotten about it and had just kept following my body, pulling me south over all these years. It was like pure magic how it all came together. And it most certainly did not come from thinking hard about it! To the contrary. Mostly practice, play, listening to my gut, saying ‘no’ to the inner critic telling me all the reasons this was a bad idea.

Oh crap! Only an hour until my first client meeting…I was an hour into the jungle, then a drive to get back to “civilization”.

When I remembered, “wait, wonder if they have internet at the hotel now…”

Of course they do!

I took client meetings from the deck of the room I’d lived in all those years before, Sandro hanging out by the bar.

On the walk home he and I reflected on how…even though we’d split ways over two decades before, me doing what I did, him continuing to guide tours in the nearby national park everyday…how nearly identical our world views always were and still are. We suffered similar wounds as kids, find peace in nature and in other sensitive and strong people, and are constantly continuing to choose the light. I want to learn which fruits he’s always picking up to offer me, how to see the animals and flowers he shows me on the regular. He wants to learn my world of working online, marketing (lol as if I knew anything about that 🤷🏻), as a coach 💫.

“Yo sabía que ibas a seguir siendo la misma persona, Andy”...“I knew you’d still be the same person” ☺️.

“Tú también,” I smiled, “you too.”

In some ways everything had changed. In more ways, nothing had.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have scripted feeling so complete as I do right now.

The naturaleza, the surf, the vibe, my long lost friends, helping people, earning what I need to live. The whole package.

If there’s an “it” out there, I’m p sure this is “it”...for me anyway…for now 😊

The obvious shadow in my life has been bouncing around, inability to settle. Some of that is great, brings growth. Some is running. But I’m pretty sure I’d just been trying to get back home this whole time. And now I am. I know it. I always knew. Just needed to learn some things and move through some crap to get back here.

Whatever is happening now, I’m definitely not fighting it anymore. I’m enjoying it. And I’m ready for what’s to come!

And even though some parts of this all have been a real cluster, I wouldn’t change a damned thing!

What about you? What’s your dream? Let your imagination run WILD! I help folks do in a year what took me a decade. 3 years and you can have it all! Drop me a line if you’d like some support 😊.

In 2015 I “had it all” — I’d raised millions, was engaged, my company was on the up-and-up.

And I was miserable.

Working 80-hour weeks, barely sleeping, barely exercising, barely spending time with loved ones.

Not to mention having any fun.

My fiancée next to insisted I start meditating...and so one morning, I did.

And it changed everything.

I was totally free. I didn’t realize this was an option.

And so my journey began.

I mostly figured it out on my own.

And I hit a LOT of detours.

Over a decade later, I’ve meditated for thousands of hours, with celebrated teachers, over 7 months on retreat. I’ve trained with world-renowned experts in psychology and mindfulness, certifiying to coach and teach. I’ve spent months in the jungle drinking plant medicine and had many hundreds of hours of all different types of therapies.

After 5 years of coaching folks weekly and biweekly, it’s safe to say I’ve found a method that works — folks feel 29% happier after just one year with me. It took me ten years to see that level of improvement in myself. Clinical interventions average ~5% improvements in 12 months.

Drop me a line if you’re interested in learning more.

I was raised to obey my elders. As a kid, I worked hard. I learned lots of discipline and how to take care of myself in the world.

And the resentment I felt was unbearable.

I’ve slowly since learned to respect my elders, in some ways the opposite of blind obedience, and instead to only obey my body.

While this transition was difficult for my family at first (read: many years), we are steadily rebuilding, in much healthier ways.

The hook of following family orders held into my early twenties. I was scheduled for stomach surgery with two weeks of bed recovery after. My mom insisted on flying in to “take care” of me. I resisted. She persisted. I caved.

A few days after I got out of the hospital, I was ready to get some fresh air for the first time. I wanted to be alone with my girlfriend. My mom felt jealous; the drama commenced. The whole of my body began to shake, subtly, eventually violently, a high-frequency vibration emanating from the belly. I was scared. What was happening? Blood started to seep from the fresh sutures. The physical pain was agonizing. The spasms intensified. I was having a panic attack for the first time in my life. Fear turned to anger turned to fear.

After some time, I eventually got that breath of fresh air. I was alone. Under the cool shade of a young oak, it felt clear, “something needs to change.”

Aware of the serious violation that it is to say “no” in my family, I went into the conversation with my mom strong. Anger doesn’t come close to doing justice to the emotion I felt, as decades of suppressed contempt erupted.

Fast-forward eleven years. I’m traveling through the rolling hills of Maryland to Tara Brach’s retreat center. The evening before, while having Boxing Day dinner with my extended family, I’d gotten a notification that the final signature for the sale of my company had come through. After the congratulations from my aunt and uncle and cousins subsided, my mom looked up from the table, her eyes glossed over, her expression confused. She’d been scrolling on her phone. ”Wait, what…what happened?”

I excused myself, my plate half-finished. I went up to the room where I’d been sleeping, closed the door, and lay on the bed staring at the white ceiling. The only thing on my mind, “I’m done with this.”

For the first half of the loving-kindness meditation retreat, I felt mostly rage. I spent hour after hour after hour, day after day, oscillating between “may I allow this…” and “when is that damn bell going to ring already??”

December 30 was a cool, clear day. Tara was addressing the group of us yogis after the last sit of the morning. “You belong,” she began, “you are enough…you belong…you are enough.” She just kept repeating it. Over. And over. I wanted her to stop. And over again. I burst into tears. Underneath all the fury, a cold, dark pit. Right in the middle of my chest, extending up into the back of my throat.

As fortune would have it, I sat in small group with Tara after lunch that day. When it was my turn, I could barely speak. I bowed my head. She cautiously inquired, “what’s going on sweetie?” I gestured towards my chest, my fingers came to a rest wrapped around my throat. My eyes filled with tears. Her head was tilted, her gaze relaxed, “Andy, is there one person you can think of who loves you, no matter what?”

“She knows my name?” I thought…

My head dropped in shame again as she offered suggestions for who this person who really loves me might be…

“Maybe a pet,” she finally said…

I looked up.

“Who is it?” she continued

“My dog, Barkley”

“Okay good,” she encouraged…”now I want you to imagine him in that spot in your chest, can you do that?”

I nodded. The tears were now uncontrollable.

“I’m right here with you sweetie,” Tara continued

Hearing her soothing voice this time reminded me of my fifth grade English teacher, Mrs. Chalk. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen a gentle smile adorn her rosy cheeks, her soft eyes catching mine, “I love you so much Andy.”

And then I remembered Granpa

And Sam

And one by one, my people began to form a small circle, all holding hands, and paws, in the void where my heart was supposed to be

(I started to silently choke up as I just wrote this. Barkley was on the other side of the room. He quietly got up, came over, rested his head on my left foot.)

Tara, and a few of her colleagues who were also in the circle — all older, female, Buddhist, psychotherapists — spent some more time with me after the hour for the group was up. As I gathered myself Tara said in a still kind, but much more firm voice…

“Now Andy…”

I raised my head.

“I want you to practice nothing other than loving-kindness meditation for yourself for the foreseeable future, okay?”

My eyes widened with relief, “okay?” I agreed, as I looked around the small room and saw the other women nodding in approval.

Traditionally in loving-kindness meditation (“metta” in Pali, language of Buddha), phrases of wellbeing are offered first to one’s self, then to a benefactor, next to a neutral person, and finally to a difficult person. Common phrases are, “may you be happy”, “may you be healthy”, “may you be safe”, “may you live with ease”.

The rage I’d been feeling on retreat had been intensifying as I offered loving-kindness to my mom.

“Holding the intention to forgive is enough,” the fairy godmother of Western meditation went on. “Don’t do anything more. And one more thing,” her voice grew even more firm with compassion, “do not, under any circumstances, do not offer metta to your mother.”

She did not flinch.

My eyes opened even bigger, “okay,” I was now speaking clearly, “for how long?”

“A long time,” Tara said, “you’ll know…probably years.”

She gave me a hug and told me I’d be okay. We put up our chairs, I resumed silence, and I made my way back to my cushion in the meditation hall.

“May I be happy,” I began. A single tear trickled down my right cheek…

Eight months later, I gave up my apartment lease in Austin and headed out west with Barkley. I hadn’t spoken with my mom in six weeks.

Barkley and I lived out of my truck for about a year — mostly alone in the woods. I resigned from the company that’d acquired mine. I practiced self-metta for an hour or two each day. I cooked meals on the campfire, we hiked, we played, practiced yoga, read, and slept, slept a lot. Under the stars. Under the Ponderosa Pines in the afternoon.

And little by little, the snowglobe settled…until one day, I realized the peace I was feeling…I previously knew I’d never experience that in my life. I didn’t honestly believe anybody ever felt that much peace; I’d decided they were all faking it. But now, now I knew — I was wrong all along. This. This is real.

Tara Brach famously says “attention is the most basic form of love.”

And so while I learned lots from my family, and while I believe they love(d) me — my dad coached my soccer team and was active in scouts, my mom encouraged me to do extracurriculars — there are enough memories where I hadn’t felt enough love that there’s this general flatness, emptiness, longing sewn into my recollection of the past.

It really hurt then. It’s still tender now. And it’s opened this path for me to begin to find what I really need, within.

As I’ve found enough inner peace, and more recently, love, I’ve begun rebuilding the relationships in my life that had shaky foundations. And letting go of others that no longer serve.

Eventually it felt appropriate to offer metta to my mother. And over time, more and more pleasant childhood memories have emerged — sitting in Mom’s lap on the farmhouse rocker, watching the thunderstorms roll in…heading to the dump on Saturday morning with Dad, belting rock and roll in the back of the truck.

Things are by no means unicorns and rainbows, but they’re trending in the right direction. In a phone call with my mom a couple years ago, I reconnected with that old anger. Sharp, hot, moving up, fast. I stopped talking. I closed my eyes. Slowly, I turned towards it. I felt it. Gradually, it let go. “I know you’re here to try to protect me,” I whispered silently. “Thank you. And. I don’t need you here anymore; we’re safe, we’re free…you can rest now.” I told my mom I needed some space and would call her back in the next few hours.

I walked down to the river with Barkley. The sadness began to sink in, that familiar pit in the chest. And beneath the darkness, I started to make out some faces — Mrs. Chalk, Granpa, Sam…they now had their arms around each others’ shoulders, swaying around a campfire in the middle of the circle.

I put my feet in the cool water below the Cypress trees. I called my mom back. “I love you,” I said calmly. “I respect you. And. I felt angry when you said that. Now I feel sad. Don’t talk to me like that again.”

There was a long pause.

My heartbeat quickened.

“I understand; I’m sorry,” she said.

Ever beat yourself up about...literally anything? Not working out, eating unhealthy, not meditating, being late, crap sleep, a shit meeting, forgetting to buy eggs?

The first time the Dalai Lama heard the phrase, “self-hatred”, he had no idea what it meant.

It was 1990, Dharmasala, India. A group of Western psychologists and meditation teachers held audience with His Holiness. They were talking about how to teach meditation in the west and how traditional instructions might need to be...mmm adapted...for our unique selves 🤪

Sharon Salzberg asked, ‘What do you think about self-hatred?’

“Looking startled, the Dalai Lama turned to his translator and asked pointedly in Tibetan again and again for an explanation. Finally, turning back to [Sharon], the Dalai Lama tilted his head, his eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘Self-hatred?’ he repeated in English. ‘What is that?’”

🤯

See, most of us who grow up in the west, we’re taught from birth to judge. To judge ourselves. To judge others. It’s literally written into the story of the Garden of Eden. Hell, it’s probably in our DNA at this point!

So, first step, don’t beat yourself up for beating yourself up 🙃 <- won’t get you anywhere good (tried it, makes it worse)

Second step, practice allowing the judgment. Yep, you read that right. Might sound scary. But trust me. This is a radical act of self-love. “Ahh, judging...that’s okay, not the end of the world.” Say it to yourself in a nice voice, like a sweet grandparent or teacher might have talked to you as a kid. Meet yourself where you are. You’re not the Dalai Lama. And that’s okay. Also, you’re probably a lot better at getting shit done than he is. So maybe you can appreciate that part of yourself too!

Get the idea?

When we allow ourselves to be broken, we give ourselves the freedom to grow. That fear of getting stuck in the “bad” habit if you do this? That’s actually the fear talking, its insidious way of 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 you stuck 💡. Fun fact, the “bad” habit is actually the way your subconscious (the little 5 year old inside) best knows how to cope. Would you kick a puppy? So don’t kick yourself! We only grow from a motivation rooted in self-love, not self-hate (a.k.a. self- judgment/criticism).

What you might think of as positive change from a place of self-hate actually does harm. In 2008, Leasure & Jones showed that forced running in rats raises stress and impairs cognitive markers more than even stagnant rats, while rats that choose when to run show reduced stress and improved cognitive function.

So try it out. What can you practice allowing?

That time I forgot we were wearing black shirts for a special event at the restaurant!

I started traveling through Latin America over 25 years ago, when I was 15. My tan light skin standing out very blatantly. But as soon as I’d open my mouth to speak, I’d be greeted with a smile of surprise, “pero, de dónde eres?” “But, where are you from?” From Argentina, to Costa Rica, to Mexico, local friends of friends would ask me which part of the country I was from. Once I let someone know I was from the States, the reply was usually “pero tu español es perfecto.” “But, your Spanish is perfect.”

Wherever I am in the world, whether I’m invited to a neighbor’s house, a fancy party, or I’m stepping foot on another peoples’ soil, I practice an attitude of reverence — respect, adaptation, assimilation. I’m here because I want to enter into, learn, a new world, be more like my hosts.

The key word when I meet a new local is the “but” — the average American traveler then, and exponentially now, with the conception of Instagram, carries himself with his chest lifted to the sun, elevated by a golden chain held by the hand of none other than the almighty God, Himself. Shoulders pulled back, chin and nose elevated. Completely oblivious to local greetings customs, he walks into a cafe and launches straight into, “I’ll take a cold brew and egg white omelet. Avocado, mushrooms, spinach. And a chocolate almond milk protein shake on the side.” Maybe tacking onto the end a contrived, “grahhh-sea-ahs” in a southern drawl, with a smirk and wink for his friends.

This “mala vibra”, bad vibe, that locals can’t quite put their finger on, is all too familiar for me. It’s what I smelled in the air the day the two white missionaries heard there was another American staying in small town Argentina back in 2001. The harsh sound of English interrupted the gentle lullaby of my afternoon siesta. I opened the wooden doors that kept the sun from my room. I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the bright white light. I could barely make out the pale figures dressed in white standing in front of the concrete futbol arena across the street from my local host’s home.

“Hola, buenas tardes,” I greeted them in a groggy tone.

“We’re with the <whatever> church…” they went on…

“Como como?” I interrupted, unwilling to engage in English.

“Ehhh-stah-moohs cone lah eey-glay-sea-uhh…” they started to repeat in the typical Gringo twang.

“Amigos, estoy durmiendo, buena tarde.”, guys…I’m sleeping. I closed the windows.

The irony is the Americans come seeking peace, nature, “pura vida.” But then each one wants his creature comforts — nice cars and roads, swanky beach hotels with air conditioning and pools, sunset lounges with house music, fancy sushi, and organic soap (<- guilty!). And like a frog boiling, converts paradise into yet another American annex, Disney World. That nobody wants.

“Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” — Lord Byron Acton

In Maxims for Revolutionists, George Bernard Shaw famously proclaims:

“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.”

There’s a reasonable argument that this attitude served the Pilgrims well as they escaped religious persecution. But the shadow is all too great to ignore — the unfathomable expense of the Native Americans and Africans.

Progress is indeed a virtue. And so too is adaptation, sustainability. The yang has so massively overpowered the yin in this modern world. I often ask myself, “how can we make this right?”

The answer, I believe, is within — “how can I make this right?” How can I balance the light and the dark, the day and the night, the strength and the gentleness. The domineering shadow of the masculine seems to so completely obliterate any remnant of the feminine; I feel such uncertainty when I look out into the world. And so I start inside, where there is plenty of balance yet to be found…

The easiest place I’ve begun is with my own ocassional pattern of launching into what I need without acknowledging the human I’m engaging with.

And then a bit more complex — a person with relatively much stronger financial means, how do I engage with my community in a healthy way, that helps make all this a little less wrong?

I think the answer lies in my relationship with my little neighbor next door. I’ve become close with him over the last couple of months; let’s call him Carlitos for anonymity. His family is from Nicaragua; his mom came with the kids in search of work. The first time I invited him to join me for a walk on the beach, I sensed shame from him. After some soft encouragement, he agreed to come. As we walked amongst an ocean of white bodies, his head was low, his dark brown skin standing out in the crowd. I kneeled down next to him. I gently lifted his chin, “Carlitos, esta playa es tan tuya como de cualquiera.” “Carlitos, this beach is as much yours as it is anybody else’s.” It was his 8th birthday. His eyes lifted meekly. They opened wider as he took in the lifeguard stand towering over the beach and overlooking the setting sun. As we approached, the tan blonde sitting in the tower turned her gaze towards us. I reached down for Carlitos’ hand.

“Can he come up?” I asked politely.

“Ahhh, unfortunately it’s not allowed…” she smiled, her Australian accent giving her away immediately.

“P-lll-eeeaaasssee”, I pleaded with a big smile, “it’s his birthday today!”

She glanced around to make sure the coast was clear. She looked down and smiled again.

Carlitos climbed up and sat next to her. The look on his face was priceless.

As we walked back down the beach, knowing my Spanish vocabulary has its…mmm…gaps, Carlitos began pointing out different objects to see if I knew the name of each. Every time I was stumped, he’d offer a few different terms to describe it, explaining the subtleties with great enthusiasm, quizzing me as the waves washed over our feet.

“Tu me ayudas a mi, yo te ayudo a ti!” he exclaimed, “you help me, I help you!”

When we got back to our houses, I asked if he wanted “pipa”, cold coconut water. “Si me invita!” he responded, “if you’re offering!” As I unlocked my door, he remained standing on the ground at the edge of the patio. It’s customary in Latin America to not step into another’s home without an express invitation. “Pasa,” I said eagerly, and he skipped across the porch.

Opening the fridge to get the cold coconuts, I saw his eyes light up at the array of fresh fruit and vegetables.

“Quieres fruta?”, I asked, “do you want fruit?”

“Si me invita!”, he glowed.

Yet as I cut into the cold pineapple and prepared his plate, I felt an echo of an old, familiar clinch — scarcity. The feeling was telling me I don’t have enough to share! Even though I literally have orders of magnitude more materially than Carlitos, a thin child of a single immigrant mother who works I can’t count how many jobs and rarely has time to even be home much less care for the kids.

I used to listen to this scarcity, let it be my master, succumb to its stinginess. Or later in life, to not listen to it but to shame myself for feeling it. This time, I did neither. I just noticed it. I looked at Carlitos; he was smiling brightly. I smiled. I offered him the plate.

As I reflected, I realized — hungry, faced with a fridge full of food, asked if he wants some cold fruit in the heat of the day, Carlitos only reply was to humbly, proudly shine his light.

How can I be more like Carlitos?

May we all be more like Carlitos.

“Would I be doing this right now if my best friend were here?”

It’s one of the most helpful questions I can ask myself, when I remember it!

I just had a friend staying with me for the last week. Daily sunrise surfs, meditation, casual breakfasts, all screen-free.

And then today, the morning he left, I found myself on my phone...being “productive”, as I sipped my coconut water after surfing.

Would I be doing this if my buddy were still here? Nope, sure wouldn’t! He doesn’t want to see me on my phone, I want to spend qt with him, he knows how I feel doing it and doesn’t want that for me, either.

This question is the ultimate fast-track to self-compassion. My closest friend, who knows me best, cares for me deeply, what would I be doing with him around?

In fairness, I’d meditated and it was 10 a.m., but still, I was hungry. I was bummed my buddy had left. The phone was not the remedy. I knew because I felt tense as I was using it. And it’s not always like that. If I’d let myself socialize, enjoy my meal, take Barkley for a walk first like usual, it would have felt much differently. I know, because that’s the norm. That’s what my best friend would want for me. Also in fairness, I’m pretty pumped to be here. 10 years ago I literally wasn’t giving myself 10 minutes at any point in my day 🙃

It’s been through this self-compassion that I can ultimately say ‘no’ more and more to the voice pushing to be productive, ultimately self-sabotaging. I’ll try channeling my inner buddy tomorrow, giving myself what I truly need, and see how we go :)

I know, I know...the irony 🙃

There are three levels of understanding — conceptual (learning about something), experiential (tasting it), and habitual (living it).

Indulging conceptual understanding is dangerous for the untrained mind, which mistakes thinking about something for wisdom. We Westerners have over-developed conceptual understanding as a means to create safety, control. But conceptual understanding is just the park map at the trailhead entrance. It’s entertaining to look at, but don’t take a selfie there and post it!

The value of conceptual understanding is to learn basic instructions and motivate practice, so that you may experience and ultimately pervade in that experience. This is source of real wisdom.

You already know meditation is good for you, unless you’ve been living under a rock! And there’s a plethora of how-to meditate content out there (including from yours truly). Most people over-estimate the amount of instruction they need (this is actually avoidance, fear).

Back in the day in Tibet, villagers would walk for days and weeks every couple of years to receive a few minutes of instruction and then return home and practice, every day. If you’re addicted to learning versus practicing, you can pause, and kindly, firmly say to yourself, “I know this feels a little uncomfortable...and...we’re safe now...there’s no right or wrong, winning or losing, succeeding or failing...we’re just going to practice.” Offer yourself some compassion, take a breath, and practice already!

Did you learn how to ride a bike by reading about it ☺️?!

Because just reading about meditation tricks your brain into thinking you’re getting the benefits from meditation. But you aren’t. You’re actually doing the opposite, strengthening the thinking mind! If your mind wanders “too much” while you meditate, this is why. In meditation, the thinking mind learns to surrender to the feeling body. There’s great wisdom in resisting the desire to always be learning or busy in favor of a few minutes in silence each morning. That’s really all it takes to start. Frequency is much more important than amount of time.

Afterall, reading about riding that bike isn’t going to get you very far!

If you’re committed to practice and legitimately have a how-to question, feel stuck, etc., drop me a line, and I’m happy to help — everyone’s practice is unique, and these types of questions are rarely well-answered in content produced for the masses.

And if you’re still noticing some resistance, you might get curious about it — what in me wants to want to meditate but actually doesn’t want to? What am I afraid I’ll have to feel or give up if I do this? How, why...am I committed to staying small? This is typically a very old part that came into being in early childhood to keep you safe. And while it wants to help, it probably isn’t anymore. If you find yourself here, these questions warrant further investigation and typically support. It’s seldom wise to bulldoze through them with willpower and cold showers. Or to continue to indulge the fantasy and string yourself along! I’m also happy to help if you’re in this camp.

Happy (actual) meditating 🧘🏻!