Tiny Buddha

Tag: Regret

  • The Invisible Prison Shyness Builds and What Helped Me Walk Free

    The Invisible Prison Shyness Builds and What Helped Me Walk Free

    “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” ~Anaïs Nin

    When I think back on my life, shyness feels like an inner prison I carried with me for years. Not a prison with bars and guards, but a quieter kind—made of hesitation, fear, and silence. It kept me standing still while life moved forward around me.

    One memory stays with me: my eighth-grade dance. The gym was alive with music, kids moving awkwardly but freely on the floor, laughing, bumping into one another, having fun. And there I was in the corner, figuratively stomping paper cups.

    That’s how I remember it—like I was crushing cardboard instead of stepping into life. I can even smile at the image now, but at the time it wasn’t funny. I noticed another girl across the room, also standing alone. She was beautiful. Maybe she was waiting for someone to walk over. But in my mind, she was “out of reach.” My shyness locked me in place, and I never moved.

    It wasn’t a dramatic heartbreak—just another reminder of how many moments slipped by.

    The Pattern of Missed Chances

    That night was only one of many. Over the years I missed far more opportunities than I embraced: the conversations I didn’t start, the invitations I quietly avoided, the women I admired from a distance but never approached.

    Shyness never really served me. I hated it, but it was powerful. I carried it into my adult years, and though I fought hard to loosen its grip, it shaped how I lived and related. Over time I changed; I’d call myself “reserved” now rather than painfully shy. But the shadow is still there.

    Shyness as a Prison

    Shyness isn’t just being quiet. It’s a whole system of fear and self-consciousness: fear in the body, doubt in the mind, and inaction in the world. It feels like safety, but it’s really confinement. It builds walls between you and the very connections you long for.

    I’ve come to see shyness as a kind of “social yips.” Just as an athlete suddenly freezes when overthinking the simplest movement, I froze in moments of connection. I knew what I wanted to do, but my body wouldn’t follow. And like the yips, the more I thought about it, the worse it became. Buddhism later helped me see that the way through wasn’t forcing myself harder but loosening my grip—letting go of self-judgment and stepping into presence.

    Zorba and the Choice to Say Yes

    As I look back, I know not every missed chance would have been good for me. Sometimes the lure of conquest was more about ego than true connection, and saying no spared me mistakes.

    But there’s another kind of moment that still stings. In Zorba the Greek, Kazantzakis has Zorba say, “The worst sin a man can commit is to reject a woman who is beckoning.”

    The point isn’t about conquest—it’s about clinging. If you say yes when life beckons, you can walk away later without wondering forever. You’ve lived it, and it’s complete. But if you turn away, you carry the ghost of what might have been. That ghost clings to you.

    I know that ghost well—the ache of silence, the memory of walking away when I might have stepped forward. Those are the regrets that linger.

    A Buddhist Lens on Shyness

    Buddhism has helped me understand this prison in a new way. The Buddha taught that suffering arises not from life itself but from how we cling to it. My shyness was stitched together from craving, aversion, and delusion.

    The walls of my prison looked solid, but they weren’t. They were only habits of thought.

    Buddhism also teaches dependent origination: everything arises from causes and conditions. My shyness wasn’t my identity. It was the product of temperament, upbringing, culture, and adolescence. If it arose from conditions, it could also fade as conditions changed. It was never “me”—just a pattern I carried.

    And at the heart of it all was attachment to self-image. I was afraid of being judged, of looking foolish, of failing. But meditation taught me that the “self” I was defending was never solid. Thoughts pass, feelings change, identity shifts. When there’s no fixed self to protect, the fear loses its grip.

    Regret Without Clinging

    The memories of shyness still emerge from time to time. They’re not paralyzing anymore—I don’t live locked in that cell—but when they rise, they sting. They make me feel foolish, like a prisoner might feel when looking back on wasted years, replaying choices that can’t be undone.

    What I try to do now is not cling to them. I can see them for what they are: moderately unresolved regrets. They will probably always flicker in my memory. But instead of treating them like permanent failures, I let them pass through. They remind me I am human, that I once hesitated when I longed to act, and that I don’t have to make the same choice now.

    Regret, I’ve learned, can also be a teacher. It shows me what I value most: presence, intimacy, connection. It reminds me not to keep living behind walls of hesitation.

    Buddhism teaches that memory—whether sweet or painful—is something the mind clings to. But the door of the prison has always been unlocked. Freedom comes when we stop pacing the cell and step into the present.

    Saying Yes

    One memory from later in life stands out. I was in my twenties, still shy but trying to push past it. Someone I admired invited me to join a small group heading out after class. Everything in me wanted to retreat, to say no. But that time, I said yes.

    It wasn’t a great romance or life-changing event. We just shared coffee, talked, laughed a little. But what mattered was that I had stepped forward. For once, I wasn’t left haunted by what if. I walked away lighter, without clinging. That small yes gave me a glimpse of freedom.

    I’m still not outgoing. But I am no longer the boy in the corner, stomping cups while everyone else dances. I can step forward, even when my voice shakes. I can risk connection without assuming others are out of reach.

    Shyness may still whisper in my ear, but it no longer holds the keys.

    What I’ve Learned

    • Shyness was my inner prison, but the bars were made of thought, not stone.
    • Not every conquest would have served me—but turning away from true openness creates the sharpest regret.
    • Regret is painful, but it can teach us what matters most.
    • Memories of missed chances still surface, but I don’t have to cling to them.
    • Freedom doesn’t come from rewriting the past, but from choosing differently now.

    I still carry the memory of that eighth-grade dance, the girl across the room, the echo of other missed chances. But I don’t cling to them anymore. They remind me that presence is always possible—because freedom isn’t found in “what if.”

    It’s found in saying yes when life beckons and in stepping out of the prison of hesitation, here and now.

    To anyone reading this who has ever stood in the corner of their own life: the prison you feel around you was never locked. You can step forward, however awkwardly, and find freedom in the present moment.

  • The Weight of Regrets and the Choice to Live Better

    The Weight of Regrets and the Choice to Live Better

    “It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes—it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, ‘Well, if I’d known better I’d have done better.’” ~Maya Angelou

    I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between a mistake and a tragedy. Some of what I carry falls in between—moments I wish I could redo, things I said or didn’t say, relationships I mishandled, and opportunities I let slip through my fingers. They don’t scream at me every day, but they visit me quietly. The memory of my mistakes is like a second shadow—one that doesn’t leave when the light changes.

    I’ve done a lot of good in my life. I’ve built meaningful work, taught students with heart, and showed up for people when it counted. I’ve loved deeply, even if clumsily. I’ve also failed—sometimes badly. And it’s the memory of those failures, more than the wins, that lingers.

    The Woman on the Highway, and Others I Left Behind

    I remember the woman on the side of a Mexican highway after our car ran off the road. She touched my forehead and looked into me with a deep compassion and mystical kindness—wordlessly holding space for what had just happened. I never thanked her. I left without saying goodbye, and I still think about her. I wonder if she knew how much that moment meant. I wish I could tell her now.

    That moment wasn’t an isolated one. There have been many like her—friends, lovers, colleagues—people I walked away from too soon or too late. Some I hurt with silence. Others I lost because I couldn’t admit I was wrong. I see now that my pride got in the way. So did fear. So did the misguided belief that being clever or bold or accomplished could make up for emotional messiness.

    It didn’t.

    What I Thought Living Fully Meant

    I used to chase experience and pleasure the way Zorba the Greek did—believing that living fully meant taking what life offered, especially when love or passion knocked. Zorba said the worst sin is to reject a woman when she wants you, because you’ll never stop wondering what could’ve been. There’s a strange truth in that, even if it doesn’t fit with modern ideas of love and consent and mutuality.

    But I also know now: not every yes leads to peace. Sometimes you dive in and still end up alone, or ashamed, or with someone else’s pain on your hands.

    And here’s the truth—I even failed at being a Zorba purist.

    I missed a lot of messages and opportunities, not just because of bad timing or external circumstances, but because of my own blindness. Fear, shyness, and a deep lack of self-confidence got in the way more times than I can count. In that sense, yes, it’s a kind of failure. I didn’t always seize the moment. I didn’t always say yes. Sometimes I watched the boat leave without me.

    But here’s what I’ve learned: sometimes not getting what you wished for is the blessing. I missed out on things that might have done more harm than good. And while I’ll never know for sure, I’ve come to trust the ambiguity.

    My appetite for imagined memories—for playing out what might have been—can still guide me in unhealthy ways. It’s easy to get lost in nostalgia for possibilities that never were. But that too has become a teacher. I’m learning not to be burdened by those alternate timelines. I’m learning to live here, now, in this life—the real one.

    I Will Not Be a Victim

    These days, people talk a lot about not being a victim—and that’s become something of a mantra for me. Not in a tough, self-righteous way, but as a quiet practice. I don’t want to turn my past into a story where I’m the hero or the helpless. I want to see it clearly.

    I’ve struggled in so many ways—emotionally, financially, spiritually. I’ve suffered through losses I couldn’t control and some I helped create. But I have to constantly stay mindful of my point of view. How I frame my life matters. Am I seeing it through the lens of powerlessness? Or am I recognizing my part, owning it, and doing what I can from here?

    Finding that balance isn’t easy. I fall out of it regularly. But I return to it again and again: I will not be a victim. I have the power to respond—not perfectly, but consciously.

    Learning to Live With, Not Against, My Mistakes

    I carry those memories not because I want to but because I’ve learned that regret has something to teach me. It’s not just a burden. It’s a mirror. And if I look at it with clear eyes, it shows me who I’ve become.

    I’ve also learned that some mistakes don’t go away. They live in your bones. People say, “Let go of the past,” and I believe that’s a worthy aim. It’s consistent with the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism: suffering comes from clinging, and peace comes from release. But maybe some memories are meant to be carried—not as punishment, but as reminders.

    Despite my tendency toward impostor syndrome—the whisper that I’m not wise enough, not healed enough, not even worthy of writing this—I know this much: I am learning to live with my mistakes rather than against them.

    I no longer believe healing means erasing the past. I think it means letting it breathe. Letting it soften. Letting it speak—not to shame you, but to show you where the heart finally opened.

    Sometimes I wonder—how could I have missed so much?

    I don’t mean that I lacked intelligence. I mean I was often distracted. Caught up in my own ego, my longings, my fears. Sometimes I look back and shake my head, wondering how I didn’t see what was right in front of me. Not just once, but again and again.

    There’s that old saying: Youth is wasted on the young. Maybe there’s a sharper version of that—Youth is wasted on the non-mindful. I see now how many years I spent reacting instead of reflecting, chasing instead of listening, trying to prove something instead of just being present.

    And yet, maybe this is how it works. Maybe it’s necessary to go through the valley of mistakes before we can rise into any meaningful self-awareness. Maybe the errors—the cringeworthy ones, the silent ones, the ones we’ll never fully explain—are the curriculum.

    Still, I have doubts.

    Is mindful growth real? Or are we always just half-blind and half-deaf, hoping we’ve finally gotten it, only to be proven wrong again later?

    Sometimes I think I’ve evolved. Other times I realize I’m repeating the same old pattern, just in more subtle ways. And yet… there’s something different now. A deeper pause. A longer breath. A willingness to admit I don’t know, and to stay in the discomfort.

    Maybe that’s what growth really looks like—not certainty, but humility.

    No, I wasn’t stupid. I was learning. I still am.

    When the Weight Is Too Much

    And then, just when I think I’ve made peace with the past, something happens that shakes me again.

    This morning, I learned that someone I’ve known since high school—an artist and surfer, quiet and soulful—jumped off a cliff to his death.

    It was the same spot where he first learned to surf, first fell in love with the sea, maybe even first became himself. A place filled with memory. And maybe, pain. Maybe too much.

    We weren’t especially close, but I respected him. His art. His quiet way of being in the world. And now he’s gone.

    I don’t pretend to know what he was carrying. But I do know this: memory is powerful. Returning to it can heal us, or it can crush us. Sometimes both.

    So I write this with no judgment. Only sadness. And the reminder that what we carry matters. That being kind—to others and to ourselves—is no small thing. That sometimes the strongest thing we can do is stay.

    What I Know Now

    So what have I learned?

    I’ve learned that tenderness outlasts thrill. That presence matters more than persuasion. That a goodbye spoken with kindness is better than a door closed in silence. I’ve learned that some apologies come too late for anyone else to hear—but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say them.

    I’ve learned that showing up—however imperfectly—is always better than disappearing.

    And I’ve learned that even now, even at this point in life, I can still choose how I respond. I can meet the past with compassion. I can meet this moment with clarity.

    To the ones I left too soon… to the people I failed to thank, or hear, or stand beside… to the ones I loved imperfectly but truly… here is what I can say:

    I see it now. I wish I’d done better. I’m sorry. I’m still learning.

    And I’m still here—still trying, still growing, still becoming the person I hope to be.

    And if you’re reading this, carrying your own memories, your own regrets, know this: you’re not alone. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep showing up. That’s what I’m trying to do, too.

  • Lessons from a Former Overthinker: How to Start Really Living

    Lessons from a Former Overthinker: How to Start Really Living

    “Rule your mind, or it will rule you.” ~Buddha

    I used to be trapped in a cycle of overthinking, replaying past mistakes, worrying about the future, and mentally holding onto every thought, just as I physically held onto old clothes, books, and my child’s outgrown toys.

    The fear of letting go—whether of physical items or persistent thoughts—felt overwhelming. But I didn’t realize that this habit of mental hoarding was keeping me stuck in place.

    The Anxiety of Letting Go—My Last Day of School

    One of my earliest experiences with mental hoarding happened on my last day of school in 1996 before my tenth-grade board exams. When my class teacher wished us “All the very best, children, for your board exams,” I suddenly realized—it was my last day in school. This thought had never crossed my mind before, and it hit me hard.

    I’d spent over a decade there—eleven or twelve years—growing up, laughing, learning, crying, sharing tiffins, and living through every moment with my friends. The idea that I would never return to that life left me feeling overwhelmed with anxiety and sadness.

    On that day, when I returned home, I couldn’t eat lunch, nor could I sleep well. I clutched my pillow tightly, as if I could stop time from moving forward. I kept replaying all the moments, all the memories. The playground where I ran and played, the tap I used to drink water from, the desk where I sat every single day, the blackboard where I nervously wrote answers. But what truly gutted me was I would never see some of my friends again.

    Back then, there was no Facebook or Instagram to keep in touch. If you missed a day at school, you had to ask someone in person what happened, what they did over the weekend, and what their summer vacation was like. School was the only way to stay connected. I felt like I was losing a part of myself.

    I missed my evening’s Taekwondo practice. I didn’t even have the energy for dinner. I just went to bed, but my mind was restless, spinning.

    The next morning, I woke up at 3 a.m. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I needed to run. So, I dragged myself to the stadium where I used to train. I ran with all my strength, threw punches and kicks into the air, and let out loud screams with each movement.

    Sweat drenched my body, but I didn’t feel tired. Instead, I felt the tension leaving my body. As I sat on the ground, watching the first rays of the sunrise, I realized that time does not stop for anyone. Every ending is a new beginning.

    This was the first time I truly understood the power of movement and mindfulness in releasing emotional baggage. I had been hoarding memories, but by physically engaging with my emotions—through running, punching, and embracing the new day—I let go of the stiffness in my mind.

    This was my first lesson at the age of fifteen: that sometimes, the hardest goodbyes bring the lightest hearts.

    Unanswered Questions—Learning to Let Go

    In 2002, I faced another instance of mental hoarding, but this time it was about unanswered questions and emotional attachment.

    There was a girl from my school days who had been more than a friend. After school, we lost touch—there were no mobile phones or social media back then. For five to six years, I never considered pursuing anyone else, always wondering what she would think if I did. Her presence lingered in my mind, keeping me from moving forward.

    Finally, in 2002, after seven long years, I went to the school where she was working as a teacher. There was a function happening that day, and amidst the crowd, I gathered the courage to propose to her.

    Tears filled her eyes as if she had been waiting for that moment, but she neither said yes nor no. Instead, she spoke three lines, turned away, and left. I stood there, unable to move, as if my feet were rooted to the ground. It felt like a part of me had been left behind.

    For days, I couldn’t concentrate on my studies. My mind replayed those three lines over and over, searching for answers that weren’t there.

    One day, while battling my thoughts, I was hitting a tennis ball against a wall, lost in frustration. In anger, I hit it too hard, and it rebounded faster than I expected. I jumped high to catch it, but when I landed, I felt a sharp pain—a hairline fracture in my right foot. The doctor put my leg in a cast, and for forty-five days, I was confined to my home.

    During that time, I had no choice but to sit still. With nothing else to do, I turned my focus entirely to studying for my CA-Inter exam. As I immersed myself in my studies, I noticed something—the memories of that day no longer haunted me. Without realizing it, I had stopped searching for answers. I appeared for my exam soon after my cast was removed and passed successfully.

    At the age of twenty-two or twenty-three, I learned a profound lesson: Some questions don’t have answers, and the more we chase them, the more they consume us. The key is to stop searching for meaning in every unanswered moment and move forward.

    The Power of Letting Go

    A turning point came during my corporate nine-to-five job. I felt like a bird in a cage, desperate to fly but held back by uncertainty. I wanted to quit and start my own business, but I spent two years mentally hoarding fears.

    What if I fail? What about my financial responsibilities to my wife and three-year-old son? The constant loop of overthinking paralyzed me. I finally broke free in September 2012, when I quit my job and became a sub-broker in the stock market. Letting go of fear was liberating. I no longer had to be answerable to anyone, and I had the freedom I had always dreamed of.

    This experience taught me that, just like physical clutter, mental clutter keeps us stuck.

    Another powerful realization came to me in 2020 when my son insisted on buying a 55″ smart TV. I had been holding onto my old CRT TV, the very first thing I bought with my income back in January 2006. It wasn’t just an appliance—it was a symbol of my early struggles and achievements.

    I remembered how I had gone to Shimla for work in a friend’s car and excitedly purchased it on the way. Though outdated, it still worked, and I clung to it, not because of its utility, but because of the memories attached to it. Letting go felt like erasing a part of my journey.

    But in November 2020, I finally gave it away to someone in need and welcomed the new TV. It was only then that I realized that unless you make space—whether in your home or your mind—new things, new opportunities, and new ways of thinking cannot enter. This lesson extended beyond possessions; it applied to thoughts, regrets, and self-imposed limitations.

    Regret is a Waste of Time—Lessons from Professional Life

    I started investing and trading in 2009. Back then, I bought stocks that were trading in two figures and sold them after holding them for a few days or months at a 5-10% profit. A decade later, some of those stocks were trading in four figures, and the thought of what I could have gained was painful. The regret of “What if I had held onto them?” haunted me.

    But then, I reflected and realized that every decision I made—both buying and selling—was mine, based on the conditions at the time. Just as some stocks grew tremendously, others that once traded in four figures lost their value completely. I have clients who call me daily, expressing regret about missed opportunities. They saw a stock at a lower level, hesitated to buy, and later saw it jump by 25% or more. The cycle of regret is endless.

    Over time, I have trained myself to stop overthinking past trades. Now, I focus only on my present trades, whether I make a profit or a loss. If an opportunity presents itself today, I act without hesitation instead of dwelling on missed chances.

    This experience taught me an important lesson: If we cannot change our past decisions, there is no use in regretting them. Instead, we should focus on what we can do now.

    The Biggest Lesson—Accepting Life’s Impermanence

    The biggest lesson I learned came from an unexpected place, one that I never imagined would leave such an impact. In the northern part of India, especially in Punjab, where I live, there is a festival called Basant Panchami, celebrated with much joy and enthusiasm. It usually falls in January, and one of the key traditions is flying kites.

    In 2018, the festival was on January 22nd, and the day before, I went to the market with my younger brother to buy kites and strings. We were both passionate about flying kites since childhood, and that day, we were thrilled, full of laughter and excitement. We spent the morning playing music, dancing, and flying kites together, just like we had done for years.

    But what I didn’t know, what I could never have predicted, was that day would be the last time I would experience this with my younger brother. In June 2018, my brother left this world, and that was the moment I fully grasped the weight of what I had lost.

    From that day until the Basant festival in 2025, I kept the nineteen kites we had bought that day, unable to fly them, because they reminded me of him. It felt like if I flew those kites, I’d somehow be letting go of the only piece left of him. Each year, as the spring festival came around, I would hold on to those kites tightly, preserving the memory of the day we spent together.

    But this year, something changed. At the 2025’s Basant festival, I finally let go. I flew those nineteen kites. As they soared in the sky, I realized that we had bought those kites to celebrate, to enjoy life, and my brother would have wanted me to do the same.

    Holding on to them, keeping them safe, was just a way of avoiding the truth: life moves on, and sometimes, the more tightly you hold on to something, the more you lose in the process. It reminded me that, like the sand slipping from your hand when you grip it too tightly, life too must be lived with openness and acceptance.

    That realization hit me hard: life is like a moving train. We are all passengers on that train, and eventually, each passenger leaves when their station arrives, while others continue their journey. Every living thing on this Earth will vanish one day. Holding on to the past, to memories, to the “what ifs,” only weighs us down.

    I had been hoarding my thoughts and emotions for so long, thinking I could preserve them and keep them safe. But this lesson—through the act of finally flying those kites—helped me realize how destructive overthinking can be.

    It was time to stop hoarding my memories and emotions. Life is constantly moving forward, and holding on too tightly to what’s gone only prevents me from enjoying the present.

    I learned that it’s okay to let go, to free myself from overthinking, and to embrace what is happening now. Just like the kites in the sky, my brother’s memory will always be with me, but I have to live my life fully, without fear of letting go.

    The lesson I learned is simple yet profound: stop hoarding your thoughts, free yourself from overthinking, and allow yourself to truly live. Life moves forward, and so must we.

    Final Thoughts

    Freedom from mental clutter is possible. Once I let go of the thoughts that no longer served me, I made space for clarity, courage, and growth. And just like my career shift, I realized the only way to truly move forward is to stop hoarding and start living.

  • Trapped in Shame: How I Found Mental Freedom After Prison

    Trapped in Shame: How I Found Mental Freedom After Prison

    “If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive.” ~Brené Brown

    I was in two prisons.

    One physical. One mental.

    The physical version was Otisville Federal Prison.

    I was living so out of alignment with who I was and who I wanted to become and self-sabotaged in a colossal way, defrauding one of the largest tech companies in the world.

    My mental prison, my personal hell, was the all-consuming power of shame. Hurting the one I love, disappointing my family, and letting myself down. Ignoring the voice inside that told me not to commit the fraud.

    I believed with all my soul that I destroyed the most extraordinary gift life has to offer us: love.

    I was trapped in my head and couldn’t see a way out or even a reason to try.

    With every ounce of my being, I believed, “I am undeserving of love, happiness, forgiveness, and peace. I destroyed love and will never be worthy of it again. I deserve a lifetime of punishment.”

    This was my prison. This is where I lived, falling further into darkness every day with no end in sight.

    Shame is an insidious disease that lives, breathes, and grows in the darkness. Shame thrives in isolation, separation, and disconnection.

    Shame wants to be alone.

    Unless we do something about it, it will eat us alive from the inside out.

    What do we do with something that lives in the dark? Something that craves isolation, separation, and disconnection?

    We shine a light on it. We shine a light on it by speaking about it. By being open, by having the conversations we’re afraid to have.

    Shame withers and dies in the face of vulnerability.

    When we are vulnerable, not only do we shine a light on our shame, but we also give others permission to do the same.

    When we shine a light on shame, when we are vulnerable and open up, we take the first step out of the darkness.

    And we realize that we are not alone.

    I couldn’t jump headfirst into vulnerability; I was too afraid. But I knew that if I allowed shame to consume me, it would never release its grip on my life.

    How did I get to where I could be vulnerable, open, and share?

    Here are the first three steps I took.

    Accepting Reality

    I spent my days in prison wishing I wasn’t in prison.

    I spent my days wishing I hadn’t made the choices I made that landed me in prison.

    I wished and dreamed for life to be anything other than it was. I was fighting against a past and circumstance that couldn’t be changed.

    I would never have freedom from shame if I continued to fight for what couldn’t be changed. I had to do what I was so afraid to do.

    I had to accept reality.

    I didn’t want to. It felt like giving up; it felt passive. Fighting equals progress. But does it? What was I fighting against? As much as I wish there were, there is no such thing as a time machine Delorean.

    Accepting reality isn’t giving up; it isn’t passive. It was an act of courage for me to say, “I accept that I betrayed myself and chose to commit a crime. I hit the ‘enter’ button, the single keystroke that started it all. I accept I made the choice to continue in the face of the universe screaming at me to stop. I accept that I am in prison. I accept that I hurt the woman I love, my family, my friends….”

    A weight lifted off of me when I wrote that. I wasn’t trapped in the past. I felt something I thought was impossible in prison: freedom.

    Self-Trust

    I lost trust in myself. How could I possibly trust myself when I am the one who did this to himself?

    There is an emptiness that is all-consuming when you don’t trust yourself.

    It’s a horrible feeling.

    One day, scrolling through Twitter, my friend posted, “Surest path to self-confidence I know: making and keeping commitments to ourselves.”

    That struck a chord. My friend walks the walk; this wasn’t just lip service.

    From that one tweet, I committed to facing my biggest fear: public speaking. It took five years, but I eventually delivered a TEDx.

    The TEDx was incredible, no doubt, but there was so much more than that. It created a way of life for me.

    When you make and keep commitments, you change your inner narrative to one that’s empowering.

    You change your story to being a person who TAKES ACTION.

    You build trust because you kept your word to yourself. When we trust ourselves, we have confidence in ourselves.

    When we have confidence in ourselves, we believe in ourselves. We trust ourselves.

    Forgiveness

    Forgiveness is hard. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve done as I’ve rebuilt and reinvented my life.

    I had to forgive myself for the choices that resulted in my arrest by the FBI and my sentence to two years in federal prison and cost me everything: my marriage, my homes, my cars, my sense of self-worth, and my identity.

    I had to forgive myself for planning on killing myself.

    I didn’t think I was worthy of forgiveness. Who was I to let myself off the hook with all the damage I had caused?

    I had to take the first two steps of acccepting reality and cultivating self-trust.

    When I took those first two steps, I understood that forgiving ourselves is one of the biggest acts of love and compassion we can do for ourselves.

    When we forgive ourselves, we demonstrate that we are worthy of love and compassion.

    Forgiveness cultivates our self-trust as well.

    Forgiveness liberates you from a past that cannot be changed. You learn to let go of that baggage weighing you down.

    There’s great freedom when we let go.

    From these three steps, I reached a place where I could be vulnerable and, in turn, walk out of the prison of shame.

    When we own our story, we own our life. When our story owns us, it owns our life.

    Huge difference.

  • Practice the Pause

    Practice the Pause

  • 4 Types of Regret and How to Leverage Them for a More Fulfilling Life

    4 Types of Regret and How to Leverage Them for a More Fulfilling Life

    “Regret is not dangerous or abnormal, a deviation from the steady path to happiness. It is healthy and universal, an integral part of being human. Regret is also valuable. It clarifies. It instructs. Done right, it needn’t drag us down; it can lift us up.” ~Daniel H. Pink

    It happened when I reached midlife.

    I’d experienced regret before, but this was different.

    In my forties, I struggled with several deep-seated regrets all at the same time.

    And I didn’t handle it well.

    If only I hadn’t chosen to fall into unhealthy habits that were hard to break, like smoking cigarettes and drinking too much alcohol.

    If only I’d worked to understand myself and develop my identity earlier in life.

    If only I’d gone after that degree in psychology I’d really wanted.

    If only I’d taken charge of my own financial wellness rather than abdicating it to my husband.

    Because I didn’t know better, I wallowed in these regrets, revisiting past mistakes and ramping up my self-criticism.

    So many might-have-beens and what-ifs.

    Heartbreak and grief ensued.

    It’s safe to say I was well and truly stuck there for a while.

    Thankfully, working with a therapist helped me safely face my feelings and reframe my regret as an opportunity for growth rather than a threat.

    Over time, I learned to practice self-compassion and what my therapist called Neutralize the Negative – Promote the Positive.

    I learned I could extract lessons from regret, use them to keep growing into the best version of myself, and create a more fulfilling life.

    I learned that regret could be a positive force for good.

    As the poet and wise woman Maya Angelou used to say, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.”

    Fast forward to 2022, when one of my favorite authors, Daniel H. Pink, published his remarkable book The Power of Regret: How Looking Backward Moves Us Forward.

    Pink’s research, poignant stories, and practical takeaways had me thinking, “This is a guide for living better. I wish I’d understood all this back then.”

    Understanding Regret

    Unlike sadness or disappointment, regret is a unique emotion because it stems from our agency. It’s not something imposed upon us; rather, it arises from choices we made or opportunities we missed.

    Intrigued by this powerful emotion, Pink embarked on a qualitative research journey, inviting people from all walks of life to share their regrets.

    The response was overwhelming, with tens of thousands of stories pouring in. Through this process, Pink compiled, classified, and analyzed the regrets, unearthing valuable insights that can help us navigate life’s complexities.

    One of the key findings was that regrets of inaction outnumber regrets of action by a ratio of two to on, and this tendency increases as people grow older.

    Action regrets, such as marrying the wrong person, can often be tempered by finding solace in other aspects of life. For example, someone who feels they married the wrong person might say, “At least I have these wonderful kids.” However, regrets of inaction lack this silver lining.

    Pink identified four main types of regrets that tend to cluster together. He calls them deep structure regrets. They all reveal a human need and yield a lesson.

    Foundation Regrets

    Foundation regrets emerge from neglecting to lay the groundwork for a stable and fulfilling life, like failing to save money for retirement or neglecting one’s physical well-being.

    I now understand that most of my regrets, including those I shared above, fall under this category. Foundation regrets sound like this: If only I’d done the work.

    The Human Need: Stability—a basic infrastructure of educational, financial, and physical well-being.

    The Lesson: Think ahead. Do the work. Start now. Build your skills and connections.

    Boldness Regrets 

    As we grow older, the regrets that haunt us revolve around the missed opportunities we let slip away rather than the risks we took. The chances we didn’t seize, whether starting our own business, pursuing a genuine love, or exploring the world, weigh heavily on our hearts.

    Boldness regrets sound like this: If only I’d taken that risk.

    The Human Need: To grow as a person.

    The Lesson: Start that business. Ask him out. Take that trip.

    Moral Regrets

    Moral regrets arise from actions that go against our sense of kindness and decency, such as bullying, infidelity, or disloyalty. They sound like this: If only I’d done the right thing.

    The Human Need: To be good.

    The Lesson: When in doubt, do the right thing.

    Connection Regrets

    Connection regrets center around missed opportunities to maintain relationships, often due to the fear of awkwardness. They sound like this: If only I’d reached out.

    The Human Need: Love and meaningful connections.

    The Lesson: If a relationship you care about has come undone, push past the awkwardness, and reach out.

    Doing Regret Right

    So how do we approach regret in a way that enhances our lives? How do we do it right? Pink suggests a three-part strategy: looking inward, looking outward, and moving forward.

    Looking inward involves reframing how we think about our regrets and practicing self-compassion. We often judge ourselves harshly, but treating ourselves with kindness and understanding can lead to healing and growth.

    Looking outward means sharing our regrets with others. We unburden ourselves and gain perspective by opening up and expressing our emotions. Talking or writing about our regrets can help us make sense of them.

    Moving forward requires extracting lessons from our regrets. It’s essential to create distance and gain perspective. Pink offers practical exercises like speaking to ourselves in the third person, imagining conversations with our future selves, or considering what advice we would give our best friend in a similar situation.

    In addition, Pink encourages us to “optimize” regret rather than trying to minimize it. He suggests creating a “failure résumé” to reflect on and learn from past missteps.

    He also recommends combining our New Year’s resolutions with our regrets from the previous year, turning regret into a catalyst for self-improvement.

    —

    In a culture that promotes relentless positivity and a “no regrets” philosophy, I’ve learned that negative emotions have their place in a fulfilling life. I know better now, and I couldn’t agree more with Dan: “If we know what we truly regret, we know what we truly value. Regret—that maddening, perplexing, and undeniably real emotion—points the way to a life well lived.”

  • How to Live a ‘Good Life’ (Almost Every Single Day)

    How to Live a ‘Good Life’ (Almost Every Single Day)

    “If your vision of your life centers on your highest values, you will be aligned with your dharma far above everyday existence. Whatever the values are—love, creativity, service, spiritual growth, beauty, or whatever you choose—dedicating yourself to the highest values unites purpose and inner growth as nothing else can.” ~Deepak Chopra

    I wasted almost a decade of my life. Don’t make the same mistake as me.

    On my fortieth birthday, I found myself lying in bed, fully awake at 5 a.m., with a tightness in my throat.

    “A new decade,” I thought, without much excitement.

    Staring at the ceiling, I tried to remember what I had accomplished in the past ten years. As I searched in vain for any memorable moments to celebrate, panic began to fill my chest. “I wasted my thirties,” I thought. “One-eighth of a lifetime.”

    Have you ever felt that way, as if life has passed you by? That you’ve wasted some precious years that you’ll never be able to get back?

    Perhaps you got caught in the hamster wheel, being so busy with work and daily chores that you didn’t realize how quickly time was flying by. Maybe you’ve thought of traveling, writing a book, or learning to play the guitar but continually postponed your projects for a ‘someday’ that has never arrived.

    It doesn’t feel good.

    That morning, I realized I had made a mistake. I spent most of my thirties pursuing a single goal: building my business. It became an obsession that consumed all my time and energy to the point that I forgot to nurture my relationships, travel, or do anything else exciting.

    At forty, I had very few friends and no hobbies, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself.

    Later on, I discovered that this could have been prevented by doing one thing differently: by adopting a simple habit that ensures we live a good life almost every single day and avoid future regrets.

    That’s what I want to share with you.

    How Can We Live a Good Life Every Day?

    A few months after my fortieth birthday, I listened to a podcast with Hal Elrod, the creator of The Miracle Morning, in which he shared his perspective on how to live our best lives every day.

    His realization came on a specific day after spending time with his daughter, working a bit on his business (his life’s work), connecting with his wife, exercising, and eating healthy meals. As he wound down after dinner, he thought to himself, “Today was the best day of my life.”

    He then wondered why he had just had this thought since nothing truly special had happened that day—his child wasn’t born, he hadn’t gotten married, and he hadn’t booked any elite clients. So what was it that made the day so great?

    The day had been filled with all the most important things to him, his top values: his family, his relationship with his wife, living a healthy lifestyle, and inspiring people (his life’s work). He realized that living a good life, a regret-free life, comes down to living in alignment with our top values every day.

    It hit me. This was my solution to avoid wasting another decade: value-centered living.

    Here’s how we can implement this into our daily lives.

    Step 1: Identify your top five values.

    Your top values are what you consider most important and meaningful in your life. They come from your personal beliefs about what it means to live a good life.

    Below are a few questions to help you identify your top values:

    • What do you need in your life to feel fulfilled? Or, what’s missing in your life that you need to feel fulfilled?
    • How do you like to spend your time, and what would you like to have more time for?
    • What do you enjoy spending money on?
    • If your life ended right now, what would you regret not having done, accomplished, experienced, and become? And if you had one year to live, how would you spend your time? What would you focus on?
    • What would make you say you have lived a good life when you are 100 years old?

    I recommend identifying your top five values because if we center our life on just one main value, we risk feeling dissatisfied and even having regrets in the future because we won’t have nurtured the other things that are important to us.

    That’s what happened to me when I just focused on building my business (which is my value of doing meaningful work) and neglected the other areas of my life.

    Another example is a friend of mine who has two kids and highly values being a good mom. However, after a few years of taking care of everyone and not addressing her own needs and other desires—she stopped doing art, put her career on hold, and wasn’t taking much care of herself—she began feeling resentful toward her family. She was giving-giving-giving but not filling her own cup by honoring her other needs and desires.

    So focusing on just one of our values for a long time can create an imbalance in our life. That’s why step one of the value-centered living habit is to identify our top five values, not just the top one.

    Step 2: List actionable ways to honor your top values.

    Once you have identified your top five values, make them actionable by expressing them as verbs. For example, if one of your values is meaningful connections, you could phrase it as “connecting deeply and authentically.” Start each value statement with a verb.

    Next, specify more precisely how you can put each value into practice. For instance, for the value of connecting deeply and authentically, it could be:

    • Being fully present when interacting with someone—giving them my undivided attention
    • Listening with the intention to understand, not just to reply
    • Sharing my honest thoughts and feelings
    • Being open and vulnerable
    • Staying in touch with my closest friends and family by sending them messages and calling them regularly
    • Scheduling time every week for social activities

    Try writing at least five actions for each value. It’ll be helpful for step 3.

    Step 3: Do something daily to embody your top values.

    The last step is the value-centered living daily habit.

    Every morning, look at your list of actions you created in step 2, and decide what you’ll do to honor your top values.

    Personally, I write this in my journal. First, I write down my top five values as reminders, and then I write down what I’ll do to nurture each one that day.

    It doesn’t have to be complicated. For my value of meaningful relationships, I may just write a nice comment on a friend’s post. For self-care, I may go to a yoga class. For purposeful work, I may film a Tik Tok video.

    —

    This simple daily habit makes sure that we give attention to and nurture the most important things in our lives. Every single day, even if the day isn’t perfect, we are more likely to feel satisfied because we’re focusing on what matters to us.

    This simple practice has been a game-changer for me (thanks to Hal Elrod!), and I hope it can serve you too.

  • Why I Don’t Regret That I Didn’t Walk Away from My Relationship Sooner

    Why I Don’t Regret That I Didn’t Walk Away from My Relationship Sooner

    “The butterfly does not look back at the caterpillar in shame, just as you should not look back at your past in shame. Your past was part of your own transformation.” ~Anthony Gucciardi 

    Before I finally grew the courage to walk away from my boyfriend, I contemplated walking away many times.

    There was the time that he had ghosted me for a week without communicating that he needed space. Then after promising me a timeline for telling his mom about me and our relationship, when the time came to do it, he made up another excuse. And there were many moments when he canceled our plans at the last minute.

    Every time I felt disappointed or disrespected, I would feel my body start to tremble from the inside and I felt my sense of self start to break away as I tried all of the things I thought would repair the relationship. I tried to be patient and understanding, and I communicated my needs while trying to see where he was coming from. But nothing changed.

    Sometimes I would feel a glimmer of hope as my partner took accountability and would try to be better. I gave him multiple chances to make things right, and yet he still went back to old patterns. I wasn’t expecting an overnight change, but I wanted more investment. Deep down, he just wasn’t on the same page.

    So why couldn’t I walk away from this person who was no longer treating me the way I deserved to be treated? Why did I still keep putting up with less and accepting the bare minimum?

    I didn’t know how to let go of someone I loved. I was scared of letting go of what I saw as the potential of this person and the relationship. And I was scared of letting myself down. 

    Relationships are complex, and people on the outside looking in make it seem easy for you to just leave at the first sign of turmoil or dissatisfaction. It’s normal to feel uncomfortable and unhappy in a relationship, yet still struggle to walk away.

    The truth is, I needed to go through these experiences to finally see that this relationship was no longer serving my highest good. And that’s not to say that I deserved any of it. But it would not have been as easy to walk away with the clarity, certainty, and purpose that I had at the moment that I had it.

    When the pain of staying was greater than the fear of leaving, I knew it was the right time to walk away. 

    If I had walked away sooner, I might have held onto hope of getting back together, fearing that I didn’t do enough or give it enough of a chance. I would likely be floundering with my internal need for closure, rather than knowing I received all the closure I needed by the time I walked away.

    Even though there were many times that my soul knew deep down that I would eventually have to walk away, my heart wasn’t there yet. And when it finally was, the courage grew inside of me like an ocean wave coming closer to shore.

    If you’re struggling to walk away from a person or feeling regret about not walking away sooner, here’s what helped me on my journey of making peace with it:

    1. Honor your lessons.

    Love is not enough. This was one of the hardest pills to swallow, but it was necessary.

    A couple days before we broke up, my ex and I had another hard conversation about our relationship. And at some point, I remember saying, “But we love each other,” attempting a plea to hold us together through some challenges.

    Healthy relationships require more than just the feeling of love. There needs to be commitment, action, integrity, communication, and trust. Feeling love for another person is nice, but you can feel love for a person and not be in a relationship with them. A relationship requires much more.

    At first, I felt sad and defeated when I reflected and realized that these values were not in alignment in our relationship. But now I honor this lesson and know that it will serve me well in my next relationship. I won’t waver on the importance of being aligned on values more than just a feeling of love.

    When you have core takeaways from a relationship that didn’t work out, it helps to create a deeper meaning from it. And it helps you focus your energy on yourself, rather than your ex-partner.

    2. Give yourself grace.

    We can be so hard on ourselves. And the times that you need grace the most are often when you’re least likely to give grace to yourself.

    In my relationship with my ex, I was quicker to give him grace than myself.

    After I walked away, this hit me like a truck. That’s when I started to give myself the grace and love that I pushed down in favor of trying to hold the relationship together. Did I do everything right? No, but that’s the point of grace.

    I poured so much love back into me and my life after the breakup. I gave myself grace to recognize that this relationship was not the right fit, and that it took me some time to really see that. Grace allowed me to forgive both myself and my ex, because it always creates a ripple effect.

    3. Letting go is a process, not a destination.

    Even though I walked away with clarity and purpose, I didn’t feel an immediate sense of relief right after we broke up. I knew it was the right decision, but my body went into a grieving process.

    When someone passes away, we go through stages of grief. The same thing happens after a breakup.

    As I wavered back and forth between anger and acceptance, it helped when I returned back to the core reasoning behind why I walked away when I did, and why that was necessary for my happiness and well-being. Each deliberate choice to return back to my core knowing, while giving myself grace, was a part of the process of letting go and healing my heart.

    Making peace with this relationship and breakup meant treating my healing as a process and not a final destination. I had to acknowledge every step along the way to rebuild and come back from it stronger than before.

    —-

    We don’t always make the best choices for our highest selves in every moment, but this is an impossible expectation. We are all human beings trying our best to learn from experiences and grow. And I don’t believe there should be any regret in that.

  • How I Forgave Myself for Cheating and Hurting Someone I Once Loved

    How I Forgave Myself for Cheating and Hurting Someone I Once Loved

    “The best apology is simply admitting your mistake. The worst apology is dressing up your mistake with rationalizations to make it look like you were not really wrong, but just misunderstood.” ~Dodinsky

    It was January 2016 and Baltimore was in the midst of a blizzard. Outside, the city was covered in a three-foot blanket of snow. Inside, we were having a blizzard party. My boyfriend, five friends, and me.

    We’d been coloring, listening to music, dancing, and playing games. Already, I knew it was one of the most cozy and fun nights of my life. Everyone was happy. The energy was easy and joyful.

    As the night went on, my boyfriend turned on his light display in the basement. It was a combination of LED lights and infinity mirrors that he built with our friend E. They both controlled the light show and music from an app on their phones.

    With the exception of one friend who went to bed early, we were all in the basement listening to music, dancing and enjoying the lights.

    Eventually, the basement group started to disperse. I went upstairs, and so did our friend E. A few people were in the kitchen. Someone stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. I noticed my boyfriend was the only one still down in the basement, then heard him coming up the stairs.

    As he entered the doorway, I noticed he was eerily calm, but I also sensed a rage bubbling beneath the surface. He approached our friend E, poked him in the chest, and said, “How long has this been going on?”

    I instantly knew what “this” was. So did E. But everyone else was clueless.

    My boyfriend told everyone to get out of the house (in the middle of the blizzard). Everyone except me, E, and another friend who he asked to stay as a neutral party. Someone woke up my friend who was sleeping upstairs. Everyone left and trudged home in three feet of snow. (Luckily, we were all neighbors, so they didn’t have to journey far).

    I have no idea what they were thinking, but I imagine everyone was confused and concerned.

    My boyfriend began to interrogate E and me because he’d read a message between us on E’s phone.

    It was a message from me that read: “I can’t wait to kiss you again.”

    Oof. I wish I could say I dreaded this moment. But I did not, because I honestly did not think this moment would happen.

    I didn’t think it would happen because earlier that day I had vowed not to mess around with E anymore. I had figured out that I was no longer in love with my boyfriend, and I was going to wait until he was finished with his dissertation in a few months to break up with him. In the meantime, I would not pursue anything that I felt with E.

    I thought I could simply tell my boyfriend that I had fallen out of love with him and was leaving. It was a good plan.

    I was guilty for having made out with E, and for the feelings I had for him, but we had not had sex, or even come close. Plus, I knew that my being unfaithful was a symptom of the fact that I needed to get out of this relationship. I had crossed a line, but I knew why, and I was going to stay on the right side of the line until I talked to my boyfriend.

    It was a good plan. Except for the fact that my boyfriend suspected something was going on. (Of course he did. People know. People always know.)

    So there we were: midnight in the middle of a blizzard in an intense interrogation. Time was moving slowly. It was all very surreal and nightmare-ish.

    The interrogation went something like: When? Where? How often? Why? To our other friend: Did you know? (He had no clue).

    The questioning went on and on until eventually, my boyfriend told E and our friend to leave. Then it was just the two of us.

    The thing I remember most about the rest of that night is lying together on the couch, crying. I was crying because I had hurt this person who, at one time, I loved deeply. He was crying because he was hurt by the one person he thought would never, could never, do such a thing.

    What I remember most about the next week, before I moved out, is lying in bed with him, watching Rick and Morty, and having the most open, raw conversations we’d had in years.

    I remember how sad I felt.

    I also remember how relieved I felt.

    I didn’t have the language for it at the time, but the relief was from the death that was occurring, and the re-birth that was to come.

    I can’t say I regret the outcome because, in truth, I am now happy. And from what I know, my ex is happy too. And this happiness would not have existed for either of us if I had stayed in that relationship. In the words of Liz Gilbert, via Glennon Doyle: “there is no such thing as one-way liberation.”

    But I do regret how it happened. I wish I had been mature, wise, and strong enough to recognize that I no longer wanted this relationship, before it got to the point of cheating.

    I wish I had known myself better.

    I wish I had known that I could have just left without doing this horrible thing and causing so much pain.

    I regret how I made my ex feel.

    I regret how I let down my friends who thought I was someone who would never do something like that.

    I regret how I strung E along for so long and toyed with his emotions, sometimes knowingly, sometimes not.

    I regret how little worth I had in myself, which led me to stay in this relationship far past its expiration date.

    I am still healing from this experience, and I cannot blame anyone for my pain, except myself. It’s a really weird thing to be healing from the pain you caused yourself.

    It’s also weird to be healing while living a happy, nourishing dream life, which is exactly what I am doing.

    The night of that blizzard a death occurred. A death of a version of myself that I did not like. A version of me who did not speak her mind, who was in the background, who did not like having sex, who was too scared to imagine a more expansive, beautiful life.

    This death opened the portal for me to return to myself, which is the journey I have been on for the last seven years. And it’s a beautiful one.

    If you’ve been hurt by someone who was unfaithful, I am sorry. I feel for you. You did not deserve it. Allow yourself to feel what you feel. Learn from it. Forgive the other person, for the sake of your inner peace.

    If you’ve hurt someone by being unfaithful, I am sorry too. I feel for you too. Allow yourself to feel what you feel. Learn from it. Forgive yourself.

    I’ve learned to forgive myself by:

    1. Acknowledging the pain I caused and apologizing for it.

    2. Communing with my inner child to learn about her unmet needs (the need to speak up, to be heard and seen, to stop people-pleasing).

    3. Remembering that I am imperfect and that making mistakes is part of the human experience.

    4. Asking myself what I learned during this experience (for one thing, not to stay in a relationship when my instincts tell me it’s over), and then applying that learning moving forward.

    And know this: if you are in a relationship in which you are unhappy, you do have the strength to get out of it, without hurting the other person through infidelity. (Please know that I am not talking about abusive relationships here; that was not my experience and is not something I am suited to give any kind of advice on.)

    Also know that you do not have to stick in a relationship just because your lives are intertwined and it’s hard to imagine the logistics (moving out, dividing finances, breaking a lease, etc.) of breaking up. If you’re most worried about these logistics, then it’s time to go. You will figure it out. And you both will be better off for it.

    The last thing I’ll leave you with are these words that my friend-turned-mentor shared with me: People do shitty things, but it does not necessarily mean they are shitty people. Let’s have grace with ourselves and each other. Let’s love even when (especially when) it seems another is not worthy of our love. Let’s have compassion for the lonely child that exists inside most of us.

  • How To Make Peace with Regrets: 4 Steps That Help Me Let Go

    How To Make Peace with Regrets: 4 Steps That Help Me Let Go

    “Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.” ~Don Miguel Ruiz

    The other day, I told my adult niece that I regretted selling my downtown condo several years ago.

    “On no,” she said. “You told me back then that you were finding the lack of light was getting to you. You weren’t happy there.”

    I had no memory of that until she reminded me. And surprisingly, it lifted a great deal of my painful regret around it. It helped me change from regret to recognition that I’d made the right decision.

    That got me thinking about other things I regretted. Am I remembering them correctly, or am I revising history? In other words, am I suffering needlessly?

    Memory is a funny thing. We don’t usually remember all the details of a situation. We pick and choose.

    For example, my regret around selling my condo focused on missing its cool location, being aware of how the value had increased, and reflecting on the many fun times I had with friends and family there.

    My memory did not include how much construction has been going on in that location these past years, how my two favorite restaurants closed, and how the best neighborhood coffee shop in the world went out of business.

    My regret, my emotional pain, was based on very limited data, some that isn’t even relevant anymore.

    Isn’t that interesting?

    Is it possible that all our regrets don’t take into account enough information to help us feel more at peace with these painful situations?

    I decided to sit and reflect on some of my other regrets. Would it be possible to alleviate some of my suffering by broadening my perspective on them?

    Here’s how I made peace with my regrets:

    Step One: I reviewed the regret and thought about all the things that were going on at the time of the disappointment.

    For example, let’s take my early career as a singer/songwriter. When I looked back on it, I felt regret, deep emotional pain over never recording an album of my songs.

    There was a lot going on in those years surrounding my career. Specifically, I was never totally happy. I spent more time reading self-help and spiritual books than practicing my craft.

    I had a hard time relating to other musicians. And I really had a terrible time with the record company executives and producers. I didn’t like how they treated me.

    I even had my manager ghost me. And that was way before we even knew what ghosting was.

    In addition, I was on the road a lot, playing in smokey bars, which was really challenging given that I neither smoked nor drank.

    And because I spent a lot of time as a solo performer with just me and my guitar, I spent way too many days, nights, and weeks alone in strange communities, eating in bad restaurants, because that was all I could afford.

    Hah! You see how remembering the details around the regret can be so eye-opening? Until I did this exercise, I honestly had forgotten about all of that.

    Step Two: I reflected on how this bigger picture influenced the outcome that I was currently regretting.

    There was nothing very inspiring or exciting about the day-to-day grind of being a musician on the road for me.

    Everything seemed very hard. Finding places to play, driving long distances, meeting with executives who were judging me and my music, dealing with agents and other musicians, and missing my family.

    It was all hard. And I didn’t like it.

    I dreamed of finding colleagues who would help me to fulfill my potential as an artist. Except for a small handful, the ones I worked with seemed much more interested in furthering themselves.

    I felt used.

    Ugh!

    And although I enjoyed the time I spent living and working in New York City and Los Angeles, I was a Canadian citizen and unable to obtain a proper work visa.

    That meant I would go back and forth across the border often, keeping my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t get caught!

    Step Three: I explored another way to look at the situation, often called “reframing.”

    Reframing is exactly what it sounds like. If you had a frame, maybe 24” x 24”, and you placed it on a very large painting, you would be focused on the section of the painting within the frame.

    But what about the huge picture all around it? If you moved the frame, you’d see another piece of the picture.

    And if you expanded the frame to be the full size of the entire canvas? Now you’d see a very different picture.

    We can reframe situations in our life this way. By moving the frame around, and especially by expanding it, we simply see a different picture of reality.

    As I reflected on all the things that were going on with my early musical career, I began to see the bigger picture. And guess what? I felt the pain of regret lift from my heart.

    Of course I quit that career!

    Of course I was unhappy!

    Of course I didn’t get to fulfill my goal of creating an album. The situation was not going to support that, no matter how hard I tried.

    Step Four: I made peace with what was once a regret.

    Certainly, sitting here now with an MP3 of my songs in album form seems like a great thing.

    But there was always a good chance that it was not going to be something I was proud of. I didn’t have the support structure to make that happen.

    And what happened instead of sticking with my music career?

    I came back home to my family, went back to school, and had the best time learning, writing, and studying topics that I found inspiring and fascinating.

    Coming back to school gave me the chance, as an adult, to explore who I really was, find my true passions, and commit to how I might share those passions with the world.

    University was the best time of my life.

    Conclusion

    This exercise has helped me heal. I no longer have emotional pain around what I used to see as a disappointment for my life.

    I have insight now that leads me to believe that the music business was not my passion, not my purpose, and would never have made me happy.

    This great insight provides me with great relief. I have found peace where once there was the emotional pain of regret.

    I hope you try these steps for yourself and learn how to make peace with your regrets.

  • Everything I’m So, So Sorry About (and Why I Think Apologies Are Hard)

    Everything I’m So, So Sorry About (and Why I Think Apologies Are Hard)

    “There’s the way that light shows in darkness, and it is extremely beautiful. And I think it essentializes the experience of being human, to see light in darkness.” ~Emil Ferris

    I was leading a yoga training in a small village in Greece near the Aegean Sea. One of the trainees was practicing a mindfulness workshop she designed. She led us through a guided meditation based on a beautiful Hawaiian practice for reconciliation and forgiveness called Ho’oponopono. As we sat in the yoga space, she repeated over and over:

    I love you.
    Please forgive me.
    I’m sorry.
    Thank you.

    There was something about how she slowly said, “I’m so, so sorry” that at one point I felt my heart break open, and tears flowed from its depths.

    I have a wellspring of personal and societal hurts tucked in the back of my heartspace that I am so, so sorry about.

    I’m sorry that children and animals are abused for no reason except the amusement or the sickness of adults.

    I’m sorry that women and children are molested and raped by men whose brains can’t process compassion, and that their need for power is so destructive that they can justify their actions.

    I’m sorry that people aren’t given equal access to food, education, and healthcare because of the color of their skin or biases.

    I’m sorry for the learned bias that keep us from treating everyone equally.

    I’m sorry that children don’t tell adults they have been bullied and base their self-worth on their shame about how their peers treated them.

    I’m sorry for daughters whose mothers try to keep them small.

    I’m sorry for the boys who’ve been told that they can’t cry.

    I’m sorry that saying sorry is sometimes too vulnerable.

    I’m sorry for any time I have ever said or done something that was hurtful because I was trying to make myself look good.

    I’m so, so sorry

    The Vulnerability of Being Sorry

    Saying I’m sorry is a vulnerable place. We have to admit that we were not perfect. We have to disclose that we made mistakes.

    Sometimes I’ve raced around my brain desperately looking for some way to justify my actions so that I didn’t have to apologize because it felt too vulnerable. But sometimes, even in a relationship where I wanted to be vulnerable and close to someone, I have defaulted to not apologizing—sometimes out of habit.

    During the pandemic, I came down with COVID-19 and had to call the people I’d been around and tell them. It was hard. One of my friends was very upset with me. It was during the holidays, and after spending a lot of time alone, she had plans for New Year’s Eve.

    I didn’t blame her for being mad. The isolation was driving us all crazy. I was sorry. Apologizing and listening to her anger was uncomfortable. Her friendship was more valuable than the temporary discomfort of her processing her disappointment. I was grateful that I had the courage to be present.

    If we want a relationship to grow, we—the one who erred—need to own the mistake and the apology, no matter how uncomfortable it feels. Without the apology, it’s one more brick in the barrier to growing closer in a relationship.

    We all know people that never say I’m sorry—it just feels too exposed. Alternatively, more worrisome, is that they feel beyond reproach.

    Cindy Frantz, a professor of psychology and environmental studies at Oberlin College and Conservatory, said that when we do something wrong and skirt responsibility by not admitting our wrongdoing, the interaction feels incomplete.

    I know from experience that waiting for an apology can cause a relationship to feel like it is hanging in midair, waiting to get grounded.

    She also warned, “Don’t apologize as a way to shut down the conversation and wipe the slate clean. That’s a shortcut that won’t work.”

    When It Isn’t Safe to Say I’m Sorry

    Some people will use our apology against us—so we keep ourselves safe by not apologizing. Self-preservation might be the best choice when dealing with someone with mental health and abusive issues. It can take a toll on how we feel about ourselves though.

    In the eighties, I was in a twelve-step program for my eating disorder. I wasn’t able to fully complete the fifth step by making amends to my parents for all the extra food I ate to fuel my bulimia. It just didn’t feel safe. Now that I’m in my sixties I could do it, but my parents are deceased.

    I found some comfort in apologizing “in spirit.” I’m still in the process of fully letting go of the conversation that I wish I could have had.

    Over-Apologizing

    I was in a coffee house, writing this article, when I overheard a conversation. A man asked a woman if he could reach across her to get a chess board from a shelf that was next to her. She said yes and then said, “I’m sorry.” His friend said to her, “Why are you apologizing? He’s the one inconveniencing you.”

    Like this woman, I can be very free with my apologies.

    Saying things like “I’m sorry to bother you” instead of “Do you have a minute to talk?” can be a sign of our sense of self-worth or the habits we developed when we weren’t confident.

    Findings show that women report offering more apologies than men, even though there is no evidence that women create more offenses than men.

    For women, over-apologizing can be just a matter of learned language. But when we hear ourselves apologize for taking up space when someone else bumps into us, or apologize for being late rather than thanking people for waiting for us, or apologize just for saying no when someone crosses our boundaries, this can be a sign of self-worth challenges.

    If we listen to ourselves apologize repeatedly, we literally talk ourselves into low self-worth.

    What a Sincere Apology Feels Like

    I can offer a sincere apology when I know the mistakes I make are just a part of being human. I truly don’t want to hurt others. I don’t want them to be suffering from my words or actions.

    I can offer a sincere apology when I forgive myself for not being perfect. I seek to learn from my mistakes and apply insights to my future responses and actions. I refrain from using my mistakes to bring up all my past mistakes and emotionally beat myself up.

    Psychotherapist Sara Kubric says that a genuine apology is more than a statement. It has to be sincere, vulnerable, and intentional. She offers an apology recipe that could look something like:

    1. Taking responsibility for making a mistake
    2. Acknowledging that we have hurt someone
    3. Validating their feelings
    4. Expressing remorse
    5. Being explicit about our desire to make amends

    Apology as a Test of Confidence

    When I sincerely apologize, I know that I am confident. No one is beyond making mistakes. I know that my spiritual growth depends on my ability to be vulnerable.

    I continue to learn new ways of communicating that don’t involve over-apologizing for taking up space or being a normal human being. I know that there are pain, challenges, and injustices in the world that I can’t control, and I can be sorry, sad, and discouraged when they happen. This is the way I can live consciously and compassionately in this, my community.

  • A Powerful Practice for Self-Awareness: How to Avoid Doing Things You’ll Regret

    A Powerful Practice for Self-Awareness: How to Avoid Doing Things You’ll Regret

    Self-awareness is arguably the holy grail of inner peace, especially when you’re under pressure. But what is it? How do you achieve it?

    As a teacher of self-awareness, I’ll be the first to admit that it does not always come easy. Given our human instinct to resist whatever challenges us to grow and change, the journey to self-awareness often involves a struggle. I know mine sometimes does.

    To be more self-aware, I’ve had to cultivate a willingness to admit I don’t have it all figured out and that I might not always be right, especially when I feel really strongly that I am. I’ve had to make a point to look at my reality more objectively and admit when the way I’m doing something is just not working for me anymore.

    These admissions never come easily. But I will say that addressing my emotional reactivity has been essential to getting me to a place of greater self-awareness.

    When I was a young mother, I spent years trying to protect my kids from the impact of the dysfunction around them. Outwardly, we looked like the perfect family who had it all. My husband and I were pretty skilled at managing the family’s image, but the real story unfolding inside the four walls of our home was a marriage buckling under the weight of inauthentic emotional reactions like shame, blame, and guilt.

    We lived like this for decades. If you could call it living.

    For the longest time, I let my emotions run the show, relying on what felt like a satisfying reaction rather than reflecting on what was or wasn’t actually working.

    Firing off a sarcastic remark felt like I was being heard.

    Pushing the blame on others felt like a solution.

    Launching impulsively into action felt like the surest and fastest way to get the problem behind me!

    In the heat of the moment, a full-blown emotional reaction felt like it was protecting me. Ironically, all it actually protected me from was self-awareness and the change and personal growth that depend on it!

    Unaware that I was making the choice to act out my reactions, I couldn’t see the lack of wisdom in it. After the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the end result was nearly always the same: a truckload of pain, confusion, and an even bigger mess.

    By the time I mustered the courage to seek a divorce, my children were adults. I knew it was time for a massive change, and I thought my newfound courage would empower me to close the door on the powerful and damaging reactive emotions I had been running on for so long.

    But it wasn’t easy.

    As I gained more and more clarity, it became obvious to me: the reactivity I had acted out during my marriage was still surfacing even after my divorce. As Jon Kabat-Zinn said, “Wherever you go, there you are!” Needless to say, this was a hard fact to face.

    By separating myself from an untenable situation, I thought my shame and guilt would disappear with it. Boy, was I wrong!

    I still had a debilitating fear of uncertainty and faced enormous self-doubt about moving into the world on my own. I struggled with guilt and shame about my past life choices.

    I had been acting out some very specific patterns for decades, and over that long stretch those patterns had become habitual. So, whenever I faced a stressful situation, I fell right back into those same old patterns.

    The hard truth was that, like the deep and gnarled roots of an old tree, these emotional patterns of reactivity weren’t coming out without real effort and determination.

    A New Approach: The Practice

    Eventually, it became clear to me that if I wanted real change in my life, I needed a new approach. And that new approach became the fundamental practice of my program, the Inner Peace Blueprint, backed by a key Harvard study on the benefits of mindfulness.

    Researchers found that when practitioners of mindfulness focused awareness on their physiological state, it led to improved emotional regulation, which led to an empowered sense of self.

    So here is what I did:

    Every time I felt myself getting hijacked by shame, guilt, self-pity, insecurity, or fear, I interrupted those reactions by relaxing my physical tension and focusing on my breathing. This is the most basic technique I used—the practice of posture and breath.

    When I felt I couldn’t trust myself (or others), I would do the practice.

    When insecurity hit me as I imagined being on my own after thirty-six years of marriage, I would do the practice.

    When fear and guilt washed over me as I listened to my children talk about their own reactions to the divorce, I would do the practice.

    Remembering to do the practice took a lot of discipline, which was really not that surprising given the fact I had been reacting emotionally for my entire life, getting stuck in my head and going nowhere fast. My reactions were so familiar to me that they felt like who I was. They had become a deeply ingrained habit and were really hard to break.

    Not challenging this habit, however, was simply no longer an option. And the practice was the best way I could see to get the job done, so I stuck with it. Every time I paused to relax my body and breathe, I experienced myself calming down, even if just a little. Over time, I started to see how all the little bits of calm were adding up to a lot more calm.

    What I Learned About Self-Awareness

    With greater calm, greater self-awareness (which I define as “being able to see what I’m really up to”) came pretty naturally.

    I paid close attention to what I said when I was under pressure and asked myself: “Was it constructive or not?”

    Whenever I did something to get the pressure behind me and “make it stop!” I stopped to evaluate if what I did actually helped. Or did it just dig the hole I was in that much deeper?

    The practice afforded me the self-awareness to stop and consider my emotional state before I opened my mouth. It also gave me the self-awareness to make sure I waited until I was calm and clear about what to do (or not do) before proceeding.

    Today, the practice is still my primary self-awareness tool because it always brings me back to the now-moment. When I can focus my attention on my physical tension and release it through breath, I become more aware of my emotional state and can better regulate what I do and say as a result. This, to me, is the definition of self-empowerment.

    Even when I lose sight of how my reaction is impacting and distorting my perception, behavior, and choices, I can be pretty sure that it is and that staying focused on calming down before I respond is always my best bet.

    This new way of responding to my reactions with the practice helped me break the habit of acting out my reactivity and making things worse as a result. And this is what keeps me on a trajectory toward sustainable, lasting transformation.

  • Mindful Forgiveness: 4 Steps to Unlock the Healing Power of Your Mind

    Mindful Forgiveness: 4 Steps to Unlock the Healing Power of Your Mind

    “The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.” ~Steve Maraboli

    The key to healing is learning to let go of negative thoughts and feelings. Mindfulness will allow you to be aware of your thoughts and feelings; forgiveness will help in letting them go.

    Simple as it is in theory, putting it into practice may be harder.

    Mindfulness, being aware of your thoughts and feelings in the present moment, is not that difficult. But the trick is to do it amidst the chaos of our modern way of living.

    Forgiveness is even harder. Our mind sees the events of the past as lessons that are beneficial for our survival and wants to hold on to painful and irritating memories.

    But in the modern world, we rarely need this primal safety mechanism, and the grudges we hold hurt us more than they do good.

    What’s worse, the things we have done, or others have done to us, often make us angry. Anger can be a severely damaging mental condition; not only damaging to our minds but also to our bodies.

    However, taking the time to consciously combine mindfulness with forgiveness will open the way to profound emotional and physical healing, and will eventually lead to a joyful and healthy life.

    Being mindful of your thoughts and feelings will allow you to confront them instead of repressing them. Once confronted, the events that cause those thoughts and feelings can be examined and forgiven.

    I learned this the hard way, but now I want to share what I know so that you can skip the painful part.

    Pain is Often a Prompt to Grow

    Just a few years ago, I thought I had life figured out. I had done everything ‘right,’ succeeded in achieving my goals, and therefore, I expected to be happy.

    After years of rigorous studying, I landed a job at a corporate bank. It was everything I had ever dreamed of. I could finally afford a fancy car. I was surrounded by amazing people. I went to parties, traveled, and had fun. Life was (supposed to be) pretty sweet.

    As fun as it was, it was not healthy in any way. My health started to deteriorate quickly. I gained over thirty pounds, started to have pains in my back and legs, and was always tired.

    What’s worse is that no matter what I did, I could not be happy. I was constantly irritated or anxious and had no idea what was causing these feelings.

    Then one day a realization hit me: I was completely miserable.

    Why was I not feeling any joy in life? I could not understand what the matter was. There was no reason for me to feel how I did. I was doing everything that I had learned was supposed to bring me happiness, yet I still wasn’t happy.

    So there I was: a young man in my mid-thirties, gaining weight, feeling miserable, and losing my mental and physical health in the process.

    I had no idea how to deal with any of this. How was I supposed to deal with my anxious and angry mind when I had never learned to deal with my emotions, let alone express them in a healthy way? The only solution for me was to not confront my feelings at all.

    Before long, I developed a heart arrhythmia, which felt really uncomfortable, especially when trying to sleep. My pulse rate went up to 120 bpm and did not come down no matter how I tried to relax. Sometimes it felt like my heart would stop beating for brief periods of time.

    So I went to a hospital, but the doctor who examined me told me that he couldn’t determine the cause. Physically I was fine, and my EKG was perfect. Like taken from the pages of an anatomy textbook.

    This was, of course, very puzzling. How could my heart seem to be healthy when I was clearly suffering from arrhythmias?

    Lying there in the hospital bed, I had time to think deeply about life. And after some pondering, the answer became obvious.

    Illness Is Created First in the Mind

    My condition was psychosomatic. I understood that my inability to deal with my emotions was piling up negative thoughts and beliefs in my mind, which caused my body to react in a negative way. I had refused to be mindful of my thoughts and feelings, thus being unable to let go of them.

    Only when I was forced to stop and listen to how I truly felt could I find this answer. It was a hard and mandatory lesson in mindfulness, one that still sticks with me today.

    So I decided to confront my negative thoughts and emotions. The process was simple: Stop and take a deep breath. Be still and focus on breathing in and out slowly. Then tune in to how I feel. What are these feelings? Why am I feeling them? What are they trying to tell me?

    I noticed that under the surface, my most dominant feeling was anger.

    I was angry with myself. Why was I not able to deal with my emotions? Why hadn’t I listened to how I felt and tried to repress my emotions instead? Why did I let the situation get so bad?

    I was angry with my parents and teachers. Why didn’t they show me how to express emotions in a healthy way? All I was ever told was “crying is weakness,” and “being angry is not okay; go to your room until you calm down.” Sometimes it was not even okay to show love or affection. So I learned to repress my emotions.

    I was also angry with society. I felt that the only thing I had ever heard about how to be happy was wrong. I did not find happiness by achieving goals or getting material wealth, as is so often taught by society (and everyone else around us for that matter). I had the education, the career, the money, the car, and so on. Yet I was miserable.

    But I knew that it was not necessary to be angry with myself or others. I was only doing what I had learned was right. Likewise, what others had taught me about life, feelings, and happiness was what they had learned themselves. They did not know any better, and their intentions were good.

    So I decided to start forgiving. I used mindfulness meditation to connect to my thoughts and feelings.

    And when I was deeply immersed in my mindfulness meditation and focused on a feeling, often a memory popped into my mind. It was something that someone had said or done that had made me feel angry or afraid.

    I then “healed the memory” through an exercise where I forgave the people involved.

    And wouldn’t you know it, when I started to forgive the things that I or others had done in the past, I healed almost instantly.

    I got rid of all the pain in my mind and body, and there was no sign of arrhythmia anymore. I almost couldn’t believe it. With this simple combination of mindfully identifying thoughts and feelings, then forgiving the people that caused them, I healed my body in two days.

    Two days. That’s all it took to heal over ten years of neglect.

    I also found my mental well-being improving by leaps and bounds. I felt peaceful and happy. I started to see the joy in everyday moments, which I hadn’t for years. I realized that the opportunity to feel joyful was always there, but I’d been so occupied with the past and the future that I was unable to see it.

    The 4 Levels of Forgiveness

    This is what I did, and you can try this too.

    1. Forgive yourself for what you did to yourself.
    2. Forgive yourself for what you did to someone else.
    3. Forgive others for what they did to you.
    4. Forgive others for everything they have done.

    Start with level one and work your way through the levels. With this exercise, you will start to feel better in a matter of days.

    For levels one and two, forgiving yourself, try this simple exercise:

    Think about something you regret. Stand in front of a mirror, look yourself in the eyes, and say, “I forgive you. You did the best you could at the moment. You didn’t know any better.” Repeat this in your mind, or even better, say it out loud. Do it at least five times. After you are done, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Relax.

    This might be the hardest one of the exercises. For some reason, we tend to hold a grudge against our past selves. But it doesn’t do any good to be unforgiving. For a long time, I was guilty of thinking, “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did!” But as I started to do this exercise just once a day, I quickly started to feel like a weight was being lifted off my shoulders.

    For levels three and four, forgiving others, try this quick meditation:

    Close your eyes and relax. Breathe in and out slowly three times. Think about a memory that’s bothering you. Imagine the situation as vividly as possible and pay close attention to the person that’s the cause of your negative feeling.

    Then, imagine the scene you are in starts to fill with bright, warm light. Like the midday sun on a beautiful summer day. Imagine yourself approaching the person that’s causing the suffering and saying to them, “I forgive you. You did the best you could at the moment. You didn’t know any better.” Then imagine giving them a warm, loving, forgiving hug.

    If you feel like you need help with this, you can imagine anyone you want, even multiple people, there with you to give their support. If you so choose, you may even bring to the scene a higher power to help you.

    Done! Open your eyes and take a deep breath. Relax. You may already feel a little lighter, but don’t worry if this takes several tries. It may not be instantaneous or easy, but it’s definitely worth it.

    Everyone Is Doing Their Best (Including You)

    Forgive yourself for not knowing any better at the time. Forgive others for acting the only way they knew how. You acted the way you had learned, and so did everyone else. Please don’t blame yourself and try to forgive others for their behavior. By holding on to fear, anger, or hate, you will ultimately hurt yourself.

    Forgiveness will give you peace of mind. It will allow you to live mindfully and enjoy the moment, which you now understand as a perfect opportunity to express who you are. You will be able to let go of the past and stop worrying about the future, and your life will start to fill with peace and joy.

  • A Simple Plan to Overcome Self-Doubt and Do What You Want to Do

    A Simple Plan to Overcome Self-Doubt and Do What You Want to Do

    “Don’t let others tell you what you can’t do. Don’t let the limitations of others limit your vision. If you can remove your self-doubt and believe in yourself, you can achieve what you never thought possible.” ~Roy T. Bennett

    Ahh yes, self-doubt. Something that affects every single one of us at different times and at different magnitudes—even those that seem supremely confident.

    Why do so many of us experience self-doubt, and how can we overcome it?

    On a personal note, I can tell you my self-doubt comes any time I am trying something new. I’ve learned over the years where this stems from, and it may be similar for you. It comes from my parents.

    Although my parents were always encouraging, they’d also say things like, “Are you sure this is the right move?”, “Are you sure you want to do this?”, and “Be careful.” In fact, every time I left the house, that’s what my dad would say: “Be careful.” “Drive safe.” Not, “Have fun,” “Have a fantastic time,” or something along these lines.

    In my twenties I realized that it had been ingrained in me to always be cautious, which then led to me doubting myself in certain scenarios, though I’ve never been someone who shies away from challenges or holds myself back. Over the years, I learned to identify what contributes to my self-doubt and then push through it.

    Now, this isn’t the case for everyone. Other things that contribute to self-doubt are comparing ourselves to others; feeling a lack of means, intelligence, or other things we think we need to succeed; past experiences; possibly being criticized; and the natural fear that we feel when attempting something new.

    When we doubt our ability, we are allowing fear to settle in and hold us back from forging forward and taking a leap. Without trying, we are feeding the self-doubt, which means it will likely compound the feeling the next time we are faced with or offered a similar opportunity.

    So how can we detach from self-doubt and make sure we are not missing out on what could be an amazing opportunity or journey for ourselves?

    First, we need CLARITY.

    We need to first get clear on where this self-doubt is coming from.

    What is striking this feeling within you that makes you think you shouldn’t try it or you can’t make something happen? Is it the fear of the unknown, or is it the feeling of not having the ability, or something else you think you need to succeed? Are you comparing yourself to someone else in the process? Or do you think you couldn’t handle it if you failed?

    Second, we need to recognize the FACTS.

    What do you know to be true? For example, what do you know about yourself that can help prove that you can attempt or accomplish this? Have you had any similar experiences that prove you can do this?

    If you’re comparing yourself to someone else, what are the facts in this? Meaning, are you comparing yourself to someone who has already succeeded? Or are you comparing yourself to someone who is at the same stage you are? Nobody gets from A to B without experience, practice, and even failure. So, try not to compare yourself to others, as you may not know the complete story to their success.

    There was a time when I was contemplating which direction to take my business degree. I’d majored in marketing because it’s a creative field that allows for variety, which aligns with my values. But as I was working in my first couple of “corporate” jobs, I was enticed by sales.

    My father wanted to steer me away from sales. He said that it’s a hard career, it’s mostly male-driven, and it’s extremely stressful and unpredictable. But what I saw was the fun interaction sales teams had with their clients and prospects. How they were able to basically chat on the phone 80% of the time and attend fun events.

    It was a fact that sales is stressful, unpredictable, and male-dominated, but I knew myself. I knew I was different than my father. I knew I was up for a challenge and taking risks, whereas he was risk adverse. I knew if it didn’t work out, I always had marketing to step into or maybe other options, whereas my father was opposed to change.

    I had to recognize that he was from a different generation. That although what he expressed was true, there were other factors to consider. If I compared myself to the majority of people occupying these roles I likely wouldn’t have attempted it and enjoyed a fifteen-year-plus career in sales and business development.

    Finally, GO FOR IT!

    The best way to conquer self-doubt is to put yourself out there, take action, and see what happens. No success comes without failure. If it works out, you’ll be glad you did it, and if it fails you’ll learn and can progress.

    Without acting on it you will never know. At least if you push through the doubt and try you will understand yourself and your ability a lot more.

    There was a time when I was considering making a big move that I had dreamt of for so long. I loved my friends and family, but I didn’t love where I was living or the lifestyle I was caught up in. When the timing was right I decided to take the leap and move to the other side of the county alone, without a job.

    I heard things like: “Do you really want to go?” “It’s so expensive out there. How will you afford it?” And “It rains so much there, and people get depressed.”.

    If I had listened to others’ fear and angst about the move I would’ve likely lived in a miserable cycle. Instead, seventeen years later, I still feel this was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself, for my life, for my soul.

    The move brought me an even greater awareness of how resilient we are when faced with change.

    And if it hadn’t worked out, I would have had an adventure, and who knows where it may have taken me? Maybe it would have led me to something else I didn’t even know I wanted until I opened myself up to new possibilities. New possibilities I would never have known about had I limited myself based on other people’s fears.

    —

    Don’t let others’ doubt or success deter you from going after what you want or trying something new. Recognize that you can either let your doubt leave you with regret or feel the satisfaction of taking action. Who knows, your action might actually inspire others to ditch their doubt and take a leap into a life they’ll love.

  • It’s Easy to Look Back and Question Decisions You’ve Made in the Past

    It’s Easy to Look Back and Question Decisions You’ve Made in the Past

  • 5 Questions I Ask Myself Nightly Since My Father’s Sudden Death

    5 Questions I Ask Myself Nightly Since My Father’s Sudden Death

    “Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Let life be like music. And death a note unsaid.” ~Langston Hughes

    Nine years ago, I was sitting mindlessly in my office cubicle in Omaha, Nebraska, when the receptionist called to inform me that my dad was in the lobby.

    I walked out to greet him: He was happy, smiling, and donning one of his favorite double-breasted suits. He was there because he needed my signature on some tax preparation forms before he handed them over to his accountant. My dad always took care of things like that.

    It was a Friday in February, late morning. We briefly discussed getting lunch but ultimately decided not to in the interest of time. We would see each other over the weekend, anyway. After all, we were planning a trip.

    A week prior, my dad told me he wanted to take me to Vegas for my thirtieth birthday. I’d never been to Vegas. There were things to discuss, hotel rooms to book, concert tickets to buy.

    I signed the tax forms, thanked my dad, and walked back to my cubicle. I don’t remember anything else about this day. It was, in fact, just like any other day. It was ordinary. Humdrum, you might say.

    But the next day…

    The next day is forever seared into the pathways of my hippocampus, every detail a tattoo on my mind’s eye.

    Because the next day…

    That’s the day my dad died.

    I remember the morning phone call I got from my sister.

    9:38 a.m.

    I remember running to my car, half a block up Howard Street, and then another block down 12th. I remember the whipping wind and the stinging cold. I remember the saplings lining the streets of downtown, their branches brittle and bare, scratching the ether like an old lady’s fingers.

    I remember the seventeen-minute drive to the hospital.

    I remember the hospital, the stairs, the front desk, the waiting room, the faces, the hugs, the tears, the complete and utter shock.

    I remember that my mom wasn’t there.

    Three times we called. Where is she? Why isn’t she answering? Who’s going to tell her?

    It seems like our lives are defined by days, even moments, like these—the most joyous or the most unbearably tragic.

    I miss my dad.

    I miss his ridiculously big heart, which we were told was the thing that killed him.

    I miss the lingering scent of his cologne, a sort of woodsy, leathery blend that comes in a classic green bottle. I miss his laugh, which could range from a barely discernible chuckle to a jolly, high-pitched guffaw. I miss seeing him in my clothes—the shirts and shoes and jeans that I wanted to throw away because they were clearly going out of style.

    I miss the things I never thought I’d miss, the quirks and ticks and peccadillos that drove me crazy—like the way he’d crunch his ice cubes or noisily suck on a piece of hard candy in an otherwise quiet movie theater.

    I wonder if I chose to write this today instead of tomorrow because writing it tomorrow could prove too difficult. Or if I chose to write this after nine years instead of ten years because ten years is one of those nice, round numbers we use for milestone birthdays and anniversaries and other such occasions we’re supposed to celebrate. Or maybe because ten years is a whole decade and a whole goddamn decade without my dad just seems too strange to fathom.

    When I think of the last time I spoke with my dad, I can’t help but also think of that Benjamin Franklin quote—the one about how nothing is certain except death and taxes.

    But only one of those things comes with any sort of predictability.

    Studies have shown that our brains are wired to prevent us from thinking about our own mortality. Our brains shield us from the existential thought of death and view it as something that happens to others but not ourselves.

    So, most of us, perhaps because of our biological wiring, rarely even think about the unfortunate truth that we’re going to die, and we have no idea how or when.

    On the other hand, some of our greatest ancient philosophers actually practiced reflecting on the impermanence of life—otherwise known as Memento Mori, which literally translates to Remember you must die.

    “You could leave life right now,” wrote Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations. “Let that determine what you do and say and think.”

    Personally, I don’t think about my own demise a whole hell of a lot.

    But there’s a reason I decided to pack up my things and move to a new city six years ago.

    There’s a reason I decided to make a career pivot five years ago.

    There’s a reason I decided to quit my day job at almost forty years old and start working for myself two years ago.

    Because nine years ago, death did a number on me. I had one of those unbearably tragic days that seems to define our lives.

    And now, before I go to bed each night, I ask myself:

    Was I a decent person today?

    Did I challenge myself today?

    Did I have any fun today?

    What am I grateful for today?

    If I were on my deathbed, would I have regrets?

    Asking myself these things helps me live a more fulfilling life—the kind of life that I want to live. And I’m proud of what I’m doing here, right now. I think—at least I hope—my dad would be too.

    I still haven’t been to Vegas, though.

  • Healing from Shame: How to Stop Feeling Like You’re Fundamentally Wrong

    Healing from Shame: How to Stop Feeling Like You’re Fundamentally Wrong

    “If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive.” ~Brené Brown

    There is a special type of shame that activates within me when I am around some family members. It’s the kind of shame where I am back in my childhood body, feeling utterly wicked for being such a disaster of a human. A terrible child that is worthless, stupid, and perhaps, if I am honest, more than a touch disgusting.

    The feeling of shame in my body feels a bit like I am drowning and being pulverized from the inside at the same time. I have a deep, awful nausea too, like a literal sickness about who I am.

    In an effort to save myself from drowning in shame, I might try to ingratiate myself to the person I am talking to. Make myself sound more palatable, more decent, less dreadful. Or maybe become argumentative to try to kill the feeling in my body by drowning out the voice that seems to be activating the sensation.

    These experiences became like shame vortexes in my life. The place where my true spirit, whatever self-love or esteem I had, went to get pulverized in a pit of torment. A reminder of what a truly dreadful and disgusting person I really was.

    Families are such incredible quagmires of emotional activation. Generations of repressed emotions—of blame, shame, guilt, resentment, rage, frustration, etc.—constantly simmering, occasionally boiling up, being thrown at each other, activating more emotion.

    And yet family are often the people we yearn to receive acceptance and unconditional love from the most. But they’re often the people who find it the hardest to give it to each other.

    My journey with shame has been lengthy because, for a long time, I didn’t know how to work with it. For many years I felt like I was bumping into shame in every corner of my life. And there were many corners.

    In my work, I struggled to be seen, to be what I wanted, to do what I wanted.

    In my relationships, I struggled to relax because I was ashamed about being a pudgy woman who wasn’t wild, free, and fascinating.

    In my friendships, I was often the helpful, problem-solving friend—because to be the messy, chaotic human that I was would jeopardize who I thought my friends wanted me to be.

    In my parenting, it was overwhelming. I wasn’t a calm, healthy-eating, active, patient goddess. I was impatient and distracted, and I dreaded having to play with my kids.

    I was terrified of being rejected, resentful of feeling used by people, and scared of going nowhere in my life because perfectionism gripped me so tightly that I struggled to get started on anything.

    I see now that underpinning all of this was shame. Shame that I was getting life wrong on a number of levels, and really, I just wasn’t trying hard enough. But when I tried harder, it never worked. I would lose energy, fall apart, and then I’d want to hide alone in a room, where no one could see me.

    I didn’t even realize that it was shame. I thought I was just self-conscious, a bit shy, needing to get my act together. I was a perfectionist. I had high standards. I wanted to get things right.

    But now that I know more about emotions, I can see I was drenched in shame. Utterly drenched around this basic concept that I was doing it all wrong, and it was all my fault.

    Shame is in that desire to be invisible, to disappear, to remain unseen.

    Shame is in that desire to hide. To not be looked at. Because being looked at means people might see who we are underneath the veneer. The mask we put on.

    Shame often breeds when it becomes unsafe to be who we are, usually as little children, or when things are happening around us that we don’t understand, that don’t feel normal. When we feel we have to hide who we are or who our families are. When our parents don’t feel comfortable being who they are, there we see shame.

    The thing about shame is that we don’t realize how much of it there is around us. As Brené Brown says, it thrives in secrecy and judgment. Most people aren’t walking around saying, “Hey, look at my shame! Come see the deep, dark crevices of my soul that feel so wrong and awful.”

    Many people aren’t aware that shame is even present for them, as it hides underneath other emotions like anger, fear, or sadness.

    But even though it is hiding, even if we can’t see it, it can control our life like gravity controls us on this earth. We don’t think about gravity, but its powerful force keeps us rooted to the ground. Shame can act in a similar way, its force dictating our actions and behaviors, pulling us in directions that work for shame, but not for the authentic, free-spirited people that we yearn to be.

    Shame serves shame, and only shame. Shame doesn’t care about your desire for authenticity and for being calm, zen, peaceful, joyful, and in love with life. That sounds deeply scary and awful to shame.

    Shame wants us to stay small, to stay hidden, and to be inauthentic. That sounds way safer.

    It doesn’t want us to leap up and say, “Look at me! Look at me as an individual, doing things that are new and wonderful!”

    It doesn’t want us to be free and happy and full of love and light.

    It wants to keep us safe by reminding us how terribly awful we really are.

    Shame is at the root of so many things that plague us—a lack of intimacy in our relationships, an inability to go for what we want in life and have relaxed, authentic friendships, and a sense of stuckness in work.

    It can come out as a sense of persistently feeling rejected, drowning in deep wells of inadequacy, lashing out in anger as a way to hide the shame response, or hiding behind crippling shyness or social anxiety.

    Shame is your worst nightmare talking to you all the time about the ever-present list of limitations in your life.

    Shame is your worst critic analyzing your performance in all things.

    The reason shame feels so horrendous is that it’s not like guilt, which induces feelings about what we’ve done wrong. Shame is so much more pervasive than that. Shame is a feeling that we ourselves are wrong.

    To experience shame is a tremendously reducing experience

    How do we get rid of shame? Well, it’s not something that is quick to shift. It’s a process, and it takes time and emotional safety.

    Emotional safety is an awareness in our bodies, brains, and nervous systems that it is safe to have an emotion. Many of us don’t have emotional safety, so we run, hide, suppress, ignore, and distract ourselves or try to propel ourselves in any way away from an emotion. Many of us learned at a young age that certain emotions are not safe, and shame is usually one of them.

    But to work with shame, to reduce its presence in our bodies and our lives, we need to bring it to the light. We need to expose it to love, acceptance, and empathy. Bit by bit, little by little.

    One effective way to do that is to share little bits of our shame with our most trusted and loved people. Once the shame comes out, it’s out! We are free of it.

    We talk about our shame only with people we feel utterly safe with. We don’t talk to people we don’t feel safe with. Not the stranger on the bus, the friend who gossips to everyone, or your blind date.

    You only give people access to your shame if they have shown you that they are completely responsible with your trust; if you can tell them things and they won’t blame or judge you (which is a re-shaming experience). They come with empathy, acceptance, and love.

    They are honored that you would share your deepest secrets with them. They are prepared for the responsibility that that entails.

    And if we don’t have a person like that in our life? Sometimes when we have so much shame it can be hard to form these types of intimate, vulnerable, and trusting relationships. Shame wants to keep us apart, and separate. That’s how it keeps us alive and safe, by never showing anyone who we really are. Because probably once, long ago, we learned that being ourselves wasn’t safe. And so we chose a safer path—to hide.

    So while we work on shame, we can start this journey with ourselves. Talk to ourselves about what we find when we think about our shame. Have tender, generous, and loving conversations with ourselves. Write or record remembrances.

    And we do this when we know we can be empathic with ourselves.

    Because we all know those conversations when we are down in the depths of shame and we talk to ourselves and make it so much worse—we add more shame, more judgment, more guilt.

    “Why did I do that? Why did I sleep with that guy / not show up for work / send that client brief in late? I know why—because I am such a loser. I always do stupid stuff like this. Always.”

    That’s not an empathetic conversation.

    Shame breeds in conversations like that.

    Shame needs this:

    “Why did I do that! I can’t believe it! Oh wow, now that I think about it, I am feeling ashamed that I slept with that guy / didn’t show up for work / was late with that client brief. And this shame really hurts. So you know what, shame? I am going to stay with you, give you some love, some support, some tenderness, because wow, shame. That’s so painful.”

    We can’t de-shame ourselves by constantly re-shaming ourselves.

    We can’t remove shame by improving either. By doing more things, becoming better incarnations of the humans we are. We can only remove shame with empathy, love, acceptance, and connection.

    That is a pill we have to be willing to swallow. That we are worthy of empathy, love, connection, and acceptance.

    We have to start ignoring what the shame is telling us.

    Shame’s advice is that we should just spend the rest of our lives trying to become better humans. But let’s be honest, we’ve followed that advice our whole lives, and look where it’s gotten us—deeper in the shame well.

    So how about instead of castigating ourselves on a constant basis, we try to interrupt our shame spirals with a bit of love and empathy instead?

    How about we decide that maybe it’s just a feeling, and not an indication of a deep flaw in who we are as humans? How about we try out not whipping ourselves for every small transgression.

    Taking a step toward loving ourselves means working with the vicious, judgmental, potent force of shame.

    But it’s work that can be done. It’s completely possible, and I know because I have drained a ton of shame from my body these past few years.

    We need to not abandon ourselves when we are in shame. We need to take a little tiny bit at a time, just a touch, and bring it out into the light. Share with someone, with ourselves, become familiar with it, look at it, feel it, touch it—and hear it.

    We need to bring love and support to our shame. Bring acceptance and understanding.

    That is what our shame is yearning for, and when we shift our way of seeing it, we can start to shift the power it has over our lives.

  • Feeling Weighed Down by Regret? What Helps Me Let Go

    Feeling Weighed Down by Regret? What Helps Me Let Go

    “Be kind to past versions of yourself that didn’t know the things you know now.” ~Unknown

    When I taught yoga classes in jails in Colorado and New Jersey, I would end class with the Metta Meditation:

    May we all feel forgiveness.

    May we all feel happiness.

    May we all feel loved.

    May all our sufferings be healed.

    May we feel at peace.

    The women, all clothed in light gray sweatpants, would be in a relaxed yoga posture, usually lying on their yoga mat with their legs up the wall. The fluorescent lights would be full blast, as they always are in a jail or prison. Some women would feel comfortable closing their eyes. Some wouldn’t.

    With quiet meditative music playing, I led the meditation with the gentlest voice that I could, taking into consideration that the noise outside the room would be loud. Often, we could hear the incessant dribbling of basketballs in the men’s gym. Someone in the complex might be yelling, and we all would have to work past it.

    As I spoke that first line, “May I feel forgiveness,” their tears would start, steady streams rolling down their faces. When we would talk afterward, they said that the most challenging part of the practice was forgiving themselves.

    If these inmates had been allowed to dress as they wanted, they would have seemed like any other group of yoga students.

    I couldn’t tell who had murdered someone—because their life felt so desperate; or who had too many DWIs—because their addictions (the ones that they used to cover up abuse and trauma) were out of control; or who got a restraining order against an abuser, and then violated it herself—because she was sure he would be loving this time.

    Now that they were incarcerated, their parents and children were also suffering the consequences.

    Choices That Become Regrets

    We can all understand that our personal choices have sometimes created challenges for others. Some of us were just lucky that we weren’t incarcerated for our decisions.

    We have all made decisions that we wish we could reverse. We have said things that we want to take back. We neglected something important, sacred, and cherished, and there were consequences. We might have been too naive or too absorbed in principle or perfection, and there were emotional casualties.

    These regrets lurk in the backs of our minds. They are like dark shadows stalking our heart space, with ropes binding our self-acceptance, keeping us from flying high. We might still be feeling the repercussions of choices made twenty, thirty, forty years ago. And even today, the shame and guilt impact our decision-making.

    The mistakes I made that affected my children are the most challenging to process. The abuse in my second marriage was harmful to my children, my community, and me. The fallout took years to unwind.

    When life seemed back to normal, I had time to see my part in the trauma—mainly the red flags that I ignored when I was dating him. Ignoring what went on in his first marriage and the comments that he said, that made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn’t respond to, are my hindsight, my ball and chain, dragging on my self-worth. Time was healing, but I could also be triggered by even little mistakes. Even if I said something wrong in a conversation, like we all do, I could be pulled down the slippery slope to a pile of unresolved remorse.

    I have come to enough resolve not to think about those stories most of the time. I’m not sure that I will ever find total peace with some of them. I know that they still have the power to sabotage my peace of mind.

    I know that it is worth the effort to come to some resolution of our regrets, even if we have to keep chipping away at them over time.

    Processing Regrets Consciously

    One way that I have processed regret is to write out the story. Dump it all out of my head—including the hard stuff. If possible, I write out what I would do or say differently the next time. I find that there is healing in knowing that I have learned from my past mistakes.

    Writing the story out can also give me a clear picture of what amends I need to make.

    Is there someone to say I’m sorry to? Do I need to muster the courage to have a heartfelt dialogue with the other player in the story? Or if I have already said I’m sorry, do I need to forgive myself? Do I need to consciously let the story go now? Do I need to remind myself that it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on the story?

    I also take my regrets to my meditation practice.

    One of my most potent times of processing regret happened when I was sitting on the garden roof of our stone home, early one morning in the spring. I was feeling heavy. The weight of the abuse in my second marriage, and the resulting divorce, was pulling me down once again.

    Listening to the birds singing to each other, I felt a sudden inspiration to recite the Metta Meditation—the one that had brought tears to the inmates’ eyes in those faraway jails.

    “May we all feel forgiveness,” I began. This time, the wonderment of my surroundings combined with the ancient familiar words to give me a feeling of release and freedom I hadn’t felt before. The sound of birdsong let me know that I could let go of another piece of my remorse over what I could have done differently. My tears welled up. My heart relaxed.

    Accepting that I might not see complete harmony with my regrets is, itself, part of letting them go. I have heard this from other clients.

    A common challenge for women in the second half of life is not feeling close to their children. Marcia, the mother of five adult children, regrets how hard she was on her oldest daughter. Her attempts to repair the relationship haven’t had the results she wanted. Accepting that this estrangement might or might not be temporary is challenging. She has assured her daughter that she wishes to be closer, and that is the peace that she can find each day.

    We also might need to find a resolution with someone who has already passed. I came to peace with my mother, twelve years after she died, using the Metta Meditation. That completely surprised me and freed up my heart more than I ever thought possible.

    Becoming Whole

    Every regret, memory of shame, and overwhelming guilt are part of who we are. When we are driven by them, we might make choices that aren’t in our best interest. We might believe that we don’t merit good things or that we deserve to be relentlessly punished. If we fuel our regrets by reiterating them, we reinforce our shame and increase the emotional charge. Our spirit will continue to be fragmented, tethered to the past, and we will feel incomplete.

    If we can process our regrets with tenderness and compassion, we can use these hard memories as a part of our wisdom bank.

    Wholehearted living is accepting ourselves with all the mistakes that we have made. Wholehearted living is compassion for all the times in our life when we made mistakes. It is understanding that we are not alone—every single adult has regrets. When we live wholeheartedly, we can have healthier relationships and make wiser decisions in all our endeavors.

  • 6 Emotions That Can Cloud Our Judgment and How to Make Better Decisions

    6 Emotions That Can Cloud Our Judgment and How to Make Better Decisions

    “Don’t let your emotions outweigh your intelligence.” ~Unknown

    I jump to ridiculous conclusions when I’m emotional, and I’m like anyone else in that sometimes they get the best of me. And it’s pretty damn embarrassing in those moments, especially if I’ve been stupid enough to make any kind of decision.

    Having the awareness to recognize your judgment is clouded by emotion is next to impossible at times. Many of us don’t know how to read the signals. Hence why we get swept away by our caveman instincts and find ourselves saying, “All I see is red when I’m angry.”

    This is a serious problem as an adult.

    Our kids mirror what they watch at home, school, and in society. They parrot what they see and assume that’s the appropriate response. Dad burned down a Wendy’s because they were out of mayonnaise, so of course, it makes sense to punch Samantha in the face because she drew a happy face on your binder at school.

    You, me, and every other human walking this earth are flawed creatures. I don’t mean this in a demeaning you should be ashamed, get your sh*t together, holier than thou, I know better lecture.

    I’m speaking from the stance of being a master at putting myself in stupid situations where it would take friggin’ Houdini-level skills to escape the mess I’ve created.

    And why do I do this? Because my emotions run wild when I’m not looking after myself.

    Humans make horrible decisions when solely guided by emotions (that vanish as quickly as they come). It’s like having horse blinders on. Our focus only becomes what is directly in front of us and is filtered through the emotion we happen to be feeling. We’re blind to all the other inputs that could help us better manage the situation.

    It’s the same reason why 99% of people lose money investing in individual stocks. They buy and sell based on their emotions rather than on the company’s value (the only thing that matters).

    As investment author William Green said, “Most people make their investment decisions (and life decisions) on the basis of an unreliable hodgepodge of half-baked logic, biases, hunches, emotion, and vague fantasies or fears about the future.”

    Ken Shubin Stein is a guy who knows a thing or two about high-pressure decision-making. He spent two decades running a hedge fund in New York. He’s also a professor at Columbia University Graduate School of Business, where he has taught Advanced Investment Research since 2009. Oh, and he also decided to become a neurologist just for kicks because he loves geeking out on how the mind works.

    You’re probably wondering, how could a guy who runs a hedge fund help you live a better life?

    Because the success of his career is judged on one basic idea—don’t make stupid decisions. And I don’t know about you, but wouldn’t life be a lot easier if you felt confident about your decision-making (regardless of how chaotic your life feels)?

    Six specific emotions guarantee you’re going to make a crappy decision.

    Can you guess what they are?

    Honestly, try and see how many you can think of before you read on. Think about the last time you made a poor decision. What emotions were flowing through you?

    I’ll give you a clue. Shubin Stein uses the acronym HALT-PS as a reminder to pause when those emotions might be impairing his judgment. He takes it one step further and postpones important decisions until he’s in a state where these emotions don’t flood his brain.

    Here are the nasty culprits of crappy decision-making.

    Hunger.

    Anger.

    Loneliness.

    Tiredness.

    Pain.

    Stress.

    Think of HALT-PS like a gigantic red stop sign. The moment you notice any of these emotions are present, hit the brakes. You wouldn’t just rip through a stop sign going at full speed because you’re in a rush, so why would you make a rash decision that has a damn good chance of causing you to crash into oncoming traffic?

    HALT-PS creates a buffer between the emotion and the decision. This time delay can be a lifesaver since full-blown emotions are short-lived. Creating a little space means you get a chance to slow down, open your mind, and from a calm state, you can consider the risks that you might have otherwise overlooked.

    Why is HALT-PS such a damn powerful technique to have in your toolbox? Because it helps you answer the question: Why might I be wrong?

    This framework doesn’t only help with the life-changing decisions we make when we’re emotionally overwhelmed. It can also help us catch ourselves before we plant a seed of a belief without noticing the trajectory it puts us on.

    I’m a first-time dad with a five-week-old daughter. Tiredness and stress come with the role. In her second week alive, I was already telling myself that I wasn’t strong enough to be a dad. The sad part was that I believed it under the fog of exhaustion. Was I going to be nothing but a disappointment to her?

    There was a time in my life where I would have let that be my story moving forward. But now, I reflect because there are plenty of reasons why I might be wrong.

    Here I am five weeks in, and I regret selling myself short because I didn’t give myself the chance to prove myself. I’m doing the best I can at something I’ve never done before. Isn’t that the single best lesson we can ever hope to teach a kid? Do your best. Don’t regret what you’re trying your best on.

    Without the awareness of HALT-PS, I wouldn’t have recognized that my thinking was impaired under a cloud of sleep deprivation and stress.

    The more clearly we can view our thoughts, the more clearly we can decide what to engage with and what we can let go of.

    Not every argument needs to be a fight. And not every fight needs to lead to a blowup. We can deescalate situations with ease when we have an awareness of our emotions at the moment.

    I love using HALT-PS for this very reason. Ignoring our emotions is the mental equivalent of drunk driving. It’s stupid. You don’t have the cognitive ability to make a safe decision.

    In the heat of the moment, our emotional disposition and moods routinely distort what we see and how we relate to what’s going on. I’m not that angry is like saying I’ve only had a few beers. It doesn’t take much to wrap you around a pole.

    Keep it simple. Sometimes the best decision is to make no decision at all.

    Most of us are not making life-and-death decisions that need an immediate response. Give yourself space to step back from the situation so you can clearly view your emotions through the lens of HALT-PS.

    Is an emotion present? Be vulnerable.

    I’ve gotten in the habit of telling my wife the truth, and it’s a rather novel idea that works pretty damn well. When I’m charged up, I tell her I’m not in the emotional headspace you deserve for this conversation. When I have the capacity, I promise we will talk about this because I know it’s important to you.

    Be forewarned. Using HALT-PS is like wielding magic powers. It doesn’t make the emotions go away, but you will become a master at surfing the waves that so many people get crushed by.

  • How I’ve Released the Heavy Weight of My Persistent Guilt

    How I’ve Released the Heavy Weight of My Persistent Guilt

    “No amount of guilt can change the past and no amount of worry can change the future.” ~Umar

    Every emotion is felt by the body in a different way.

    Pain can be sharp and biting, with a desire to lash out. Anxiety can also be sharp and biting, but with a desire to lash within. Sadness can feel like your body turning into stone, making every step seem impossible.

    We all feel these emotions at times, but holding onto them is what causes damage. We must learn to shed them, as any “negative” emotion, if held on for too long, can release toxins that destroy our bodies over time.

    Often, emotions like anger and anxiety and even sadness are symptoms of a more destructive emotion that destroys the human spirit. Robs us of our joy. And is unquestionably the heaviest of all emotional sensations we feel.

    That emotion is guilt. An emotion I carried around for so many years that was the root cause of many other destructive emotions I felt.

    Before I went on this journey within, I was always vacillating between feeling anger and anxiety. After I started clearing my mind, I spent several months letting go of both emotions, only to determine both were manifestations of the guilt I was carrying around inside.

    Once I realized that, my focus changed to defeating guilt. My first step there: understanding what guilt is.

    Sure, I knew what guilt felt like. After all, I had carried around different forms of guilt all of my life. But I didn’t really understand what guilt was.

    So, I began to dig. I knew what caused guilt: doing something wrong. But why did doing something wrong make me feel guilty?

    To figure that out, I started analyzing the feelings around the guilt, which is really a persistent feeling of “I should’ve …” or “I shouldn’t have…”

    For example, I should’ve been nicer to the customer service rep. I shouldn’t have made fun of that person behind their back. I should’ve remembered that person’s birthday.

    Additionally, I realized guilt stayed with me far longer than other emotions. Anger, for instance, came and went. But guilt persisted.

    That’s when it clicked, and I understood what guilt really is: denial. Persistent denial. And that meant the antidote to guilt was obvious: acceptance.

    I realized that to solve guilt, I had to accept what had happened. It’s that simple.

    I’ll give an example to illustrate my point.

    A couple of years ago, an older man I’m friends with got into a motorcycle accident and suffered a severe neck injury. After a week in the hospital and then several weeks recovering at home, he was able to walk again, and he had me and several other people over to his home for dinner to celebrate.

    Our friend was wearing a neck brace and was taking painkillers, which made him a bit woozy. After dinner, we were sitting around his coffee table, and he stood up and walked over to get a bowl of chips. My feet were in his path, I was talking with someone else, and he tripped over them.

    Thankfully, a person was alert and caught him before he fell. Otherwise, he would’ve seriously injured himself. Maybe even died.

    Thank God he was okay. But I felt incredible guilt about tripping him, which I carried for several years. In my mind, all I wanted was to redo that moment and move my feet out of his path. I kept replaying in my head what I should’ve done.

    To move past this, I had to accept what had happened, without self-judgment: I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just wasn’t paying attention. So I tripped him. And nearly killed him.

    That’s what happened; nothing I can do about it.

    It’s therapeutic, in this moment, to write that out. It’s full acceptance of what actually happened. And it also makes the lesson of the situation obvious—I need to be more aware of my surroundings.

    Now, the truth is, I’ve done far worse things than accidentally trip a man. But still, the process is the same.

    That’s one form of guilt, which is usually brought on by a horrible outcome. There’s also another form of guilt I needed to shed, which was far more common and persistent.

    This guilt revolved around my relationships with other people.

    What do I mean by this?

    Here’s one example. Previously, when I hung out with people socially, I almost always had a headache afterward.

    This headache, I later realized, was caused by guilt.

    See, when I would hang out with people socially, I’d really want them to have a good time. I’d put pressure on myself to be “on” and to keep them entertained the whole night.

    After the night would end, I’d beat myself up for all the perceived mistakes I made. Wish I would’ve said this or said that, done this or done that. I’d literally feel guilty about not being entertaining enough.

    To remove this guilt, I needed to come clean with myself and accept the truth. Yes, I wasn’t entertaining every minute of the night. Maybe the people did have a bad time. So what?

    Perhaps they’d never hang out with me again, sure. But, honestly, the bigger issue was why was I putting so much pressure on myself in the first place. I’m not responsible for them having a good time; I’m only responsible for myself having a good time. And this pressure was robbing me of that.

    That realization helped me shed my guilt in social situations.

    Beyond feelings of guilt from hanging out with people generally, there were specific people in my life I felt guilty around.

    Often, I saw people I cared about who were struggling with some demon. Rather than accept them and the situation they were in, I was constantly wishing they would magically rid themselves of all impurities and never be sad again, and thought it was my job to help them with this.

    This created guilt, because I wasn’t accepting who they actually were and the situation they were in. I was always wishing for it to change. This put them on the defensive and made it hard for me to help in a meaningful way.

    The second thing I began to realize is, yes, they were struggling. But then again, wasn’t I struggling too?

    It was ironic, really. Here I was, feeling guilty about other people’s struggles. And yet, I had my own struggles in front of me that I wasn’t addressing

    It reminds me of these conversations I have with this couple I’m close with. I’ll talk to the husband one-on-one, and he’ll list the things he wishes his wife should work on, and how he feels bad for her. Then I’ll talk to the wife one-on-one, and she’ll list the things her husband should work on, and how she feels bad for him.

    They both feel bad about something they have no control over while ignoring their own issues, which they have complete control over. I always laugh to myself when they start doing this.

    And yet, I was doing the exact same thing.

    The realization: I needed to stop trying to save other people because I can’t. They will do what they do, and all I can do is accept them for who they are.

    Instead, I realized I needed to focus on what I actually have control over, which is “saving” myself.

    As I continued on this journey, I began to see how much guilt I was carrying around in my mind. Which is to say, how much mind space I was dedicating to rethinking what I should’ve said or done in various situations from my past.

    This, I’m now realizing, is complete madness. I cannot change the past. I must accept it.

    I admit, accepting my full past can be painful at times. There are some dark things I’d rather not address. But it’s far better than wasting my life trying to redo something that already happened.

    The good news? By accepting the difficult parts of my past, I’m able to quickly glean insights from those mistakes. And that’s further helped me remove attachments and clear my mind.

    The point: Guilt is just denial. The reason it’s so heavy is because our denial prevents us from processing the reality of the situation in a meaningful way.

    To process reality, we must first accept it, which sheds the guilt. And then, as we process what happened, we can learn from it and move forward.