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?”, 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.

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 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.

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 🧘🏻!

David Brooks, bestselling author of The Second Mountain: The Quest for a Moral Life, expounds upon the lies our culture tells us:

The first lie is that career success is fullfilling. The second lie is self-sufficiency. The third lie is the lie of meritocracy. The message of the meritocracy is you are what you accomplish. The myth of the meritocracy is you can earn dignity by attaching yourself to prestigious brands. The emotion of the meritocracy is conditional love, you can “earn” your way to love. The anthropology of the meritocracy is you’re not a soul to be purified, you’re a set of skills to be maximized. And the evil of the meritocracy is that people who’ve achieved a little more than others are actually worth a little more than others.

Most people (subconsciously) believe a big success (raise, promotion, exit, etc.) will bring them happiness. Or that they’ll be happy when...

This could not be further from the truth.

The fallacy is that happiness will come from the long-sought financial freedom and the earned praise and respect of their feat.

The story most tell themselves is that they love building things, the challenge, etc.

The reality is that this mindset is anchored in the low-level safety category of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, motivated by deficiency, fear.

There is some level of happiness brought by some level of financial security.

Harvard Professor Arthur Brooks teaches leadership and happiness — he recently posted to this effect:

The reality is that most people reading this have long surpassed the mark of meeting their basic needs and are feeding their fear through their “success”.

I have met a number of people in this group who are first-generation immigrants or children thereof, where there were once (quite recently) very real physiological and safety needs. But are there, still? If you’re in this group, what is your parents’ deepest wish for you? Even if you were taught to work hard and earn lots of money, is their real goal not for you to be happy, free?

There is great strength in taking a step back and re-assessing, do I have enough to meet my basic needs? If you’re reading this, you probably do, and any motivator for you around money, worldly success is likely an echo of a past fear masquerading as growth. If you take an honest look, you may see that your motivations were rooted in a misconception around the vertical axis in Maslow’s Hierarchy being financial wealth. But it’s not! Take another look. The vertical axis is spiritual wealth, which often becomes inversely related to material wealth — this is why monks don’t have any possessions!

So really, what is success for you? If you haven’t recently done this exercise, I encourage you to set aside some time as an adult to contemplate this question. If you have a significant other, have a conversation with them. What are your values? What do you want your epitaph to read? Would it be your current LinkedIn headline? If not, how might you live more in alignment, today? We’re not going to live forever. And while you may “know” this, the idea that I’ll change later, be happy later, etc. is rooted in fear, denial of death. I practice living every day as if I knew I had five years left to live — enough that I still need to keep up my worldly responsibilities, not so much that I postpone things.

I recommend asking these questions, and then letting them sit. Don’t try to answer them, immediately. Ask the question when you wake, beholding nature, mid-meditation, in the shower, before sleep. Give it a week or two before you write anything down.

In the meantime, take a look at your calendar for the coming week. Delete anything you wouldn’t do if you knew you’d die in five years!

You won’t regret it 🙃

Today is Bodhi Day, the day Siddhartha Gautama woke up. Born a prince, a sage visited the palace shortly after his birth and told his father, the king, that the boy would become a great leader, either political or spiritual.

In an attempt to tip the scales towards political, the king arranged a ‘perfect’ life for the prince. Inside the walls of the castle, there were: no old people; no sick people; no mention of death. Only beatiful people, the finest foods.But Siddhartha was curious. He became aware of the walls as he grew older and wanted to explore beyond them. Eventually the king acquiesced. And despite his best attempts, Siddhartha met the unsatisfactoriness of life, dukkha -- often translated as ‘suffering’ -- old age, sickness, death.

Eventually, the prince renounced his life as future king, left his wife and young child, and set out, determined to find an ending to this dukkha.He became a devout ascetic for 6 years, a common practice of the time. He achieved wonderful states of consciousness. His master asked him to teach alongside him. But Siddhartha noticed that every time after he opened his eyes, he came down, back to this realm, to meet dukkha head-on.

Emaciated, on the brink of death, one day a maiden offered Siddhartha some sweet rice milk. Again, he was curious. He knew to accept it would mean to be written off by his 5 friends with whom he practiced. And he also knew the path he was on wasn’t providing a permanent end to dukkha. He asked himself, “might there be another way?” And he accepted the milk.

Nursed back to life, Siddhartha vowed to sit under a tree until he was free from suffering. And that he did. 2,613 years ago, today, in the year 588 BC (modern scholars believe the year may have actually been 445 BC). That fig tree in Bodh Gaya, India became known as the Bodhi tree. Bodhi means awakening.

After enlightenment, Buddha contemplated if anyone could understand the profound freedom he’d realized. He rested in the peace of liberation he’d realized. Until he was urged to teach. Seeing this truth for himself, Buddha set out to share the Dharma, the way things are, the truth, the laws of nature.

All 5 of the Buddha’s former ascetic friends awakened, and they became the first 5 arahants, fully liberated disciples.

In ~288 BC, Sanghamitta Theri, daughter of an ancient Indian emperor, started the order of Budhist nuns in Sri Lanka and there planted a piece of the original Bodhi tree. Still alive today (pictured), it is the world’s oldest-known planted tree.

I give thanks today today to Buddha for deciding to teach and laying out this path with such precision, one that I don’t just believe, one that I know brings a permanent end to suffering.

I don’t know what will happen in the world over the coming decade. I have many fears. And I have many hopes. For this path. And what it can bring me, humanity, all sentient beings, this entire world. May we all remember who we truly are. Why we came here. Let’s wake up, together.

I experienced a flood of feelings being back in North Carolina visiting family a couple weeks ago. At first, I felt judgment witnessing old patterns, judgment among them. After a good chuckle, I looked deeper — sadness, fear. I was feeling so empty, alone, lifeless, loveless. I offered care for the little guy inside. I went upstairs, put on some upbeat music. I took a long shower.

After a good night’s sleep, I felt refreshed in the morning. It was peaceful to walk and play with Barkley, to meditate. And then the thick purple clouds began rolling back in during the afternoon. I sat with it for a while. And then I drove to town. I parked by a small boat ramp overlooking the sound. After an hour, the setting sun began to pierce through the sky. The gulls perched before me glowed a radiant orange. How is it simultaneously so dark and heavy and also so bright and beautiful? It’s the ratio of lightness to dark, I decided. I listened to a Trevor Hall song, “don’t you go to war with yourself...how you gonna hold all that pain? Let go, let go, let go.” I felt a little lighter.

Another good night of sleep. The brilliant white light of the morning sun woke me. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the pecan tree next to my grandmother’s porch. The ripples on the water sparkled. As Barkley and I returned home from our morning walk, I suddenly realized — “it’s safe to be happy now!” The pressure in the family is to always be busy doing something, anxious, lest you regret it! Unless you’re sick. Or sad. Criticism, complaint is the language of connection. But I’m not a kid anymore...I don’t have to play by these rules...here’s to turning on the lights.

Seeing all the old patterns, in the space of not fighting, a sadness arose...and then, freedom, joy.

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Healthy communication in relationships is simple.

Most people communicate about conflict subconsciously trying to alleviate unpleasant body sensation.

If you're not yet very aware of body sensation (mindfulness meditation is a great way to cultivate) like tightness or heat in the chest, shoulders, neck, face...anger is a clear flag.

Turns out, acting from this place this is super unhelpful 🙃. While throwing a jab may temporarily relieve discomfort, it's going to come back twice as strong. Not to mention the harm done to other.

The shift, practice, is to simply pause. Notice discomfort. Have the courage to be with it, to stay. Own it, take responsibility. Because the other person, words, actions are just triggers. A gun and ammunition are needed to fire a bullet, and that's, well, us. We can actually one day thank our special people for allowing us safe and loving opportunities to heal these old wounds.

After pausing, we can say, "sweetie, I need a moment...can we come back to this in 15 minutes?"

Then, go do what you need to do. Run, jump, do a HIIT workout, take an ice bath, hit a punching bag, scream into a pillow, meditate, blast Linkin Park in your earbuds, pray, look at the stars, think about all the good reasons why you chose this partner, whatever helps.

Physiologically, anger is the fight response to fear and experience of stress hormones in the blood preparing for battle. So let that shit rip in any way that doesn't harm yourself or another being. And the juice only stays in the system for 90 seconds. Any amount of time after that is from you re-triggering yourself.

Or maybe your default fear response is flight, freeze, or fawn…also queues to pause.

Once settled, back to the commitment to return, the resolve to not sweep it under the rug because "it's better now." Because while "it" is better, "it" is OUR discomfort, not the relationship. Discomfort driving the bus destroys relationships. Now the intensity has passed, it's the best time to communicate, not procrastinate (people with avoidant tendencies take note). If we procrastinate, resentment, another relationship-killer, slowly simmers.

When you return, try something in our own words like: "thanks for the space...I can tell this is really hard for you...I care about you so much...I also felt this tightness as I listened...this is difficult for me..."

Let it be messy, unscripted, "contradictory" — this is how life and feelings are. It's not simple, black and white.

Don't go in with a plan. Of how it's all going to turn out.

And definitely don't litigate.

Instead, communicate microscopic, inarguable truths. When <objective thing happened>, I felt <blah>.

By objective, I mean the opposite of judgmental. And trust me from experience, you can't dress up judgment in pretty language like, "I feel like you," and expect positive results. You have to actually take responsibility. If there's an ounce of judgment in your system, your partner will feel it. Time to go back outside.

And <blah> is something basic like anger, sadness, fear, tightness.

We all know how to communicate like this. The practice is restraint to pause and let our shit do what it needs to do to get out of the way...and then to come back to it.

This is what it actually means to "be vulnerable", humble.

It's very simple, unfortunately not very easy. This is why we practice.

And last but not least — you’ll want to ask for an agreement with your partner beforehand (most definitely not amidst a conflict) to practice communciation like this. It's only effective with a mutual commitment to communicate information to bring closeness, versus censure, blame, criticism. Practiced properly, you'll be learning on the regular why they call it makeup sex ;)

There’s a solid argument that these common misunderstandings keep me employed…here’s an attempt to put myself out of business 🙃.

As you read, you may realize that these instructions are as helpful “off the cushion” so to speak as they are during formal meditation practice. This is why it’s called “practice” afterall 😉.

What is mindfulness?

Mindfulness is a practice of awareness. That’s it! Awareness sees clearly and is allowing. It’s the honest, nonjudgmental scribe in the courtroom, not the judge, jury, prosecution, defense, and definitely not the executioner! It neither creates story, grasps, nor is it averse.

What is meditation?

The Tibetan word is “gom” which literally translates, “to become familiar with.” Zen Monk Shunryu Suzuki Roshi calls meditation the most perfect, beginningless and endless, expression of our true human nature.

What is mindfulness meditation?

Mindfulness meditation is a practice of gathering attention to become more familiar with the body-mind-spirit as well as our relationships with others and our environment.

What isn’t mindfulness meditation?

Mindfulness meditation is not a practice of actively clearing the mind (or requiring that), reducing stress or anxiety, becoming happy, etc. It is about noticing and allowing things as they are, be they busy, still, joyful, sad, angry, anxious, etc. and letting them be. It is not a tool or strategy to find peace, happiness, or stillness. It is a practice of learning to be at peace with the way things are versus changing them.

What are the benefits of mindfulness meditation?

With skillful practice, attachment, aversion, and the belief of a separate sense of self can slowly dissolve, resulting in freedom from suffering and deep connection. It’s clinically proven to reduce stress/anxiety and depression as well as increase happiness, compassion, and peace. It can help with sleep, too. But it's important not to practice to "attain" any benefits. That actually precludes them. They only can happen when we let go of attachment.

Why “should” I practice mindfulness meditation?

I don’t believe anybody “should” really do anything — if you are curious and would like to understand yourself and others better, you might give it a try. It can bring great happiness, and I believe it heals the world.

Do I have to be Buddhist to practice mindfulness meditation?

Sure don’t! Meditation has been practiced over the millennia by people of likely all faiths, including by many who don’t believe in any particular religion or consider themselves spiritual. Come as you are! It is important to practice in the Buddhist context in which it was originally taught — on top of a foundation of non-harming ethics. From this combination arises wisdom.

How do I practice mindfulness meditation?

Sitting, walking, standing, or lying down…starting with a few deep breaths, letting the breathing return to its natural rhythm (through the nose if comfortable), allowing the gaze to soften or the eyes to close, practicing noticing and allowing sounds, scanning the body to practice noticing and allowing physical sensation, and letting the attention rest on one part of the body (an anchor), typically the breath (if comfortable)...practicing not changing or controlling it ⁠— awareness follows stimulus. Because minds think, thoughts will arise. When you remember the breath, you can gently smile because you are now in the present moment, all there is. The key is developing a gentle resolve to be with the anchor. Not too firm, not too loose.

What if mindfulness (of breath) is triggering?

Switch to an anchor that isn't activating, or stop meditating and reach out to a trauma-informed meditation teacher — this is very important. Around 10% of people experience difficulty in mindfulness meditation, and without guidance, it can be retraumatizing. And there’s no need to worry — it’s totally possible to navigate this; just, you don’t want to do it on your own.

What if I can’t “feel” my body?

This is totally normal and okay! What if you place your hand on your belly or chest — can you feel that? If so, this is a completely healthy way to practice. It can help to keep the eyes open, too. If doing this you feel sensation in both the hand and belly or chest, I recommend resting the awareness on the belly or chest. If the sensation is just generalized, that’s completely fine. You might also notice the contact between the feet and the ground or the body and the chair.

How often “should” I practice mindfulness meditation?

Daily! But don’t beat yourself up when you miss 🙂 — you can simply hold it in mindfulness, “oh, I missed.” Think bird watcher versus dog trainer.

How long “should” I meditate?

An amount of time you can commit to daily…there’s a clinical threshold at 11 minutes of daily practice that you can work up to. Traditional wisdom understands the brain to have 20 minute cycles that one day might feel supportive. Frequency matters more than volume — I believe 2 minutes daily is more beneficial than 20 minutes a few times a week. To start, you can set a timer for the maximum of time you’d like to practice. Then, after the third strong urge to pause your practice for the day, you can get up.

When “should” I meditate, and how do I develop a mindfulness meditation practice?

In the morning, sandwiched in-between 2 existing strong habits you have (like washing the face, brushing the teeth, sipping tea, waking up the kids, walking the dog, etc.). Being in the morning sets the tone for the day. You don’t want to try to meditate when difficult things happen, as a way to calm. That’ll associate meditation with unpleasant states and make it less likely to stick and help.

Where “should” I meditate?

Ideally in a dedicated spot in or around your home; you can create a special place. You can also practice in the bathroom with the fan on, on a park bench, riding the subway or bus, etc.

Do I need silence to meditate?

Nope! Awareness of sound is a great practice.

How do I practice on weekends or on vacation?

When the schedule changes, it’s normal for practice to fall off — you can practicing noticing + allowing that! As well as finding a few moments to practice, maybe in the shower, waiting in line, etc.

How does mindfulness meditation develop awareness?

When we repeat an action (practicing awareness), with the aid of a context cue (typically the breath), and a positive reward (noticing the joy of awareness with a smile, without judgment), habit forms.

How do I stop my mind from wandering!?

You don’t! You practice allowing it. You can label thoughts in categories, as simple as “thinking” or more specifically like “judging”, “planning”, “ruminating”, “excitement”, etc. This is known as “noting”. You can also label a feeling tone of pleasant, unpleasant, or neither (neutral) — this is called “vedana”, feeling tone. I encourage a gentle smile regardless of the feeling tone because awareness (of a feeling) has no judgment. After this, you can return to the anchor. The instruction is to place around 5% of the attention on the noting and 95% on the felt sensation.