Last week I traveled to Denver to attend the EDUCAUSE conference. It continues to serve as an anchor point for me. It’s easy to think back to EDUCAUSE in Nashville one year ago, reflect upon the connections from that time, and see how much has changed. Each year seems to bring more change than the last.

I connected with an old friend this week, and as we sat down for a delightful conversation, he asked me about my writing. “What do you call it? Do you call it a blog? Because it seems more like a spiritual journey.”

In that simple statement, he named what’s been swirling within me for months. It’s fair to say it’s both. It’s a blog. LinkedIn calls it a newsletter. Substack calls it, well, a Substack. But what I actually write has changed over the years. What started as a leadership blog, sharing decades of wisdom from my leadership journey, has evolved. The last five years of my life have been a spiritual journey, and this blog has, in part, chronicled it. I no longer think of it as a leadership blog. It’s a life blog. But I hope you’ll keep finding value in it, even if leadership is what first introduced me to you.

Steeping

I haven’t written anything in two months. Plenty has been swirling around in my head, but nothing has asked to be written out. And so, I’ve been steeping. Letting the thoughts roll around in my head, revealing, little by little, what they care to reveal.

The lesson I find myself learning, yet again, is patience. Looking back, I realize I unknowingly spun a cocoon when I began my nomadic journey. Like the unwitting caterpillar, I don’t know what will emerge. And I’ve been in that cocoon for nearly two years now.

I remember in May 2025, as I headed to Santa Fe, assuming my time in the cocoon was coming to an end. As I settled into a three-month house-sitting stint, I’d have time to build and create. The home even had a whiteboard, one of the easiest ways for me to get my creative juices flowing. I sat down and sketched out a consciousness program, imagining a pilot offering where I’d guide a group of people on a path similar to my own, helping them raise their consciousness.

And the intuitive message that came back was that it wasn’t the right time. The program remains dormant. I’m still steeping.

In my meditation teacher training program, we were asked to read Bill Plotkin’s Journey of Soul Initiation. I’m not recommending it. I found myself skipping large sections that didn’t feel relevant to my journey. Still, I took away several pearls of wisdom.

In Plotkin’s model, he describes a framework for developmental stages. One stage he calls The Wanderer. And it’s the stage of the cocoon. It maps unmistakably to where I’m at right now. I’m literally wandering.

I don’t expect my path to follow the path Plotkin outlines, but one lesson really hit home for me. In the Wanderer stage, we are figuring out our soul purpose (those are my words; he calls it our ecological niche). I’ve described mine as accelerating the evolution of human consciousness. But several people have told me to hold that loosely and not get too attached to those words. The words can constrain the purpose, putting an artificial box around it. So I’m allowing that purpose to steep as well.

Plotkin says at this stage of life, while we are discovering our soul purpose, it is premature to build the delivery system. The delivery system is the mechanism we use to bring that purpose to reality. Plotkin shares several stories of people who think they’ve figured out their purpose and immediately start building a plan to realize it.

As I read those words, I knew immediately why my attempt to build a consciousness program ran out of steam. It wasn’t time to figure out the delivery system yet. As much as I wanted to set a vision, build a plan, and execute it, this wasn’t the time. It was, and still is, a time for steeping. And so the plans are filed away. Perhaps they will resurface, or perhaps something else will take their place.

Making Space

I spoke with an intuitive recently and shared my frustration with the long-running cocoon phase. She shared that the chrysalis was becoming transparent, and you could begin to see the butterfly within. I hope she’s right, but in my gut I’m not convinced that’s the case. Either way, I do feel guided, and I’m content to let the Universe’s guidance unfold at its own pace.

Over the past few months, I’ve watched with fascination as things have begun to fall away organically, apparently making space for whatever comes next.

It began with my meditation teacher. We’d been meeting fortnightly for several months, and I enjoyed our conversations and her guidance. Yet as we entered a session back in June, I knew it was time to pause. I shared my decision at the start of my session, and our last session became a celebration of what I’m becoming, as I entered a chapter where I would look inward for guidance.

As I sat in a meeting with my Doctums colleagues, the Universe nudged me again. For several months, I’d realized it was time to shift the nature of our partnership, and in that meeting, the message came through clearly. It was time. And so we shifted our relationship. I’m still connected to Doctums and love them dearly, but I can also engage directly with higher education again.

Then I watched, fascinated, as I joined our monthly call with a third group. I have been active in this group for three years, but slowly moving in another direction. I had told myself I’d stay through the end of the year and then step away. During that call, the facilitator openly invited those of us who no longer felt called to step away sooner. She sensed where I was headed, and she gave me a graceful off-ramp.

As the Universe often does, it acts in threes for me. Three opportunities to make space, preparing for something new. I’m just not sure what that something new is yet, and when it’s coming. I think the point right now is not to fill that space up. Life moves in a rhythm of contraction and expansion. The doing in my life is contracting. My intuition tells me to let that continue to contract, and allow being to expand.

Putting It Into Practice

Give yourself 60 seconds to pause.

Close your eyes.

Connect gently with your breath.

Allow any thoughts to float by without latching on to them.

Listen to whatever message arises.

Check in to see how your body reacts to that message.

If the guidance feels resonant, trust it to nudge you in the right direction.

Tales of Wanderment

Since driving across the country, I’ve switched locations 11 times in 12 weeks. My travels have been filled with nourishing connections which I have thoroughly enjoyed. I am grateful to the friends and family that have opened their homes to me. Now, I am ready to settle for a spell. I have returned to a rental in Bethany Beach, Delaware, where I expect to stay put until Thanksgiving.

I began searching for rentals for December and was frustrated with the lack of available spaces. Everything I inquired about wasn’t actually available. I took my own advice, closed my eyes, and opened up to the Universe for guidance. A simple message came back. Keep trying.

And so I did, and I found a space in Virginia for December. Not only did I find a place, but I watched 2027 begin to fall into place. While everything is subject to change, I’ve found a rental in Asheville in January. Santa Fe in February. Back to California in March. Then I’m eyeing Ashland, Oregon, which has popped up at least three times and clearly deserves a look.

I have no interest in settling down right now. I may be nomadic for years. I have a feeling the next twelve months will give me greater clarity on which waystations matter most to me, and then my pace of exploration may slow. Time will tell.

If you want to follow my movements, I’ve built a simple website to keep people posted on my plans (or rather, Claude built it with my guidance). Thanks for sharing my wanderings with me.

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, but I kinda doubt it. The past two months, Deer has taken center stage.

Ecocentricity

In my meditation program, we are reading The Journey of Soul Initiation, by Bill Plotkin. It’s right up my alley, and I’m enjoying reading Plotkin’s perspective on the development of both human and soul.

He writes of a critical shift from Late Adolescence to True Adulthood. This is not the traditional notion we are familiar with. In Plotkin’s definitions, very few of us ever make it out of adolescence. To make this shift, one key ingredient is a move from egocentricity to ecocentricity.

Egocentricity is a worldview most of us develop early in life, though not every culture cultivates it the same way. When we’re egocentric, we live with the ego, i.e., our personality and social self, at the center of our world. Our center of gravity orients around our standing in human society: how we’re seen, how secure we feel, and where we rank.

As a child, I remember a recurring dream in which I was “G.I. Josh.” In my dreams, I was much larger than everyone around me, the quintessential hero, running around saving everyone. In these dreams, my egocentricity was made manifest by my comically large size relative to the world around me.

As I grew older, my size returned to normal in my dreams. One might assume this represented a move away from egocentricity. In fact, I’d say the egocentricity went from being conscious to unconscious. It had become such a staple of who I was that I could no longer see it. In hindsight, I wonder if G.I. Josh represented the initial development of my egocentric nature.

In an ecocentric orientation, our center of gravity shifts outward. We become fully aware that we belong to a more-than-human world, one that includes humans but extends far beyond us, and our focus turns to recognizing our place within that larger community of Earth and serving it.

Considering my childhood G.I. Josh identity, I see ecocentric orientation as a shrinking down. All the other humans and I are shrinking in size relative to our non-human partners, drawing our attention to the breadth and depth of nature, and showing us what a small place humans represent in the more-than-human world.

This concept is very timely for me because I can see how I’m living this transformation in real time. Don’t get me wrong. I still have plenty of ego. But the natural world is beginning to take center stage, and I can feel my center of gravity shifting.

Gentleness

Looking back, I can see how Deer began to emerge prominently in June. During my meditation retreat on Mount Madonna, we were surrounded by Deer. Coupling their presence with the retreat’s silence brought a deeper connection. I remember walking back to my cabin one day and seeing a Deer in the front yard, eating from a tree, and brushing up against my car. I was touched that my car, Beloved, was able to pet a Deer (or that a Deer pet her).

While in Fairfax, California, I cohabited with Deer. I saw one looking in my bathroom window and, upon further investigation, discovered a Doe and a Fawn resting next to the house. They stayed there all day and returned every day that week. I previously shared this video, where they literally walked up the street, up the steps, and into the yard while I sat on the patio.

So, when arriving at my mother’s house, it came as little surprise that a family of Deer would suddenly pop up and start hanging around. We share an energetic connection.

This week, I connected with a friend, and she shared that Doe was a power animal for her (a concept she’d studied through shamanic practice). I asked her what the Doe signified, thinking of my own recent experiences. The first thing she said was gentleness. There is a gentle quality to Doe, and she saw that same gentleness in my way of being. It resonated deeply.

That gentleness and the connection to the gentleness of Deer feels like a doorway to my own ecocentricity. As I sat in the kitchen this week, looking out at the trees, I could feel the natural world tugging me outdoors. Beckoning me to come outside and just be present with nature. I sat on the porch, watching the Deer graze in the woods, and listening to a chorus of birdsong. I walked barefoot in the grass, over to the pond, and spied a small Turtle. Everything in me settled. I felt the gentleness.

Putting It Into Practice

Where might gentleness already be finding you, if you let yourself notice it?

Tales of Wanderment

I am so grateful for the welcoming love I feel when I’m with my mother and stepfather. Their home is a true waystation for me. I’ve stopped here three times now on my nomadic travels. I remember discovering back in late 2024 that the pond behind their house was filled with Turtles. I have spotted a few, but so far this stay has been overflowing with Deer. Last night, a Fox visited. As they ran across the lawn behind the house, I realized they ran right past a Bunny without noticing, and the Bunny did not move. That was unexpected!

Sooner or later, they find themselves in a leadership situation where they do not have direct authority over the team they are leading. Often, they find this requires a different approach to leadership.

My Experience

Reflecting on my experience, I recall two key moments in my career where I found myself leading without direct authority. While the two scenarios are distinctly different, they share a common thread that runs through my experience.

Early in my career, as a software developer, I was asked to become an “area leader.” It was the traditional stepping stone towards a management role. I was the technical lead for an area of our product, guiding other developers, directing their work, and ensuring the overall health of my area. I had no personnel management responsibilities. Many of the people I was leading were more experienced than I was.

Arguably, this role had some notion of authority. I’ve worked with coachees who had a more extreme entry into leadership. People in individual contributor roles, such as product managers, are expected to guide a product or initiative across a multidisciplinary team. They have to work with people from engineering, finance, services, support, and operations, and they often have no leadership training. Since this isn’t a role that naturally feeds into a personnel management role, they often aren’t afforded exposure to the management training resources their company offers.

Later in my career, as a director managing managers, I was tasked with leading the migration of our client base to our next major release. That, too, had a good bit of implied authority, as the initiative was an existential threat to the company, providing one of those rare opportunities where there was a single clear #1 priority. The approach was so successful that we expanded it, creating six strategic programs and assigning a director to lead each. As I led our reporting strategic program, the role became far more complex, as we now had six high-priority initiatives.

In the first experience, I found myself with no management experience, leading people who had more experience than I did. In the second experience, I had plenty of management experience. Still, I had grown accustomed to a more hierarchical structure in which my authority was explicit, and I could expect my directives to be carried out reliably.

In both cases, the secret sauce to getting buy-in and collaboration without that direct authority was relationship building.

Trust

When people report to you, they are likely to follow your guidance naturally. When you are leading people who report to someone else, there is natural friction. Often, the initiative you’re leading is not the “day job” for the team members.

The single greatest indicator of your success in this situation is the level of trust between you and each team member.

I’ve written about trust before. There are three components of the trust framework that can make or break your success in these situations:

• Sincerity. For colleagues to trust you, they must believe that your words are sincere. The things you say mirror what you are actually thinking and the actions you take.
• Reliability. You will ask colleagues to prioritize work that may conflict with their day jobs. If you consistently follow through on your own commitments, and they see you as reliable, they are more likely to respond in kind. If you are unreliable and fail to meet your own obligations, they will assume the initiative is not important and can do the same.
• Care. Colleagues must see and feel that you care about their interests, not just your own. This requires empathy and understanding. Connecting the mission of the team to each individual.

This simple framework proves incredibly powerful for assessing the health of any relationship, whether a colleague, your partner, a family member, or a close friend. We strengthen our relationships and enhance our leadership capacity by uncovering and healing any gaps in trust.

Intentionality

It’s easy to be intentional about building relationships with your boss and your direct reports. It’s inherent to the organization’s structure. When we don’t have direct authority, that lack of formal structure often results in less investment in relationship building.

Building awareness of the key relationships outside organizational reporting lines is one of the key ingredients of executive presence. Many of the clients I work with like using a simple tool to assess the health of their relationships and prioritize the ones that need work. I’ve written about this tool in detail before. I’ll summarize it here. Note that this is a tool for directing your attention, not for ranking people’s worth. If the numbers feel clinical, assess informally instead:

• Brainstorm all the key relationships in your life. List them in the first column of a spreadsheet.
• Rate the importance of each relationship 1-5, with 5 being most important.
• Rate the health of each relationship 1-5, with 5 signaling it needs the most work.
• Multiply the two ratings together. The higher the score, the more important it is to invest in the relationship.

For some, this approach may feel like overkill. Feel free to assess informally if that feels more comfortable.

The key is to recognize the relationships that need work and to be intentional about strengthening them. Assessing the level of trust is a great place to start. The trust goes both ways. Do they trust you to be sincere, reliable, and to care, and do you trust them across the same dimensions? If there’s a gap, you want to invest the time and energy to heal that gap.

Are you spending regular time with this person? I find regularly scheduled 1-on-1 meetings to be one of the most powerful ways to build trust and strengthen a relationship. If there is critical feedback to share, do so privately, not in front of the larger team. Frequent communication can help you build empathy, which shows you care.

Richer channels build trust faster. In-person when you can, video when you can’t, and be aware that written communication leaves out tone and body language that are key to empathy. Norms vary by team and by person, so ask what works for them rather than assuming.

Relationship building takes energy. It may be out of your comfort zone. As you grow as a leader, it becomes an increasingly critical skill for your long-term success. And spoiler alert – it’s equally critical to your success as a human, regardless of your professional role.

Putting It Into Practice

Leading without authority strips away the scaffolding and reveals what your leadership actually rests on. A few ways to strengthen that foundation:

• Map your relationships. Rate each on importance and health (1-5) and multiply. Let the highest scores tell you where to invest first.
• Audit the trust in both directions. Where’s the gap — sincerity, reliability, or care? Then ask the harder question: do they have reason to doubt you on any of the three?
• Protect your reliability ruthlessly. When you have no authority, your follow-through is your authority. Commit to less, and deliver all of it.
• Put a recurring 1-on-1 on the calendar. Not a project check-in. A conversation. It’s the first thing to disappear when you’re outside the reporting line.
• Connect the mission to the person. Know what this initiative gives them. If you can’t name it, you don’t yet know them well enough.

Tales of Wanderment

In my last update, I was preparing to drive across the country. My journey spanned five days:

• Thursday: Fairfax, California -> Elko, Nevada
• Friday: Elko -> Ogallala, Nebraska
• Saturday: Ogallala -> Des Moines, Iowa
• Sunday: Des Moines -> Columbus, Ohio
• Monday: Columbus -> Ashburn, Virginia

Roughly 3,000 miles and 50 hours on the road. I was fortunate to stay with friends in Des Moines, and we had time for dinner and a bit of downtown exploring. I loved an amazing piece of digital art by Oyoram titled TimePiece. Black Cat Ice Cream was another highlight, with a wall filled with photos of black cats that reminded me of my beloved Kohaku.

I was struck by how relaxing the entire trip was. I was a present, engaged driver, and at the same time, it was meditative and refreshing. Even though I spent most of those five days driving, it felt like a vacation, which I found fascinating.

I’ve now wrapped up two weeks in Ashburn, Virginia. I spent most of my life in Virginia. This didn’t feel like a nostalgic return home. It felt like rediscovering the land as a different human, looking upon it with fresh eyes. Yes, there are familiar stomping grounds and lifelong friends here, but there is something entirely new about this experience.

Next, I am headed to West Chester, Pennsylvania, to stay with my mother and stepfather for a month or so. To my friends and colleagues in that area, please reach out if you’d like to connect!

The first arc, while not officially planned, was sketched out reasonably well. Seven weeks in California. Fly to the East Coast for two weeks for business and visiting family, then fly back. I’d rent a storage unit to lock my car in while I was on the East Coast. A few weeks in Oregon, a month in Washington, a few weeks in Colorado, EDUCAUSE in Denver, then drive to the East Coast in early October.

A week ago, I blew that plan up.

If you’ve followed my blog for a while, you may recall I fell in love with a band called The Wailin’ Jennys while I was in Santa Fe. When I want to soothe my nervous system and nourish my soul, they are my first choice. They don’t tour often. All three band members are mothers, and that has been their focus.

I was surprised to find that they are playing the Birchmere in Alexandria, VA, three nights in a row in September. They were a month too early for my schedule. And they had nothing else anywhere near me or where I planned to be.

There’s a freedom to my nomadic lifestyle that is hard to realize fully. We make plans, and they impose artificial constraints that we accept as real. Those false barriers melted away as I said to myself, “F– it. I’ll just drive to the East Coast now.”

And so, Thursday afternoon, I’m heading East. Not for two weeks, likely for several months. The new plan is forming. But I know I’ll be in Alexandria on September 2nd. Tickets are still available, and it’s general admission, so if you’re in the area, join me!

Mt. Shasta

I traveled to Mt. Shasta last weekend. I have heard so many wonderful things about the mountain and the town. I was eager to visit. I suspected a weekend wouldn’t be long enough to satisfy me, so I treated this visit like a scouting trip to see if I want a longer stay in the future.

On Saturday, I was honoured to participate in a private ceremony with several friends on the mountain. I was grateful for the opportunity, and it was wonderful to have good friends orienting me to Shasta. We were within walking distance of the Sacramento River’s headwaters, where we refilled our water bottles several times.

Sunday, my friends left early, and I had the day to myself. I took my own advice from last week. I spent several hours walking the trails of Shasta. I set no distance, time, or pace goal. I put my phone into “Stillness” focus mode so I wouldn’t be disturbed. I resisted the urge to take any photos or videos. I wanted to be deeply present with the Mountain.

I experienced several magical moments. I saw several Chipmunks on my hike. At one point, there were several very close to the trail. I resisted the urge to pull out my phone and snap a picture. I stood at a safe distance and savored our shared space. When I was ready to continue on the trail, I moved slowly, expecting them to scamper off. One brave Chipmunk never left. I watched in awe as I walked only a few feet away, stopped, and looked into their eyes. Such a sweet connection.

I was also struck by the amazing stones that were everywhere. Shasta is a stratovolcano and is made primarily of andesite. Lately, I’ve seen a lot of granite. I stopped and meditated on several large rocks along the way. I recognized a progression in my appreciation of nature.

It began, as I suspect it does for most, with wildlife. Hawk, Turtle, Raven, Deer, Chipmunk… the thrill of being with another sentient being that moves.

Over time, my appreciation for Plants deepened, as I began to process the magnificence of trees and flowers. And I came to appreciate that plants move too (and may even be sentient). They simply move on a time scale much slower than we are used to. Just search “plant movement time lapse” for some compelling examples.

On Shasta, my connection with Stone deepened. We don’t think of Stone as something that moves, certainly not as something sentient. But Stone is very much a part of nature, and even Stone moves, albeit very, very slowly. In the end, you can find beauty anywhere.

As I neared the end of my hike, I paused for a moment at Panther Meadows, thanking the land for welcoming me and showing my respect. I looked down and saw a small orange Butterfly on the ground in front of me. As I squatted down to inspect it, I noticed several even smaller light blue Butterflies, as well as several Bees. I watched them for a minute and then rose to continue my hike. As I began walking, they did not fly away. I watched in wonder as they danced around my ankles while I walked, treading carefully to be sure I didn’t step on anyone accidentally. More magic.

Fairfax (California, not Virginia)

So many people told me I was going to love Fairfax, and they were not wrong. This is a delightful town. It’s far enough away from the city not to feel immersed in a sea of people, but it’s not remote. I absolutely adored being able to walk to the grocery store whenever I needed something. My car earned a much-needed rest, as she braces for a 3,000-mile journey this weekend!

Here are a few recommendations should you find yourself here:

• The Good Earth – An amazing grocery store that is legendary in the area. Most of my meals came from here.
• Roy’s Redwood Preserve – A Redwood forest just ten minutes away from town. Easily accessible, not overcrowded, and the home of one of my Quail baby sightings.
• Fairfax Scoop – Homemade organic ice cream shop. Once I tried it, I went back every single day. That’s not an exaggeration.

And now I ready myself for the next arc of my journey. East Coast, here I come. See you soon.

Our instructor asked Adya, “What is the greatest misunderstanding you’d like to correct from your teachings?” His answer centered around the phrase “Allow everything to be as it is.” It was a misunderstanding I struggled with for much of my life.

Misunderstanding

In my college years, I was intrigued by Buddhism. My influences included my father’s love of Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and Professor Cobb, my Intro to Philosophy professor who was also a practicing Zen Buddhist.

I remember Professor Cobb describing an awakened state to the class in one of our lectures. I don’t remember how he described it, but I remember distinctly how I thought I had grasped it. I raised my hand and said, “Is it like when you’re driving down the highway, and ten minutes go by, and you realize you don’t remember the last ten minutes?”

“No,” he said, “It’s nothing like that at all.”

I laugh now as I look back. I had the same misunderstanding Adya was speaking to.

That same misunderstanding plagued me as I tried to embrace Buddhism. A core teaching that resonated with me in principle was the Four Noble Truths. Life is characterized by suffering. Suffering arises from our attachment to things. Suffering can cease when we release those attachments. And there is a path leading to that release. When our desires don’t match reality, we suffer. Follow the path, relinquish your attachments, and you can ultimately attain enlightenment.

When I contemplated this in my college years, I imagined myself with no attachments. It always left me with the image of me with no desires, doing nothing. I’d have to be a hermit living on my own. I couldn’t reconcile it, and Buddhism never really took root, although the seed was planted. So what does it mean, then, to allow everything to be as it is?

A Clue

I think my first coach was on to the secret, and he pointed me in the right direction, but I still didn’t grasp it.

My coach told me to go out into nature, some place in the woods without people, and sit there for thirty minutes. Just be with nature. This was under the guise of building my emotional intelligence. I dutifully complied, finding a remote trail in a nearby park, wandering back a ways, and sitting in the forest, just being with nature. I enjoyed the experience, but I missed the point. He hadn’t given me enough context. I went out into nature and allowed everything to be as it is, but in doing so, I primarily checked out. Therein lies the rub.

Checking Out

Most of us grow up in a culture that is designed to shape us into Doers. We learn how to achieve. To be efficient and productive. To set ambitious goals, attain them, and then stretch higher. As leaders, we continue to embody this way of life, while also mentoring and challenging our teams to do the same. Arthur C. Brooks calls this Striver’s Syndrome in his book, From Strength to Strength. It is aptly named. I know it well. I suspect you do too.

My coach wanted me to spend time in nature as an antidote to Striver’s Syndrome. Without proper context, however, the time in nature was simply a mental break. There’s nothing wrong with this, of course. We have vacation time and encourage employees to take it because we know everyone needs a break to rest and recharge.

Many take up meditation and mindfulness practices for this very reason. Not as a means to attain spiritual growth or enlightenment, but simply as a mechanism to rest their nervous system, quiet the striver, and return to center. When I first began meditating regularly, that was my goal as well. In my efforts to quiet the mind, I was deliberately attempting to “check out” from the monkey mind of Striver’s Syndrome. It served its purpose, helping me lower my stress and be more at ease, but eventually I recognized there was something more.

The Clarification

Adya clarified what he intends with the phrase, “Allow everything to be as it is.” It’s not an invitation to withdraw from the world and check out. You’re not being asked to clear your mind in a way that you remember nothing, as sometimes occurred on my highway drives. If anything, it’s an instruction to do quite the opposite.

As Strivers, we want to turn a statement like that into a goal. Don’t think of it as a goal. Think of it as a starting point. We begin by allowing everything to be as it is, being fully present. Over time, that practice evolves naturally. As we become more present in the moment, we begin to embody the Taoist concept of wu wei. It is often translated as effortless action and is akin to what we call flow state. We are still in action, but by allowing everything to be as it is, that action becomes effortless.

When my coach sent me into nature, here is the context I’d have given. Go out into nature, and be fully present with nature. Let go of all doing and be fully present as being. Experience nature with all your senses, marveling in it, connecting to it, being present with it. Don’t try to capture, identify, or label it. Just be with it.

If that feels difficult, notice what arises that is preventing you from allowing everything to be as it is, and examine it. As I sat in meditation one morning this week, my Striver wanted to draft an email. As I became aware of the thoughts, I noticed them and allowed them to be. By noticing them, it became easier not to indulge them. The email thoughts came and went, and I returned to the present moment.

Putting It Into Practice

I invite you to spend at least thirty minutes in nature, allowing everything to be as it is. Find a spot with few people to distract you. Be fully present. Take in the sights, the sounds, and the smells. Let your thinking mind take a break from the action. This is not an exercise in doing, it’s an exercise in being.

Your Striver will likely resist this exercise. Here are signs to watch for:

• The Exercise Trap – you set a distance, time, or pace goal. Leave your fitness tracker behind.
• The Photographer Trap – you bring your phone and feel compelled to capture photos or videos.
• The Writer Trap – you bring a journal or phone to journal your experiences in real-time.
• The Connected Trap – you allow others to interrupt you, either by bringing your phone or picking a location with too many other people.
• The Multitasker Trap – you combine this activity with any other, such as listening to an audiobook or podcast.

Your phone is the biggest distraction. If you don’t feel comfortable leaving it behind, put it in a focus mode that blocks all but true emergency notifications, and don’t touch it.

Trust the practice.

Tales of Wanderment

This week, I’ve found myself in flow. Calm, grounded, and centered. I took advantage of our holiday weekend to practice what I mentioned above – lots of time being present in nature.

I also realized how easy it is to pivot my plans on a dime. I thought I’d spend the summer in the Pacific Northwest, but now I’m not so sure. I’ll keep you posted.

Unmoored

My first two weeks of nomadic life were steeped in relationships. While the first week was a silent retreat, I was in retreat with 75 other people. Several of them were classmates in my meditation teacher program. The newness of California was balanced with a retreat community. It felt welcome and familiar.

The second week, I stayed with my cousin and his wife. Again, I found so much novelty in Half Moon Bay. There was much to learn as I deepened my relationship with family. And yet, they were family, bringing the comfort and familiarity that family can.

As I arrived in Fairfax, there was a distinctly different feel. My timing was excellent – I arrived on June 12th, a day before the annual Fairfax Festival. I was treated to a parade and two days filled with live music. It was a treat. As I wandered through the festival, exploring shops and listening to music, I recognized that this kind of outing is typically more enjoyable with a friend to share it with. I was in a new town with no friends nearby. A five-week stay is long enough to experience the area, but not long enough to develop new friendships.

I was also dealing with other novelties. I now know that I am decidedly allergic to poison oak, and it’s very common in this area of California. I’m reminded of my early days in New Mexico, when I learned the hard way that you don’t allow yourself to brush up against a cactus the way you would brush up against a tree. The same, obviously, is true of poison oak! On the first Sunday, as I was still getting used to my new space, I inadvertently locked myself out. Each small mishap was another reminder I was adrift.

As I reflected on all that was going on, with curiosity, the word that best described my state was unmoored. I felt adrift as I adapted to a new location, a new time zone, and new rhythms to life, without local friends to provide support. Emotions are often categorized first by valence (positive or negative) and, within that distinction, by energy (high or low). Anger is negative valence, high energy. Chill is positive valence, lower energy. For me, unmoored has a negative valence, with low energy. That didn’t concern me, but it invited curiosity.

Untethered

Over the course of that first week, I had deep connections with four close friends. Some were planned, and some were spontaneous. Some via phone and some via Zoom. Those connections were nourishing and insightful.

Thursday morning, one friend in particular triggered a shift in perspective. As I shared with her how I felt unmoored, she offered a different perspective. I picked up on it before she said anything, as if she’d transmitted it to me psychically, and then her words reinforced what I had already heard. In returning to nomadic life, I made a deliberate choice to be unbound. To be “free.” Not to be tied down to a single location, or a long-term relationship, or a specific way of being.

As we discussed this, I realized I was feeling untethered. Untethered carries the same low energy as unmoored, but it carries a positive valence rather than a negative one. It’s a word I associate with Michael A. Singer, author of books including The Untethered Soul and Living Untethered. His books have inspired me and contributed to my current way of being.

My friend encouraged me to lean into my untethered state and embrace it, especially during Summer, when the days are long and filled with light. It was a powerful shift.

Tethered

As I looked back upon that first week, I recognized how I remain tethered while also untethered. Tethering is a technical term for me. I don’t think of tethering as being tied down, like a tetherball on a pole. Tethering is a deliberate act of recognizing and reinforcing our energetic connection to a being or place. Tethering is not the opposite of untethered. I am tethered and untethered simultaneously.

Those connections with my four friends were a form of tethering – reinforcing my bond with each of them, sending energy through the golden thread that connects us, and receiving energy in return. And I began to think of all the ways I tether. I can share my location on my iPhone with others, and I’ve done so with a handful of friends and family. I added another good friend to that list that week. As a digital nomad who occasionally goes hiking in random remote locations, it seems like a good idea. And there is an energetic connection that forms in that sharing, knowing that when they go to text me, my location shows under my profile photo.

My time in nature is a form of tethering with Mother Earth. Welcoming the energy of the trees and the animals. Even welcoming the energy of poison oak, hopefully from a safe distance. That tethering reminds me that humanity isn’t something superior. We are peers with all other beings on this planet, including plants and animals.

When I was unnesting from Santa Fe, many of my possessions went to a delightful woman I met, Gillian Corcoran. Gillian could be the official spokesperson for tethering. She gave me a signed copy of her children’s book, The Golden Web: A Story About How Love Connects Us. Aunt Zoe teaches Sammy about the invisible golden thread that links all of us to friends and family. We are all tethered.

Grounded and Free

All of this happened two weeks ago. I knew it was meant to be written, but a busy weekend with friends in Nevada City pushed it to Monday, when I understood why the wait mattered.

As I connected with one of my teachers last Monday, I shared my experiences feeling unmoored, untethered, and tethered. We leaned further into this, and in a guided meditation, she encouraged me to connect deeply to the earth through my feet. I felt my roots planting into the earth, grounding and tethering me. And then, with my arms and torso, I embodied my untethered state, swaying in the breeze. The experience was powerful, and I felt my body filled with energy. It gave me an anchor to return to when I want to shift back to this tethered and untethered way of being.

My teacher shared that she had once guided children in “tree meditation.” Similar to what we had just done, she encouraged the children to visualize their feet as roots of a tree, connecting to the earth, while swaying their arms in the breeze like the tree’s branches. She shared how, on one occasion, something clicked for a six-year-old girl. With child-like wonder, she declared:

“The more grounded I am, the easier it is for me to fly!”

I felt chills. The both/and of tethered and untethered coursed through my veins.

Putting It Into Practice

We all pass through unmoored seasons. A move, a loss, a role we’ve outgrown, a freedom we chose that suddenly feels like exposure. The state isn’t the problem. The story we tell about it is. Here are a few ways to shift the valence without forcing the feeling away.

Name your state precisely. Unmoored, untethered, adrift, free, loose, open. These aren’t synonyms. Notice the energy and the valence beneath the word you’re reaching for. Sometimes simply finding a truer word does the work, the way untethered did for me.

Look for the reframe already waiting. The shift from unmoored to untethered didn’t require new circumstances, only a new perspective on the same ones. Ask: what would I call this if I trusted that I’d chosen it?

Find what tethers you, even now. You are never only adrift. Notice the golden threads still humming. A friend, a place, the earth under your feet, a being you feel connected to. Send energy down one of them today and feel what comes back.

Ground to fly. The next time you feel loose in the world, plant your feet like roots and let the rest of you sway. See whether, like a certain six-year-old, you find that the more grounded you are, the easier it is to fly.

Tales of Wanderment

I’ve been in California for four weeks now. In a short time, I’ve learned a lot about what draws me in.

I love the small-town feel of Fairfax. This is the first place I’ve lived where I can walk to the grocery store and shops, without living in the city. It’s delightful to rely on my feet for transportation. I love walking to the grocery store and getting what I need for a few days, rather than loading up for a week.

At the same time, while the town feels small, it’s surrounded by other towns, and there are still a lot of people here. I realize that in Santa Fe, I didn’t actually live in Santa Fe. I lived ten miles out of town, in a spacious community with fewer people.

I spent a weekend in Nevada City visiting friends and was deeply drawn in. I stayed with friends who lived only a mile from town, so I could walk into town, yet their home was nestled in the forest with plenty of space between neighbors. There was a spiritual and energetic vibe to the town that I felt attuned with, and I awoke to the calls of Raven and Hawk. I made a note to consider a return to Nevada City in the future for a longer stay.

I have loved communing with Redwoods. I had never seen one before this month. Pictures do not do them justice, but here is my best attempt. That white speck is my hat, to give you some perspective on the size of these magnificent beings.

You may recall my Scaled Quail couple from Santa Fe. I lamented the fact that they didn’t have babies before I departed. This week, as I parked to visit Roy’s Redwood Preserve, I heard the call of Quails. I could not find them. At the end of my hike, as I began to drive off, I found them across the street. To my delight, I found a whole family, including several baby Quails.

Perhaps the most magical event that day was the Deer. My house is on a hill surrounded by other houses. Outside the frosted bathroom window, I saw a Deer looking in with curiosity. I discovered a mother and her fawn were sheltering in the shade next to the house. I did my best to assure them I meant no harm. They stayed for several hours and were still there when I left for my hike. When I returned three hours later, they were still there, having moved to the other side of the house. I am used to seeing Deer. I’m not used to cohabiting with them.

Pendulum Swings

Two weeks ago, I had my second silent meditation retreat. I chose this retreat because of my interest in John Prendergast, and the timing felt right, as it was six months after my first retreat.

In the buildup to my first retreat, there was a lot of anticipation and preparation. I’d never done anything like this before, turning off my phone and laptop for seven days. I didn’t know what to expect. I deliberately planned and prepared to ensure I could fully unplug and make the most of my week.

This retreat was very different. The month leading up to the retreat was filled with doing. I was unnesting, purging my possessions again, and preparing to return to nomadic life. At the same time, my work was evolving, bringing some temporary changes that felt more akin to my prior career. There was no preparation for the retreat, other than a few basic communications and setting out of office on multiple email accounts. In the four days leading up to the retreat, I slept in three different cities, always on the move.

My wall of water was shutting off my phone and beginning this retreat. Racing through life with no friction but the air, then sinking deep into the stillness of water. I can see how, in May, the pendulum swung hard to the doing apex, with so much activity and movement, and the retreat was a hard swing to the other side, as the doing stopped, and the being took center stage.

The retreat was centering and peaceful. I had some deep meditations and some delightful connections with nature, including my first experiences with Redwood trees. As we each shared our reflections on the final day, I highlighted the stark contrast I experienced between doing and being. The starkness of that contrast was a gift of awareness for me. I was grateful for the shift, and at the same time, I recognized I didn’t want my pendulum to swing so far to the doing side in the future.

Doing and Being

A few years ago, I coined the term teliodosis to embody this very phenomenon. It was born out of an exercise in which I contemplated two perceived opposites. One state was intention. Living a life of purpose with goals and direction. The other state was surrender, trusting the Universe to guide me. Teliodosis was my word to shift this from an either/or dynamic to a both/and state. Over time, I realized intention and surrender didn’t resonate for me as much as doing and being, and so I refined my new word:

Teliodosis (noun): te·li·o·do·sis | \ tē-ˈlē-ə-ˌdō-sis \

Definition: A state of living characterized by the integration of doing and being, where actions are naturally aligned with a deep sense of presence and purpose, fostering a harmonious and fulfilling life.

My week of retreat reminded me of teliodosis, and showed me how un-integrated doing and being have been for me as of late. I left that week contemplating teliodosis.

Integration

I have written about integration before. It’s a powerful construct that I think is best explained by Dan Siegel’s work. He describes integration in terms of interpersonal neurobiology:

Integration is the linkage of differentiated elements.

I reflected upon my first retreat. It was a week of being, to be sure. The doing deliberately came to a halt. But as I emerged from that retreat, I found myself in a state of teliodosis. The next two months included a robust morning ritual that centered me and anchored me. As I went through my day, there was a presence to my way of being that felt like teliodosis.

As the months went by, the teliodosis began to fade away. More and more doing with less being reduced that integration, resulting in the stark contrast I experienced entering my second retreat.

And so, I came out of this retreat recognizing a desire to return to teliodosis. The following week had plenty of doing, as I returned to the working world and had the opportunity to connect deeply with my cousin in Half Moon Bay. But that doing had a much deeper presence than I had in May. And as I arrived in Fairfax, California, last Friday, I naturally and organically left my weekend uncommitted, so I could settle in and be present without swinging the pendulum too far from center.

Teliodosis is the center of the pendulum’s arc. Not swinging back and forth between doing and being, but holding them in an integrated state.

Putting It Into Practice

Reflect upon your life. Where are you racing into stillness with no runway?

What is one thing you can adjust to deepen the integration between the extremes of your pendulum, bringing yourself closer to the center and reducing the wildness of the swing?

Tales of Wanderment

California has been very welcoming. On the first evening of my retreat, I encountered a pair of California Quail. It was a clear message from Quail that they belong in my pantheon of spirit animals, not just a Santa Fe experience. I will say, the California Quail are a bit fancier.

Not to be outdone, Hummingbird has made countless appearances as well. In hindsight, I recognize both Hummingbird and Quail have been meaningful for me, as I had paintings of each on the wall in my Santa Fe home.

Sitting on the patio on a retreat break, I sent a message to Hawk, whom I had not seen, and asked that they land on my armrest. On cue, a Red-Tailed Hawk appeared in the sky and circled overhead, red tail lit up by the sun. Hawk told me it was as close as I could expect them to get.

Ravens were everywhere, and as I walked the grounds, I went to the lake. It was a long shot, but I thought perhaps I could find Turtle there, the only spirit animal that had not made an appearance. I saw something on a wooden platform on the far end of the lake. As I got close, I got my wish. Not a live Turtle, but the thing I saw was, in fact, a Turtle statue. It was upended, which I took as a nudge from the Universe that my patience was a little out of balance.

Last week I was in Half Moon Bay, visiting my cousin and his wife. He remarked that our lives had had only small snippets of intersection over the years. We were both grateful for the chance to connect more deeply. A four-hour hike brought Banana Slugs and some amazing Redwoods. My cousin’s ritual of reading for an hour before bed felt like a perfect way to reintroduce my own bedtime ritual, helping me wind down and stay in teliodosis. One highlight for me was a shared love of reading, and we each prepared a list of recommendations for the other based on our discussions. They also have a lovely cat, Willow, who recharged my cat energy batteries.

And now, I have five weeks in Fairfax. Living most of my life in Fairfax County, Virginia, the idea of Fairfax, California, introduces quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. The view from my patio is delightful. I unexpectedly wandered into town in time for the 47th annual Fairfax Festival,  with a parade and live music throughout the weekend. A nice way to settle in.

A Meditation Dyad

I had a meditation dyad with a classmate in my meditation teacher training this week. In a dyad, you meet in a pair, taking turns guiding each other in meditation. We explored a technique we learned from Richard Miller, which he calls “Welcoming.” Normally, when I meditate, my practice is similar to the Zen practice of Zazen, or “just sitting.” I sit and clear my mind. When thoughts arise, I let them pass through unexamined.

This practice has done wonders for my ability to calm myself. It’s improved my mindfulness and presence. It’s helped me release attachments. However, there is a danger to this practice. Taken to the extreme, this practice can lead to avoidance. The strategy most of us use when dealing with stress, consciously or unconsciously, is suppression. We “fake it until we make it.” An overemphasis on “just sitting” can result in a more elegant suppression. We are calm and present. We are unattached to outcomes. But we may be ignoring emotions and sensations that deserve exploration.

As my partner led me through this welcoming practice, I settled in and then explored the sensations that arose.  I recognized a tightness in my chest. In my normal practice, I’d have let that tightness dissipate, resting in open awareness. Instead, I welcomed the tightness. I explored it. There was a band across the center of my chest, roughly the size of a rearview mirror, that felt tight. It was mild, but it was there. Rather than dismiss it, I fed it energy. I allowed it to grow more intense. As I did this, I recognized the source of this tightness.

Anxiety.

Anxiety that I have been suppressing. I’ve just uprooted my entire world for the second time. The only plan I have is not to make one. There is so much uncertainty ahead of me. Of course I’m anxious. How could I not be? And yet, it’s become my personal brand to be calm, centered, and at ease. And so, I haven’t been giving this anxiety a place.

The Opposite

The technique we used next was welcoming the opposite. I hold the term “opposite” loosely. Our thinking mind can take over here, trying to determine what the precise opposite is for whatever we’re sensing. That isn’t the point. The point is to shift your perspective.

Historically, my anxiety-shifting move has been to relabel that anxiety as excitement. I remember my sister reminding me of this as I waited for the start of the Boston Marathon. That shift helped me be fully present and enjoy the race.

I knew that wasn’t the “opposite” I was looking for this time. What organically arose for me was curiosity. What does it feel like to approach this great unknown with curiosity?

I experienced curiosity as a thick liquid, starting at the top of my head and slowly flowing down, coating my entire body. It reminded me of an old Pepto Bismol commercial where the pink liquid flows down the throat and coats the stomach, only this liquid coated my entire body. I was in a cocoon of curiosity. I felt open. Inquisitive. Eager to see what will come next.

What made this shift so powerful was the embodied nature of each sensation. Anxiety lives in my body. It lives in my chest. I’ve known this, but I don’t always pay attention to it. Embodying curiosity was new. The visualization of a soft coating of curiosity surrounding my whole body powerfully shifted my perspective.

Integration

The third step in the meditation process was taught to us as something our thinking brain can’t do. I shifted back and forth between anxiety and curiosity, and then, I was guided to hold both states at the same time. What is it like to be in anxiety and curiosity simultaneously?

The rearview mirror-sized section of my chest became a window, allowing anxiety to see through to the outside world, while the rest of my body remained coated in curiosity. I had merged the two metaphors into an integrated state.

This had been taught as something difficult to do, but in fact, integration was a key piece of learning from my neuroscience coach education with BEabove Leadership. One of their coaching tools explains the left and right hemispheres of the brain, and how to integrate them rather than leaning heavily to one hemisphere or the other.

As the meditation continued, anxiety and curiosity spontaneously left my body, taking up human forms on either side of me. I could walk the world supported by both anxiety on my left, helping me identify potential issues, and curiosity on my right, examining those issues in a calm, open manner. They worked in partnership, not at odds.

Putting It Into Practice

Take some time to explore what you are suppressing in your life. I recommend enlisting a trusted friend or guide for this exercise. If you unearth something unexpectedly heavy, consider working with a therapist to continue your exploration.

Sit quietly, center yourself, and open up to sensation. Find it in your body. Let it breathe.

Ask this sensation why it’s here. What does it want to tell you?

Identify an opposite sensation or feeling that shifts your perspective. What does that opposite feel like? Where does it live in your body? What does it want to tell you?

You can find a guided meditation by Richard Miller on YouTube that takes you through this technique.

Tales of Wanderment

Last week, I was in Santa Fe. Today, I’m in California, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I spent a year at altitude, both physically and spiritually, and now I’ve descended 7,000 feet in elevation. I find it magical that my overnight stop on my travels west was Kingman, Arizona, which sits at 3,300 feet of elevation. A halfway point in more ways than one.

Athletes train at elevation for the boost they get when racing at lower elevations. What will a year of spiritual training in the lands of O’gha Po’oge yield as I resume my nomadic travels?

The Universe nudged me to squeeze in a show in Hollywood this weekend, seeing a musician who is also a spiritual guide. It was an evening of transition, shedding energies that no longer served as I entered into this next step of the journey. The guide offered three messages:

• Embrace the feminine fire
• Laughter strengthens joy
• Don’t swim against the tides

The third message resonated deeply, as it speaks to wu wei and effortless action, which I’ve been swimming in lately. And the next morning, the other two messages came to light.

I recognize the feminine energy within me and know it is, in large part, due to the transformation my mother underwent during my childhood. She spoke at her church yesterday as Nurse Sparkle, sharing her life story and her clown journey. I wept tears of joy listening to her own story of feminine fire and, once again, seeing how she brings joy to so many others through her gift of clowning and laughter. For some laughter, check out her opening message. If you’d like to hear her full story, it starts here.

This land is much older than Santa Fe. Centuries before Europeans arrived, the Tewa-speaking Pueblo people called this land O’gha Po’oge, meaning “white shell water place.” The energies of O’gha Po’oge beckoned for me to stay. I’ve never experienced such open skies, with no trees or buildings blocking my view in any direction. As I pause on a hike and lay my hands on an Aspen Tree, I feel the deepest silence and stillness I’ve ever known. And when the wind blows, its ferocity feels attuned to my soul. Today, I celebrate my year with this land.

There is a great irony to my time here. Santa Fe sits at 7,000 feet of elevation. The elite athletes all live and train at altitude to boost their fitness. My fifteen-year racing career culminated in 2023. My last marathon was also my fastest. Throughout that career, I envied athletes who lived at a higher elevation. And then, two years after I gave up racing, I found myself at the altitude I had craved.

Early Lessons

When I first arrived, there was only one person I knew well here. That friend wasn’t even here – I spent my first three months house-sitting and cat-sitting for her while she was out of town.

During that time, I built a deep relationship with her five cats. I began to understand them, sensing their thoughts and needs in a way I’d never connected with a pet before, with the possible exception of my beloved Kohaku.

One night, early in my stay, I performed a ritual of my own design to connect with O’gha Po’oge. I used that name in the ritual, opening myself for a connection with the land, and listened for any message that might come through. I heard a single word in return.

Love.

I awoke in the middle of the night, with one cat in bed with me. Remembering my earlier connection with the land that evening, I energetically reached out to the cats, sending them love. To my delight, one by one, each cat gradually appeared, until all five were in bed with me. Something magical was afoot.

I was also surprised at how quickly I formed new human friendships. A friend of a friend was staying only ten minutes away, and we quickly formed a friendship that nourished me throughout my year. I discovered that one of the coaches from my initial coach education lived two miles away. I began to connect with neighbors. In hindsight, these new friendships come as no surprise. I am an incredibly relational person.

Those friendships opened me up to a whole host of new experiences. One friend took me to Canyon Road to explore art galleries. That led me to purchase art for the first time. Another friend introduced me to opera. My first opera was Wagner’s Die Walküre, a truly fitting introduction given my love of Norse mythology. I discovered mountain biking. I tried rock climbing. My relational nature, combined with my growing curiosity, opened up so many new worlds to explore.

And then there was the land. Atalaya Mountain. Mount Picacho, which one friend likes to call Mount Pikachu. Galisteo Basin Preserve. Sun Mountain and Moon Mountain. Hyde Park. My love of running has transformed into a love of hiking and being in nature. This land has so much to offer.

My photos don’t capture the land well, but here are a few anyway.

Adventure Road

Once I had decided to settle here, I started looking for a home to rent. I didn’t look far. The first home I looked at met all my requirements, and I felt a strong energetic connection with the owner. My thinking brain told me to keep looking to find the best home out there. My spirit told me otherwise. This had everything I needed. Why would I need to look for something more?

A few months later, I was preparing “The Aventura Guest Handbook” as part of my joshification process. As I drafted this document, I considered my address for the first time. Aventura Road. I had unwittingly moved to Adventure Road.

I discovered the Wailin’ Jennys as I moved into this home, and I listened to them so much that I was among their top 500 listeners on Apple Music in 2025. Their song “Heaven When We’re Home” has become the anthem of my time here. I particularly love this lyric:

They say if you stop looking, it doesn’t matter if you find it.

There’s a nudge from the Universe there.  I had moved into a space of adventure, and without knowing it, I had already stopped looking.

The Birds

One of the first wildlife moments in my new home was a family of Quail sitting on the wall of my patio.

This was incredibly exciting for me. I’d never seen Quail before, and the way they speed across the ground captured my heart. Quail became one of the anchors of my new space. They were around for the summer, but I didn’t see them in the Fall. Then, when winter came, they returned, and I had as many as 20 Quail in my yard at times.

A handful stayed, and as spring arrived, one pair has been around every day. I’m convinced these are the parents from last summer, and they are nesting nearby. As my time here is winding down, they have made sure I know they are here. The male likes to call to his mate from my roof, so loud it sounds like he is in the house. I am not good at identifying bird calls, but I have the Scaled Quail call down at this stage.

The female has taken to standing outside my sliding glass door and staring in, sometimes for an hour at a time. She may be eyeing her reflection, but it doesn’t look like it. When I walk into the room, I sometimes see her come running up to the door. I feel like she’s saying, “I know you’re leaving, and I don’t like it!”

And then there are the Hummingbirds. Throughout the summer, they came so often that you only had to wait a few minutes to see one. They returned a few weeks ago. Recently, I went to change one of the feeders. As I lifted the feeder off its hook, I looked up and saw a Hummingbird flying above me, looking annoyed that I had taken their feeder. I stopped and stood still. Then, as I held the feeder, the Hummingbird landed and spent a full minute drinking their fill. They were three inches from my hand. Such a magical moment.

Ravens joined the ranks of my spirit animals when I visited Taos, and they have been ever-present in my neighborhood. I began putting whole peanuts in my tray feeder to attract them, but it didn’t work. Instead, a pair of Scrub Jays take them one at a time and bury them around the yard. I once found two Ravens eating the peanuts the Jays had buried, so they eventually got fed with the help of a middleman (or middlebird, I suppose). This past month, however, even Raven caved in and finally started visiting my feeder.

This Raven now shows up almost every day. On my final day in the home, two Ravens sat in my tree calling as I sat on my patio, blessing my journey.

I also had my first Chipmunk sighting on the patio this week. I had a hard time getting a photo because they were constantly in motion, until they suddenly struck a pose for me.

With all of this wildlife, it can be easy to forget Hawk, my first spirit animal. I have had my share of Hawk sightings here as well. Hawk has a way of reminding me with great showmanship that they are the OG spirit animal, and they did so again this week. As I drove to the community center to drop off my fob, a Hawk flew right in front of my car and landed in the tree next to me. Frantically, I rolled down the window and attempted to snap a photo before they flew away. I only got one picture, and I didn’t even know if it would be in focus, since my phone looks blurry when I wear my glasses. The result is my favorite photo I’ve ever taken.

The next day, another Hawk paid me a house call.

There has been a deeper, unexpected transformation through my connections with these animals. I never enjoyed killing an animal, and now, I simply won’t do it. I’ve perfected the art of catching flies and moths with a plastic bin and releasing them outside. I let spiders be. I even managed to catch a mouse in the house with a towel and release it outdoors unharmed.

And quite by accident, I became a vegetarian. At the beginning of the year, I tried being a pescatarian, and found I didn’t miss meat. Then, as I went through a limited diet to diagnose some minor health issues, I had to drop the fish as well. I quickly realized I didn’t need fish either. And so, a few months ago, I became a vegetarian. I thought it would be hard, but it hasn’t been. And it feels very attuned to my soul.

Welcome Josh, Enjoy Your Stay

Last year, I wrote about leading with love. This post was inspired in part by a simple note left on my door by a beautiful child. The note read “Welcome Josh, Enjoy Your Stay.”

The following week, I wrote about that note again, as I contemplated my nondual meditation practice.

As I reflect on my year with the lands of O’gha Po’oge, that note takes on another meaning. I see how deeply these lands welcomed me, and how my curiosity and openness led me to enjoy my stay deeply.

Thank you, O’gha Po’oge, and every being that has called this place home alongside me.

As my home has emptied this week, an echo has returned to the rooms. My clients have noticed that echo, but they are noticing something else. They are noticing the energy of my movement and my excitement for the next phase of my journey. A resonance in my voice and my spirit that they haven’t heard before. Perhaps that’s what happens when you stop filling every space.

What remains gets to ring true.

I see now that I was in training after all. I wasn’t training my body as an athlete, so much as I’ve been training my spirit. And O’gha Po’oge isn’t just at 7,000 feet of physical elevation. There is spiritual altitude here as well. This land was my coach, and my training had no formal plan.

Putting It Into Practice

When I trained for marathons, I followed a structured, deliberate plan. If this is how you train, consider shifting your perspective. What if training, learning, and growing are your way of life? Consider bringing curiosity and openness to every moment, and see what training the world brings you naturally.

Now, I find myself very much in motion. My preferred metaphor is the river. Earlier this year, I was floating down the river at a leisurely pace. Now, I’ve entered a stretch of rapids, caught up in the current. Much of my energy over the past two weeks has gone into the process of unnesting, as I prepare to exit my Santa Fe home and return to nomadic life.

Nesting

I arrived in Santa Fe a little more than a year ago. By the time I got here, I knew in my heart (validated by several spiritual guides) that New Mexico was my next home. The open question was whether Santa Fe specifically was my destination. I knew I needed to spend some time here to know for sure (and my guides agreed).

I fell in love with Santa Fe almost immediately. I was fairly certain this was the place. Looking back, I’m amused at how things unfolded, because I see that I fell victim to constraint-based thinking. This is something I often discuss with my coaching clients. We hamper our ability to think strategically by assuming constraints that may or may not actually exist.

The bar for settling down was high because I expected to buy a home wherever I settled. It was a self-imposed constraint, stemming from a long-held belief that, financially, it’s always better to own than rent. It wasn’t until I connected with my financial planner that the constraint was removed. “Unless you know for certain you will live there for at least seven years, I recommend you rent, not buy.”

With that simple statement, the constraint was lifted, and the decision was obvious. I can’t commit to seven years here. And now, I didn’t need to. I was happy to spend at least one year here. With that paradigm shift, I quickly found a home and began to settle in.

Settling in was interesting. I essentially had no stuff. Everything I owned could fit in my Subaru Forester. I was starting from scratch. Once again, I realize I fell into constraint-based thinking. The self-imposed constraint this time was to populate my house “on the cheap.” I visited thrift stores, consignment stores, flea markets, and estate sales. Like any good product manager, I had an MVP (minimum viable product) in short order: a bed, a kitchen table, an office desk, and a chair. Phase 2 could happen at a leisurely pace.

It was a conversation with a good friend that shifted my perspective. He was looking forward to visiting me in the future. “I want to see how you joshify the place.”

Joshify. What a magical word. The moment he spoke that word aloud, everything changed. The financial constraints fell away. I floated up to the strategic balcony and viewed my house from a completely different perspective.

When a friend visits, what do I want their experience to be?

What do I want my experience to be?

This isn’t a house. This is my home. It should bring me joy. If I can do that on the cheap, that’s a bonus, but it shouldn’t be a hard-and-fast constraint.

For the first time in my life, I purchased art. I sought out crystals that felt resonant. I put up bird feeders. I took my time finding just the right comfy chair for my meditation.

I’m so grateful for this shift. My home has been a sanctuary for me, imbued with the energy of my joshification and an aliveness that fostered a community of wildlife around me. When my friend finally visited last month, my joshification received his seal of approval.

Unnesting

A year on, the message from my guides was unmistakable. It’s time to go nomadic again, and I’m off to California at the end of the month. I got a kernel of insight that nudged me in that direction, and the puzzle pieces fell into place with a synchronicity clearly guided by the Universe. And so, I now find myself unwinding again. I am unnesting.

I went through this process in 2024, as I prepared for my first round of nomadic life. I had separated from my wife and had also realized that, after 50 years in Virginia, I was ready to live somewhere else. I just didn’t know where. She and I spent a great deal of energy over that summer purging anything in the home we knew neither of us wanted. I was boiling my life down to what would fit in my car, and so this was an unnesting of sorts. But my ex-wife and son still live in that home. So it was less an unnesting and more me leaving the nest.

When I left Virginia, I expected to explore for a period of time, select my new location, and settle. I imagined I’d be nomadic for 6-12 months. This time, it’s different. I now realize I can live nomadically, staying in furnished rental properties, for less than I’ve paid to rent my current home. This time around, I’m going nomadic for an indeterminate period of time. It could be several years.

Recognizing that I’m likely to be nomadic for at least a year, I decided not to put anything in storage. So once again, everything must go. I’m keeping only what fits into my beloved Subaru Forester (whose name is, in fact, Beloved), with two exceptions. Dear friends and co-founders of the Lamy Mountain Biking Club have convinced me to store my bike in their shed rather than sell it, and another pair of friends have graciously agreed to house my art and store a few boxes if necessary.

I’ve also changed a lot since 2024. When I say a lot, I mean A LOT. I’m amazed at the pace of change and transformation since I started coaching in 2021. I keep changing, and the pace of change seems to accelerate. As I unnest, I’m recognizing how many of my former attachments have fallen away. There were sentimental items I kept in 2024 that no longer hold meaning for me. The bar for keeping something is much higher. This time around, I’ve purged my yearbooks, my diplomas, and my running medals.

There is also an incredible joy in the process of selling and donating the items that joshified my home for the past year. I have met several amazing, beautiful souls through Facebook Marketplace. They’ve touched my heart as we’ve connected, and I feel a great sense of satisfaction knowing that the items are passing to another beautiful human, to gillianify, annieify, or jakeify their respective homes.

The Rapids

And so, the past few weeks (and I’m sure the rest of the month) have flown by like a kayak navigating the rapids of a river. A period of incredible movement. There has been so much movement that I find myself reflecting on my pre-coaching career. The movement and busyness have been similar. But there is one remarkable difference.

In my former career, this much movement caused overwhelm. I spent a great deal of time and energy navigating those rapids, making sure my kayak didn’t dash against the rocks. The stress of consciously steering the boat took a toll on my body. I experienced brain fog. I struggled to remember things. I had a short fuse, and I found myself easily emotionally triggered. My ability to multitask vanished. It’s a world I still see regularly in my coaching, but now I’m typically standing on the bank, offering support as my coachee navigates the rapids.

This time around, I’m not steering. I’m caught up in the flow of the river, and I’m content to let the Universe guide me through the rapids. I’m moving at the same pace, but I’m in flow with the river, rather than trying to control it. It’s a remarkable experience to be in such a state of motion, yet feel so completely in flow. My brain is clear. I’m emotionally regulated. My body is at ease. I’m not sure if I can multitask – I gave up on that years ago in favor of being fully present.

In the Taoist tradition, this is called wu wei. It is often translated as effortless action. We’ve been studying wu wei in my meditation teacher training. When I read about it, I think of it as some unattainable enlightened state. I was shocked when I met with my classmates earlier this week and realized wu wei perfectly describes the state I’m in, and how different it feels from my pre-coaching world.

Putting It Into Practice

Wu wei is more accessible than it sounds. You don’t need a mountaintop or years of practice to find it. It’s available to you right now, in the middle of your own rapids. Your body is the most honest diagnostic. The next time you find yourself in a busy stretch, pause and take inventory. Is there brain fog, a short fuse, tension in your jaw? Are you struggling to remember what someone told you ten minutes ago? When you notice these signs, ask yourself whether you’re gripping the paddle too tightly or working too hard to steer.

Try something subtle. Don’t change the rapids. Notice what you are attached to and what you’re trying to control. Then release your grip a little. Trust that the current knows where it’s going. Notice what happens to your breath, to your shoulders, to the clarity behind your eyes. Wu wei rarely arrives as a thunderclap of enlightenment. More often, it shows up as a quiet exhale in the middle of the same situation that, a moment ago, was eating you alive. Same river, same rapids. Different relationship to the current.

Somewhere along the way, someone decided to insert the word “Executive” before the word “Presence.” In this simple act, they created a term that has become overused and is fairly ambiguous. More importantly, as this phrase emerged, we lost sight of the gem it contained. The gem of presence.

Framed by the ‘executive’ modifier, presence can become associated with gravitas, authority, or commanding a room. Having presence. Presence becomes something we do, like so much else in the professional world.

The true power of presence, in all aspects of life, does not emerge out of doing. It arises from being.

Doing Presence vs. Being Presence

Take a moment and consider the difference.

What does it feel like to do presence with someone else?

What does it feel like to be present with someone else?

When I contemplate the former, I am drawn to my days as an executive. Commanding the room by dressing for success, saying things that impress those around me, projecting confidence, and giving off an energy that inspires those around me to follow me.

When presence is something I am doing, my brain naturally moves to how I respond next to what is being said. How am I holding myself? Am I exuding this mysterious quality of executive presence?

When I contemplate the latter, it’s not about me. It’s about the world around me. When I am being present, my attention is on the person I’m with. The natural world around me. When I am talking with someone, I’m not thinking about what I will say next. I’m hanging on their every word. Drinking it in, letting it wash over me, and giving that person the gift of every fiber of my being. When it’s time for me to talk, I trust that in the moment, the right words will come out.

An Invitation to Notice

How often do you take the time to be fully present? I invite you to take just one day and pay close attention to your presence.

When you eat a meal, are you present to the food you’re eating? If you’re dining with others, are you present to them? Or are you looking at your phone? Is there a TV on in the background?

As you talk with your partner, your children, your friends, or your colleagues, do they have your full attention? Or are you multi-tasking, scanning your phone or your computer, responding to an email or a Slack message? Or perhaps your brain is off somewhere else, thinking about the next meeting or some other distraction, and the words are not sinking in.

When you attend a meeting, do you give it your full attention? Or are you working on a separate project, half-listening for any mention that might prompt you to pay attention and respond?

Paths to Presence

Executive presence begins with being fully present. Not a doing. A way of being.

I didn’t learn this lesson until after I’d left the corporate world and shifted to coaching. As an executive, I can look back and see I was fairly present, but it was unconscious. As a coach, my role is to create a space for exploration, enabling my client to find the answers within themselves. To do this well, it’s all about them. Listening isn’t just about hearing the words they are speaking. There is the tone of voice, the body language, the facial expression that isn’t aligned with the words coming out of their mouths. And there is the energetic component — what I am sensing in my body as my mirror neurons react, triggering intuitive insights.

Every interaction with another human is an opportunity to practice presence. Another path is being present with yourself.

When I began meditating, the goal was to reduce stress. It was a mindfulness practice, building the muscles to regulate my nervous system, allowing me to return to a calm state more quickly. Years of that practice also strengthened my presence. The simple act of sitting and focusing on your breath is a practice of presence. It can be quite frustrating when thoughts pop up unexpectedly, but that’s the point. As we get better at letting those thoughts float through our brains and out again, returning to our breath, we’re building the same muscle that allows us, in conversation, to resist the urge to get distracted by what we want to say next and instead stay focused on what our conversation partner is saying.

A third path opens when we turn our attention to the natural world.

Recently, I visited a botanical garden. The last one I visited was in Nashville back in 2023. Most of these visits have been spent admiring the beauty of nature — learning about the plants, marveling at the diversity. This trip included plenty of that as well, but I naturally brought a much deeper presence. This visit was less about the “doing” of finding and identifying the plants I thought were beautiful. I was being present with the plants.

And something remarkable happened.

As I walked through a greenhouse filled with lush greenery, my body was flooded with energy. So much energy, everywhere I walked. The experience was nearly overwhelming, bringing a connectedness and a presence to these plants I had not experienced before. I am sure this same energy has been available to me at every other botanical garden I visited. I just wasn’t present enough to sense it.

Putting It Into Practice

As we become fully present, we begin to exude the magical gift of executive presence. Maya Angelou famously said, “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

When you are fully present with someone, they feel heard. They feel understood. That is the true gem at the heart of executive presence.

Presence strengthens with deliberate practice. Here are a few ways to begin:

• Pick one interaction a day and bring your whole self to it. A meal, a meeting, a conversation with your partner or child. Put the phone away. Close the laptop. Let the person or the moment have all of you.
• Notice when you slip into doing presence. Catch yourself rehearsing your next response, managing your image, or scanning the room for how you’re being received. That’s a cue to come back to the person in front of you.
• Build a pre-interaction ritual. Before a coaching session, a meeting, or a meaningful conversation, take sixty seconds to breathe, settle, and remind yourself why this person or moment matters. Let that intention shape how you show up.
• Sit with your breath. Even five minutes of meditation a day builds the neural muscle you will draw on in every conversation that matters.
• Practice presence in nature. Walk through a park, a garden, or the woods with no podcast, no phone, no agenda. Let the world move through you rather than moving through the world.
• Reflect. At the end of the day, notice where you were most present and where you were not. Let that awareness shape tomorrow.

Today, I revisit the topic because I’ve seen its relevance in my own life and in others. I’ve made peace with the fact that this model’s usefulness doesn’t depend on scientific consensus. The model is clearly useful, and that’s what matters to me. It points to some powerful opportunities for growth.

Stages of Development

There are many models for framing the stages of human development. I’ve examined several with great interest. The one I keep coming back to is Robert Kegan’s stages of development:

1. Impulsive Mind (Early childhood). Characterized by a lack of self-awareness and control.
2. Instrumental Mind (Adolescence, 6% of adults). Greater awareness and control. Focused on personal goals and objectives.
3. Socialized Mind (58% of adults). Concerned with fitting in and being accepted by others.
4. Self-Authoring Mind (35% of adults). Developing unique values and beliefs.
5. Self-Transforming Mind (1% of adults). Ability to integrate diverse perspectives and adapt to complex situations.

It’s worth noting that the research behind these percentages is largely based on adults with college degrees, so there is some inherent bias in those numbers. But it does give us a general sense of how the population is distributed across the various stages. Roughly two-thirds of adults primarily operate within (or before) the Socialized Mind stage, so I pay close attention to that stage and the Self-Authoring Mind. It’s where most of us have the greatest opportunity for growth.

These stages are not absolute. On any given day, we may exhibit behaviors that align with each of the five stages. Our “stage” is the one that reflects our center of gravity. The stage that most frequently aligns with our behaviors. This also means that movement from one stage to another is a gradual process. Over time, we start to demonstrate more of the behaviors of the higher stage and less of the lower stage, and eventually that shift is enough that our center of gravity shifts to the next stage.

For all the overachievers out there, no, we don’t jump over any stages. We naturally progress through each stage over time.

So let’s dig into these two key stages. As you learn about them, I encourage you to think about areas of your life that reflect each stage, rather than trying to neatly fit yourself into one stage or the other. Every time I uncover a Socialized Mind moment, it presents an opportunity for growth, even if my center of gravity is Self-Authoring Mind.

The Socialized Mind

At the Socialized Mind stage, your sense of self is constructed from the outside in. Your beliefs, values, and even your identity are largely authored by the groups, relationships, and institutions you belong to — family, culture, organization, tribe. Fitting in isn’t just a preference; it’s existential. To be rejected by the group is, at some level, to lose yourself. This makes for deeply loyal, collaborative people — and ones who may find it genuinely difficult to hold a position that puts them at odds with those they depend on for their sense of self.

If you’re like me, you read that and think “That’s not me.” In fact, when I wrote about this back in 2023, I self-assessed as Self-Authoring Mind. Since that time, I’ve had 2.5 years of life experience. I can look back on that time and see countless examples of my actions being driven by how others would perceive me. And perhaps most importantly, I can see so many cases where I’ve grown and shifted since then. Wherever I fall on the map today, I know I’m far more likely to consult my inner compass for guidance and less likely to look to the approval of others.

Reflect on these prompts to see where in your life you find yourself operating from a Socialized Mind space:

• Where do I find myself shifting or silencing myself to preserve a relationship or my standing in a group?
• Whose disapproval am I most afraid of — and what does that tell me about where I’m still looking outward for my sense of worth?
• What do I actually believe — and how much of that did I consciously choose versus simply inherit?
• Where in my work or life am I following the script without ever having read it?

One of the most powerful techniques for me has been paying attention to my intuition. When there is tension between my internal values and the external situation, the message comes through loud and clear. Sometimes it’s embodied. I may feel tightness in my chest, my pulse may quicken, my cheeks may flush, or my stomach may tie into a knot. Other times it’s just a felt sense. There’s an intuitive hit that something is out of alignment. I crave these moments. Each insight is a gift of awareness. When I pause to uncover the source of the tension, I have the opportunity to course-correct and make the choice that feels most authentic and internally aligned.

The Self-Authoring Mind

At the Self-Authoring Mind stage, something fundamental shifts: you stop being written by the world and start writing yourself. Rather than deriving your identity from the groups and relationships around you, you develop an internal compass — your own values, standards, and convictions — that you can hold against external pressure. You can now disappoint people in the service of something you believe in.

This doesn’t mean you stop listening or caring what others think. It means you’ve developed enough of an internal “author” that outside opinions become data rather than verdicts.

With this stage, I know it when I see it. I can think of several leaders I’ve worked with over the years who stood out because they clearly knew what they stood for and what they valued, and that guided their actions. The most powerful examples were when I watched leaders leave a company that they dearly loved because of actions they could not support. That kind of bravery is rare, and it’s inspirational.

You may think this is your center of gravity today. For a third of us, it probably is. Even if that’s the case, I encourage you to focus your attention on those Socialized Mind moments. They will continue to shine a bright light on opportunities for further growth.

If you feel deeply anchored in this stage, the next opportunity for growth is loosening your grip on your own framework, becoming as curious about the limits of your perspective as you once were about building it. In the Self-Authoring stage, we can become too attached to our internal perspective.

Consider these prompts:

• Where do my strongly held values or principles actually limit my ability to see a situation clearly?
• When was the last time I genuinely changed my mind about something core — and what made that possible?
• Where am I so committed to my own framework that I’ve stopped being curious about competing ones?
• Whose perspective challenges mine most — and how much time do I actually spend inside their worldview rather than defending against it?
• Where might my identity as a leader, a professional, or an expert be a constraint rather than an asset?

The Self-Transforming Mind

I won’t spend much time here. Most of us will only catch glimpses of this stage, and that’s okay. But it deserves a mention.

At the Self-Transforming Mind stage, the internal compass that was so hard-won in Self-Authoring becomes an object of curiosity rather than a source of certainty. People here don’t just have a perspective — they can hold their own perspective lightly, alongside competing ones, without needing to resolve the tension. They’re comfortable not knowing. They find complexity interesting rather than threatening.

Putting It Into Practice

Don’t approach Kegan’s model with a striver mindset, trying to reach the highest stage. Use it to understand where you are, and to grow from there. Here are a few ways to put this into practice:

• Find your center of gravity. Rather than trying to place yourself in a single stage, notice which stage shows up most frequently in your behavior. Pay particular attention to moments of tension or discomfort — they’re often the most revealing.
• Make friends with your Socialized Mind moments. Even if Self-Authoring is your center of gravity, the Socialized Mind still shows up. When you catch yourself editing, shrinking, or seeking approval, treat it as data to feed your awareness.
• Use the prompts. Choose the reflection prompt above that creates the most discomfort and sit with it. That discomfort is pointing somewhere useful.
• Trust your body. Tension in the chest, a knot in the stomach, a flush in the cheeks — your body often registers misalignment before your mind catches up. Learn to read those signals.
• Be patient with the process. Stage development is gradual, nonlinear, and deeply personal. You can’t force it, but you can create the conditions to nurture your growth.

The conversation went as these conversations often go. He’s had a very successful career. He’s quite good at what he does. He has so much to be proud of, and as one of his mentors, I am immensely proud of him. And then, he said those magic words.

“I just feel like there must be something more…”

We agreed to connect regularly to unpack this. But I can’t help but wonder if the something more is actually something less.

The Golden Buddha

I am reminded of one of my favorite stories. I thought perhaps it was only a legend, but I’m delighted to discover it’s a true story. The story of the Golden Buddha.

The statue was built in Thailand several hundred years ago. Weighing over 5 tons, it is the world’s largest solid gold sculpture, and, given the value of gold, the most valuable religious object in the world.

In the 1700s, anticipating invasion, the statue was completely covered in plaster to disguise it. In 1767, Burmese invaders destroyed the city, but the statue was ignored. It remained this way for nearly two hundred years. Everyone mistook it for a simple plaster statue.

In 1955, the statue was moved to a new location. During the move, it was dropped, and a piece of plaster chipped off, revealing gold underneath. I can only imagine the surprise as the plaster was carefully removed, revealing the solid-gold sculpture beneath.

For two hundred years, no one knew they had the most valuable sculpture on earth in their temple, because it was caked in layers of plaster.

Our Golden Buddha

I believe many of our lives mirror the story of this golden Buddha statue. It certainly mirrors the experience I see in the Western world.

We are born into this world as innocent children. We are curious. Creative. Brimming with imagination. Anything is possible. Ask a child what they want to be when they grow up, and brace yourself for the most outlandish answers, delivered with complete sincerity. An astronaut. A superhero. A fire-breathing dragon.

Ask an adult what they want to be when they grow up, and you’ll get practical answers, grounded in what is possible. Transforming into a fire-breathing dragon rarely makes the list.

This is a by-product of the world we live in. As the child gets older, they get told what isn’t possible. That they shouldn’t play with their imaginary friends, because those imaginary friends are not real. That superheroes don’t exist, and an astronaut is not a realistic profession.

Over the years, whether deliberately or unconsciously, we cake layers of plaster on our children, shaping them into what society believes will best position them for success.

Along the way, many of us adopt a core limiting belief – “I am not good enough.” This belief can serve us well, as it fuels our ambition to always strive for something more. To constantly be learning and growing. If used carefully, it can drive an incredibly successful career. But it usually comes at a price.

In his book From Strength to Strength, Arthur C. Brooks calls that price Striver’s Syndrome. It’s the relentless pursuit of achievement that once drove our success — now turned against us, leaving us anxious, restless, and never quite satisfied, no matter what we accomplish.

Many of us spend the first half of our lives striving. Always wanting to do more, to be more, to achieve more. I know I lived this life. And I achieved a great deal. But I also found myself exhausted.

Somewhere around age 50, something shifts. The Striver’s Syndrome begins to burn out. And we begin to ask ourselves, “Isn’t there something more to all this?”

Something Less

In my experience, those years of striving cake layer after layer of plaster onto our souls. The steep price we pay for our Western ambition is the concealment of the gold that lies beneath.

As we become aware of our Striver’s Syndrome, the irony is that we often look for something more. This is our Striver at work. We want to get off the bus of striving on the professional path we’ve been on, but striving is so deeply ingrained in our bones that we can’t help but look for another way to strive. We’ve become hard-wired to seek more.

I offer an alternative. The antidote for Striver’s Syndrome is not to strive in some other direction. I suggest we instead seek to unwind the striving.

Beneath all those layers of plaster we’ve caked on over the years lies a brilliant, beautiful human who was born into this world with all the brilliance of a golden Buddha. If we continue to seek something more, we’ll cake on more layers of plaster, further concealing the inherently whole human that lies beneath.

Instead, let us chip away at this plaster. Engage your curiosity to discover every story you tell yourself that simply isn’t true. Stories like:

• I am not good enough.
• I have to be better than <whomever you compare yourself to>.
• I must be productive at all times.
• I must have all the answers.
• I am responsible for everyone’s happiness.

How do we remove the plaster? It’s not a quick fix. You’ve likely spent decades caking it on. It will come off faster than that, but certainly not overnight. A coach, therapist, or thought partner can accelerate the process, but I can offer a few self-guided strategies.

First, drag your core limiting belief into the bright, shining sun of awareness. Simply recognizing the belief and its impact on you can be a powerful first step. For most of us, these beliefs have lived rent-free in our minds for years, and we’ve treated them as fact rather than recognizing they are only stories we tell ourselves. Once we become aware of this, we move from being a subject of that belief to seeing the belief as an object. From that moment forward, every time the belief surfaces, pause, acknowledge it, honour it, and permit yourself to release it. Over time, the plaster will fall away.

The second strategy is one I am increasingly bringing into my coaching conversations. Meditative inquiry. Take 10-15 minutes to sit and meditate on the limiting belief. Close your eyes. Do some deep breathing to center yourself. Ask your thinking mind to step aside and turn your attention to your heart and the center of your chest. Place the limiting belief into your awareness, then allow your mind to let go of it. Then ask yourself, “What is my deepest knowing?” Sit with the question and see what arises. Continue to ask yourself this question every minute or two. You will likely be surprised by what comes up. I recommend journaling at the end of your inquiry to capture whatever arises. This, in turn, will fuel your awareness.

Putting It Into Practice

Chipping away at your plaster isn’t a one-time event. It’s a practice:

• Name your plaster. Write down the core limiting belief that has most shaped your striving. Not as confession, but as curiosity — what story have you been treating as fact?
• Drag it into the light. Once named, notice every time it surfaces. Pause. Acknowledge it. Honour the role it played in getting you here — then consciously choose whether to carry it forward.
• Try meditative inquiry. Set aside 10-15 minutes, settle into stillness, and place the belief gently in your awareness. Ask yourself: “What is my deepest knowing?” Journal what arises.
• Audit your “more.” When you feel the pull toward the next achievement, pause and ask: “Am I adding something meaningful, or layering on more plaster?”
• Get a thought partner. A coach, therapist, or trusted peer can see the gold you’ve forgotten is there — and reflect it back to you when you can’t see it yourself.

Tales of Wanderment

I have two months left in Santa Fe, and I’m slowly beginning to purge, as I did 18 months ago when I left Virginia. It’s interesting to go through this process again and see what has changed. I guess it’s a new anchor point for me. Last time I donated bags and bags of clothes, but still held onto more than I needed. Then there are the sentimental items. Pieces of my history that I held onto because they shape my identity. Only now do I realize they merely shaped my past identity. This time around, I’m letting go of a lot more.

I can’t speak for everyone. Your mileage may vary. But for me, there is something more in owning less.

I see the pattern. It’s not a deliberate, premeditated choice on my part. It’s simply the way the wind is blowing right now. In many ways, this blog has mirrored my own life journey over the past 4+ years.

When I began writing back in late 2021, it was part of a business plan. I realized LinkedIn was the network where I was most likely to find prospective clients. It was important to me to start posting regularly on LinkedIn and to post my own content. And so, I started writing.

I thought I would hate it. I wanted to spend all my time coaching. As the weeks went by, I began to get in a groove. I received a lot of encouraging feedback. I actually began to enjoy it. Topics would surface organically from coaching sessions, and taking the time to write about them reinforced my coaching. It became a real win-win. Now, as my clients will tell you, I often follow up a coaching session with links to blog posts related to our coaching topic.

Somewhere along the way, the blog stopped being about business development. It became a vehicle for expressing whatever was on my mind and sharing it with the world, so long as I thought it was worth reading. At times, this has caused tension for me. I’m an Executive Coach. My primary role is to coach senior leaders, helping them improve their leadership skills. With most of those clients, there’s plenty of life coaching that surfaces organically along the way, but that’s not what an organization hires me to do. So some blog topics have given me pause, as I questioned whether I’m stepping too far out of the leadership space, potentially alienating future clients.

But here’s the thing. It’s rare that a blog post produces a client. I’m sure this blog has contributed to my success. It reminds everyone that I’m still here, still coaching, and still open for business. But over my 4+ years of blogging, with this being the 206th edition, exactly two clients have found me through the blog.

Those two clients had no prior connection to me. The first one stumbled across my blog in her feed and began following it. Eventually, she decided she was ready for a coach and knew, from her experience reading my blogs, that I would be a good fit. I drafted this post the day before reconnecting with her after many months. Perhaps anticipating that call inspired it.

The second client had just read about a concept in a book that piqued her curiosity. She went searching for anything else written on the subject and found my blog. That inspired her to explore coaching with me. Three days after I drafted this blog, she reached out to me, months after our last session. Clearly, there is a shift in the winds, and I’m paying attention.

These were two of the most rewarding clients I have ever worked with (they know who they are, and I’m pretty sure they are still reading). I’m sure that’s in part because this blog helped them understand me and what I would bring to the table as a coach. But even more so, these clients didn’t come to me for executive coaching. They were interested in the journey of life and felt I could be a great thought partner on their journey.

And so, at the risk of panicking my father, who worries I won’t make enough income, I’m hanging out a second shingle. I am still, first and foremost, an Executive Coach, and I am eager to work with any organization committed to accelerating the growth of its leaders. I’m now voicing a second coaching role I’ve been playing for some time, just less publicly. I’m not doing this with great fanfare. No updates to the website, no marketing launch. I’m just putting it out there like a bat signal to anyone who is ready to heed the call.

I am a Consciousness Coach.

I’m not attached to that name. It resonates with me, but I recognize it may not resonate with the people I want to work with. I know with your help we’ll refine this over time. As a Consciousness Coach, I want to help people raise their consciousness. This can take many forms. At its essence, it’s being the best version of yourself. For me, that path has included discovering my life purpose, actively exploring spirituality, treating every life experience as a teaching moment, and tons and tons of introspection.

As Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki put it, “Each of you is perfect the way you are … and you can use a little improvement.”

I got great clarity about this in December during my week-long meditation retreat:

I did not have any spectacular moments of awakening. However, I did receive a clear message in meditation early in the week.

I imagined a river that represents taking the first step towards spiritual growth. On the right bank of the river, there are many beings who have taken at least that first step. It could be a meditation practice. It could be any number of organized religions. It could be spending time in nature as a sacred practice, not just for entertainment.

On the left bank of the river are those beings who have not taken their first step. The message I received was that my role, at this moment in time, is to help as many people on that left bank as possible find their bridge across the river and the courage to cross it. If every being on the planet could find a path that resonates with them and take the first step on their path, this would be an amazing world.

I’ve spent the last four years of my life undergoing major personal transformation and growth. The pace of change has accelerated for me throughout those four years. At times it’s exhausting, and it’s also exhilarating. I know that growth isn’t likely to slow down anytime soon.

Now I’m ready to lean into helping others do the same. If you want to raise your consciousness and you’d like a coach, thought partner, or guide to walk with you on your journey, I’d like to talk with you. Your bridge may be very different from my own. Whatever that bridge is, I want to help you find it and step across.

If anything about consciousness coaching strikes a chord with you and you would like to explore it, please schedule time with me.

Now, that concept of loyalty gives me great pause. While I don’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater, any time we find ourselves declaring our loyalties, I think it bears scrutiny.

Fiercely Loyal

I have been a Los Angeles Rams fan for 47 years. As long as I’ve followed American football, the Rams have been my team.

This prompts some obvious questions. Am I from Los Angeles? No, I am not. I grew up in Virginia, about 2,500 miles away. Were my parents Rams fans? No, they were not. Why then?

Why indeed. I began paying attention to football in 1979. The cool kid who lived next door (I’m talking to you, Richard Thielen)* was a Rams fan, and he told me I should be one too. He made a very compelling argument. They were a good team (they went to the Super Bowl that year). Also, they had cool helmets. Add to his arguments that I’m an Aries, and it made perfect sense.

I always end that story with “…and I’m fiercely loyal, so I’ve been a Rams fan ever since.”

Some of my friends have heard that story a lot, but no one has heard that story more than I have, since I’m the one who tells it. And every time I tell the story, I reinforce the image of being fiercely loyal. It begins to take root as a core belief.

When it comes to professional sports teams, being fiercely loyal is understandable. In our professional and personal lives, discernment is warranted.

The Price of Loyalty

In my 30-year career at Ellucian/Datatel, I often boasted of my loyalty. Several of my colleagues and I claimed that we “bled Ellucian purple.” It was, and is, a badge of honour for me. That being said, looking back, I can see the shadow side of my fierce loyalty.

For most of my career, when a recruiter reached out, I didn’t take the call. Doing so felt disloyal. Things worked out fine for me, and yet, who knows what opportunities I missed out on because I was too loyal to hear what else was out there.

If two people are up for promotion, and one has a track record of fierce loyalty, and the other is considered a flight risk, who is likely to get promoted? We hope the most qualified person. But a less mature leader might decide to promote the flight risk, knowing they are likely to leave if they don’t get the promotion, while the loyal employee is likely to grin and bear it.

Loyalty should not exist in a vacuum.

We can and should be loyal to a leader or an organization that has earned that loyalty through a consistent track record of behavior. There are leaders I will follow to the end of the earth because time and again they’ve proven they are worthy of that loyalty. But organizations shift. Leaders change. As the environment evolves, fierce loyalty should be viewed with fresh eyes.

Do you consider yourself to be loyal? Fiercely loyal? Take a moment to look at your loyalty from a fresh perspective and ask yourself whether the current environment justifies that level of loyalty.

I use a professional example, but obviously, this holds true outside the workplace as well. We may maintain friendships out of a sense of loyalty even though we’ve drifted apart. I, like most Americans, grew up reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in school, indoctrinating fierce loyalty to our country. That doesn’t mean mindlessly going along with every action of our current leaders. Loyalty to the principles of democracy upon which our country was built often means speaking out when our leaders don’t act in accordance with those principles.

The Mask of Loyalty

When I inspect my own loyalties, I find at times that my supposed loyalty was actually a clever disguise.

I declared that I didn’t take calls from recruiters because I was fiercely loyal to my company. There is some truth to that statement. But when I probe more, I uncover a deeper truth.

Taking calls from recruiters would push me out of my comfort zone, potentially into my danger zone.

Loyalty is a convenient excuse to avoid stretching ourselves. I won’t pursue this other job opportunity because there is risk involved. I’ll be “loyal” and stay where I am. In truth, I’ll stay in my comfort zone.

I see several people in marriages where they are clearly very unhappy. Loyalty is the safe excuse to stay in their comfort zone, even though a more enriching life might await them if they had the courage to leave their current relationship. For some, loyalty is the excuse that keeps them from even raising the question. A more enriching life may await them within their current marriage if they had the courage to lean in with their partner.

Why Loyalty?

The fundamental question is this: What need does loyalty actually serve?

A sense of belonging may drive loyalty. Belonging to a team. Belonging to a marriage. Belonging to a community of sports fans. We are wired to belong, but there is an inherent tension between our desire to belong and honouring our own needs.

A sense of identity may drive your loyalty, as it was for me throughout my Ellucian career. In our effort to please others and be well-liked, we declare ourselves fiercely loyal.

A sense of safety may drive loyalty. We choose to stay snuggled up in our comfort zone. Staying loyal doesn’t rock the boat.

In each scenario, our loyalty points to a potential lack of self-trust. There’s a deeper inquiry waiting for us if we have the courage to embrace it. This inquiry will most certainly push us out of our comfort zone. It may lead us to make some very difficult decisions. Leaving Ellucian and launching my own coaching practice was a huge leap for me. My only regret is that I didn’t leap sooner. Ending my marriage was so hard that I can barely write the words a year and a half later. And had I not done so, I’d never have learned what a joy it is to be with myself.

Check your inner compass. Set aside the object of your loyalty, and ask yourself, what truly matters to you? One of my meditation teachers, John Prendergast, would ask, “What is your deepest knowing?” Don’t let your mind answer the question. Listen to what arises from your heart. This is not a five-minute exercise, and a thought partner can be a tremendous help.

You may find alignment between your inner compass and the object of your loyalty. I can remember several pivotal moments in my Ellucian career where my loyalty was tested, and when I checked my inner compass, I could see clear alignment – we were both pointing to True North.

However, you may find a lack of alignment. Looking into your heart may reveal a very different desire. Your compass may be pointing in a different direction.

If so, it’s time to dig deep and question your loyalties.

Putting It Into Practice

If you identify as fiercely loyal, ask yourself what purpose that loyalty serves. Take the time to scrutinize and question your loyalties to ensure your inner compass is aligned:

• Pick one. Pick a single relationship, role, or community where you’ve declared loyalty. Ask, “Is this still a conscious choice, or has it become a default?”
• Name the need. Get honest about what’s underneath. Is your loyalty driven by belonging, identity, or safety? Naming it doesn’t mean abandoning it — it means owning it.
• Check your compass. Sit quietly and ask yourself Prendergast’s question: What is your deepest knowing?
• Find a thought partner. This inquiry is hard to do alone. A trusted friend, coach, or mentor can help you see other perspectives.
• Revisit periodically. Loyalty that was warranted two years ago may need fresh eyes today. Build in a rhythm — quarterly, annually — to reassess the loyalties that matter most.

Fun story – in adulthood, Richard and I found ourselves next-door neighbors once again, and still fiercely loyal Rams fans. We traveled to Philadelphia with our partners to see the Rams play the Eagles, sitting directly behind the Rams’ sideline.

When employees are disengaged, they may do the bare minimum. Their work is below what they are capable of. They may be looking for their next opportunity.

As AI takes the world by storm, I think many of us are losing sight of this fundamental ingredient for success. Here are some thoughts on how to help you and your team stay highly engaged, both professionally and personally.

Disengaged

Can you recall a time when you felt disengaged at work or in your personal life? How did it feel?

(I realize you probably blew right past that and kept reading, but I encourage you to take a moment and really think about the question, and connect with your body and your emotions around those questions, and see what arises).

Often when I talk with clients in this space, work is boring. They may still have more work than they can handle and feel stressed out by the workload, but the work is not stimulating. Sometimes they have been doing the same job for several years. There are new problems, but they are always the same flavor. In other cases, they don’t feel empowered. There are guardrails in place that keep them on a narrow path.

This is a space of low energy. From a neuroscience perspective, a lack of stimulation and engagement leads to deficits in neurotransmitters such as dopamine and norepinephrine. That deficit hampers the effectiveness of your prefrontal cortex (PFC)*. You may experience brain fog, memory lapses, poor decision-making, and a lack of empathy. Your under-resourced PFC will keep you from doing your best work.

Due to the lack of novelty and stimulation, we find ourselves stuck in our comfort zone. The work may feel easy, but it becomes harder and harder to focus on it, and we find ourselves unable to make new connections and come up with innovative solutions.

When we (or our teams) are stuck in our comfort zone, the obvious solution is to push our way out. The challenge is that we often push too hard, too fast.

Overly Engaged

Most of the clients I work with don’t feel stuck in their comfort zone. Usually, it’s quite the opposite. They have been stretched too far, too fast. They’ve been given stimulating, challenging problems to solve, without enough support to succeed.

These clients are in the danger zone. I wrote about my experience here in my Clearing the Fog post a few years back. I was under so much stress that my PFC was flooded with neurotransmitters. In our comfort zone, we don’t have enough. In the danger zone, we have too many. Either way, the results are the same. I had brain fog. I had trouble remembering things. I had poor impulse control and made poor decisions. I felt like I was getting a lot done, but in hindsight, it certainly was not my best work.

Are you in the danger zone? Are your team members in the danger zone? For many reading this now, I suspect the answer is yes, and just like when you’re stuck in your comfort zone, you’re not doing your best work.

Optimally Engaged

The term I love for that sweet spot between your comfort zone and the danger zone is the learning zone. When we are in the learning zone, we have a high degree of stimulation. We are open to new ideas. Our PFC has the right balance of neurotransmitters, allowing us to make better decisions, relate to others more effectively, improve memory, better regulate our emotions, and make new connections that generate innovative ideas.

When we are in the learning zone, we find ourselves in a state of flow. Work doesn’t feel like work. Our productivity increases dramatically. I can remember when I was a programmer, and we were rewriting our student system. I was in such a state of flow that I’d head home at the end of the day, eat dinner, and get right back on my computer to keep coding, because there was nothing I would rather do.

It’s a simple, yet incredibly powerful model that comes up time and again in my coaching sessions. If you have an employee who isn’t at their best, ask yourself where they sit in the engagement zones. Are they stuck in their comfort zone? Are they in the sweet spot of the learning zone? Or have you pushed them too far into the danger zone?

Getting In The Zone

If you have an employee stuck in their comfort zone (or yourself), you’ll want to add stimulation. I look for novelty. Can you find a stretch assignment that triggers new learning? Can you gamify the work with a colleague to make it more interesting? Perhaps you’re not delegating enough to them. Find something that adds stimulation and gets them out of their rut, without pushing them so far that they are in the danger zone.

On the other hand, if you’ve pushed an employee into the danger zone, it’s time to dial it back. You may have delegated something they aren’t ready for, and they need mentoring or other support to succeed. They may need help clarifying priorities so they can focus on the most important things first. They may need permission to tell you or others “No.” Paradoxically, if you take some work off their plate so they can get into the learning zone, their productivity will improve.

Most importantly, check in with your employees. Don’t assume you know what zone they are in. Create a safe space where they can speak openly with you, so you can work collaboratively to help them enter the learning zone.

Putting It Into Practice

Take some time to reflect on the comfort zone, the learning zone, and the danger zone. Check in with yourself daily to honestly assess which zone you’re in, and identify strategies to help you shift if needed.

Share this simple model with each of your employees, and ask them which zone they are in. Provide the leadership and support they need to get into the learning zone if they aren’t already there.

* I learned the neuroscience behind this in my coach training with BEabove Leadership. See Ann Betz’s Goldilocks of the Brain post for a more detailed explanation.