There’s been a lot going on in my world lately. Maybe yours too.
I recently moved house. Goodbye, LA, goodbye Connecticut. Hello, Brooklyn. I also just came back from leading a retreat at Esalen in Big Sur, which for me is the closest thing America has to sacred ground. It’s where I go to remember who I am beyond the noise. Where the ocean and the mountains hold you like a parent you didn’t know you missed.
But in between boxes and breathwork, I’ve been sitting with some uncomfortable questions. The kind of questions that invariably show up when the world feels like it’s burning. Literally and metaphorically. Children are dying. Politicians are lying. People are tired.
So I’ve been asking: What’s the point of all this meditation stuff?
Is it enough to just come back to the breath? To calm ourselves while the world teeters? Shouldn’t we be enraged? Disgusted? Activated?
Lately, I’ve been questioning my place in what some call the wellness industrial complex. Wondering whether I’m helping people find peace or just helping them numb themselves to a painful world. Myself included.
Some things culture is teaching me
1. The pseudo-intellectual parade
I recently tried watching Jordan Peterson in a so-called “debate” with a group of atheists. I didn’t last long. I don’t agree with much he says, but more than that I can’t stand the way he dances around answers, cloaking vagueness in confidence.
It made me realize how deeply modern culture is addicted to the cult of the confident male voice. We put pseudo-intellectuals on pedestals simply because they speak well on a podcast or have a PhD, never mind if their expertise is wildly unrelated to the issues they pontificate on.
Why are we asking a psychologist for hot takes on Middle Eastern politics? Why are neuroscientists turned influencers suddenly authorities on masculinity, diet, geopolitics, and God?
Of course, this isn’t just about Peterson. It’s about all the podcast personalities who flood our feeds. Athletes. Influencers. Biohackers. Everyone with a microphone and a platform has become a prophet.
Here’s what I’m learning:
a) Everyone has an opinion, just like they have an a-hole. We don’t have to believe everything that comes out of it.
b) We need to read more books.
2. I’ve been in this game a while
Sixteen years in wellness. I’ve seen the trends. I’ve seen the people come and go. I’m not an OG, but I’ve been around enough to say I’ve seen some things.
And lately, I’ve stopped staying quiet. I’ve been letting my intrusive thoughts get the better of me and sharing thoughts online. Not for likes, not for applause, but because there are some things that make me cringe. Some make me genuinely worried.
Wellness has become so overly commodified i’m starting to wonder if I pursuit of it, is making us sicker? More to come on this later but I’m learning to walk the line between calling out nonsense and letting people be. Between critique and compassion. Sigh.
3. Don’t let the internet push you around
The internet right now is loud. It’s persistent. And if you’re not careful, it will start making decisions for you. What you care about. What you think is urgent. Who you should be angry at today.
Algorithms aren’t neutral. They’re designed to agitate or sedate. They don’t care about your peace.
For goodness sake don’t let the comments section become your conscience. Just because something is trending doesn’t mean it’s true. I’ve had to remind myself lately that it’s OK to log off and take breaks. This place online is not the place. You still have your body. You still have the sun and streetlights and the smell of someone you love. You still have real life.
Some things I learned on retreat
1. The only way to truly deepen your practice is to step away from your life
Your calendar won’t save you. Nor will your app reminders. At some point, if you really want to know what’s under the surface, you have to pause the usual noise. Go somewhere quiet. Stay there — intentional meditation retreat time.
Sit in the discomfort. Listen. Not just with your ears but with your skin, your bones, your breath. Go deeper.
2. Finding awe is essential
Call it God. Call it wonder. Call it the unnameable. Whatever name you choose, that feeling of being small in the face of something vast is what gives our lives texture.
Not everything needs to be explained. Let something remain mysterious. Let something move you.
3. Nature heals. But only if we meet it intentionally
Walking through a forest with your phone out is not the same as listening to the wind in the trees and asking how you got here.
Being well doesn’t happen automatically. It asks you to pay attention. To be changed by what you notice.
4. Everyone is carrying something
No matter how impressive, evolved or enlightened someone seems, they have a wound.
I’ve seen it time and time again, some are just better at hiding it. We’re all aching for love for meaning, for belonging. Different stories. Same ache.
5. Men, dance might be one of the few ways back to yourself
Men have been taught to armor up since the very beginning. To perform strength. But in movement and play, something breaks open.
I watched men shake grief loose from their shoulders. Let joy move through their hips. We need more of that. We need to play and not take ourselves so seriously.
6. Growth doesn’t come from avoiding discomfort
The pain points. The things you’d rather skip past. Those are usually where the gold really is.
Go toward them. Ask questions. Dig gently. We’re not trying to suffer for the sake of it. It’s about understanding what that suffering is trying to tell you.
Some things I learned moving
1. You accumulate things you think you need
But a small New York apartment has a way of humbling you.
When space is tight, you learn what really matters. You learn how much emotion gets wrapped around an object. And what it feels like to let it go. You realize stuff carries less weight that you thought.
2. Moving is a portal
You’re not just relocating your body. You’re rerouting your habits. Your cafe orders. Your sense of place.
Every move is a quiet kind of rebirth. An invitation to see yourself differently. To start again without making it dramatic.
3. Go where you are wanted. Go where you are celebrated
Not just tolerated. Not just kept around out of habit.
When I moved into a smaller apartment in New York, I had to let go of things I’d been holding onto for years: books that shaped me, clothes I loved, objects I once thought made me who I was. It was confronting at first. But also clarifying. Most of it, I realized, I had outgrown.
Sometimes it’s the same with places, people, roles we’ve outgrown. We stay too long, carry too much and forget that we’re allowed to start again.
Turns out going where you’re truly wanted is like clearing space for a too-small room. The right people, the right spaces, they make room for you. They remind you who you are without all the extra weight. They also help you stay close to that version of yourself.
The one that doesn’t need to shrink or prove anything. Just be
Ps. Keep an eye out for a Q&A I’ll be doing next week. I’d love to answer any question you have on meditation, spirituality, existential dream or making sense of it all. From the perspective of someone trying to do the same.
after coming back from 14 days in the costa rican jungle, i concur that both awe and nature are critical in my daily experience.
Thank you for this, a lovely thought provoking read. I also didn’t last long watching that debate and ended up in a debate with a friend over it when I also said - he skirts round answering so many things and then still goes for arrogance - they did not agree. I chose to not spend Sunday afternoon energy on a debate over that.
I’ve loved hearing/reading your recent shares (and call outs). It’s needed, truly. Thank you.