I Lost My Faith at 45. Here’s How I Found Something New to Believe In.
The Day My Childhood God Stopped Making Sense
My dad was a devout Catholic his whole life. But after a brutal year where he lost his job and his own mother, he told me his faith just… crumbled. The easy answers and rituals of his childhood religion no longer offered any comfort. He felt completely adrift. He didn’t find a new church. He found a new faith in the woods. He started hiking every weekend. He said his new form of prayer was sitting quietly on a rock, listening to the wind. He lost his religion, but he found a spirituality grounded in nature and a profound sense of peace.
My Midlife Crisis Was a “Dark Night of the Soul.” A Survival Guide.
When the Emptiness Is the Point
My aunt described her midlife crisis as a “dark night of the soul.” It wasn’t just sadness; it was a profound sense of meaninglessness. Everything she had built—her career, her family—felt like a hollow shell. Her therapist gave her this advice: “Don’t try to fix the emptiness. Sit in it. The dark night isn’t the problem; it’s the process. It’s the universe’s way of clearing out what’s not real to make space for what is.” She learned to stop fighting the darkness and just be still within it, trusting that dawn would eventually come. And it did.
The Existential Dread of “What’s the Point?” and How I Found an Answer.
My Search for a Mission Statement for My Life
For a year, my manager was haunted by the question, “What’s the point?” He was successful, but his life felt like a series of tasks with no overarching purpose. The dread was paralyzing. He didn’t find the answer in a book. He found it by volunteering at a local food bank on a Saturday. The simple, tangible act of helping someone else, of being useful, was the antidote. He told me the “point” wasn’t some grand, cosmic secret. The point was to find a way to be helpful to the person standing in front of you.
How a 10-Day Silent Meditation Retreat (Vipassana) Blew Up My Life.
Ten Days of Silence Was Louder Than a Rock Concert
My older cousin, a high-powered lawyer, went on a 10-day silent meditation retreat. He thought it would be a relaxing break. He said it was the hardest thing he’s ever done. With no distractions, he was forced to confront his own mind: his ambition, his fears, his regrets. It was a 10-day-long, brutally honest conversation with himself. He came back and, within six months, had quit his law firm to start a non-profit. That silence didn’t just relax him; it showed him he was living the wrong life, and gave him the courage to change it.
I’m “Spiritual But Not Religious.” Here’s What That Actually Means for Me.
I Traded Dogma for Awe
My neighbor describes herself as “spiritual but not religious.” I asked her what that meant. She said, “I traded the rulebook for the feeling.” She doesn’t believe in a specific deity or attend a church. But she has a deep sense of connection to something larger than herself. For her, spirituality is the feeling of awe she gets watching a sunset, the sense of oneness she feels listening to a powerful piece of music, and the ethical framework she builds from her own conscience and compassion. It’s a personal, flexible faith built on experience, not doctrine.
The Fear of Death: How I Made Peace With My Own Mortality.
I Lived More Fully When I Accepted I Wouldn’t Live Forever
My mentor was diagnosed with a serious but manageable illness at 50. It forced him to confront his own mortality for the first time. The fear was immense. What helped him was not trying to ignore death, but accepting it as a part of life. He said, “Realizing I have a finite number of summers left didn’t make me sad; it made me appreciate this summer more.” The acceptance of his mortality became a powerful motivator to stop deferring joy, to forgive grudges, and to spend his time on what truly mattered.
The Unexpected Spirituality I Found in Nature.
My Church Has a Canopy of Leaves
I always thought spirituality required a building and a holy book. But as I got older and felt more disconnected, I found my “church” in the local state park. Walking among trees that are hundreds of years old is a humbling experience. It puts my own anxieties and ego into perspective. The complex ecosystem, the cycles of growth and decay, the quiet resilience of it all—it feels more sacred and profound to me than any sermon I’ve ever heard. My spirituality isn’t about looking up to the heavens; it’s about looking around at the earth.
I Read the Stoics, the Buddhists, and the Taoists. Here’s the Gist.
Three Flavors of the Same Core Truth
Feeling lost in my thirties, I went on a philosophical binge. I read Marcus Aurelius (the Stoics), Thich Nhat Hanh (the Buddhists), and Lao Tzu (the Taoists). I was shocked to find they were all saying a similar thing in different flavors. The Stoics teach you to control what you can and accept what you can’t. The Buddhists teach you that suffering comes from attachment to outcomes. The Taoists teach you to go with the flow, like water. All three paths lead to a place of inner peace by reducing your ego’s frantic grip on the world.
The “God-Shaped Hole” and What I’m Filling It With.
Finding a New Anchor in a Storm
After leaving the faith of my childhood, I felt a void, a “God-shaped hole.” For a while, I tried to fill it with work, with ambition, with relationships. Nothing fit. I realized what I missed wasn’t the dogma; it was the sense of purpose, community, and connection to something bigger. I’m filling that hole now, but with different materials. I find purpose in mentorship, community in my volunteer work, and connection through art and nature. My anchor looks different now, but it holds me steady just the same.
How I Learned to Trust My Intuition After Ignoring It for 20 Years.
My Gut Was Smarter Than My Brain
My brain is great at making pro-con lists. But my gut—my intuition—often knows the real answer. For years, I ignored it. I took the “sensible” job that my gut told me was a bad fit. It was. I dated the “perfect on paper” guy my gut screamed was wrong for me. He was. My midlife crisis was a process of learning to listen to that quiet, physical sensation again. My new rule: if my brain says “yes” but my gut says “no,” the answer is no. My gut has a wisdom that my rational mind can’t access.
The Power of “Awe” and How to Cultivate It in Daily Life.
My Prescription for Existential Dread Is a Starry Night
When I feel buried by the mundane details of my life, I have a secret weapon: I go looking for awe. Sometimes it’s a big trip to a national park. More often, it’s just stepping outside on a clear night and looking at the stars. Or putting on headphones and listening to a truly epic piece of orchestral music. The experience of awe—of encountering something vast and beautiful that transcends my understanding—shrinks my own problems down to their proper size. It’s a powerful, free antidepressant that reminds me the world is bigger than my inbox.
I Started Praying Again, But Not to the God of My Childhood.
My Prayers Are Questions, Not Requests
I stopped praying for years because the idea of an old man in the sky judging me didn’t resonate anymore. In my forties, I started praying again, but the process is completely different. I don’t pray to a specific being. I just speak my hopes and fears out loud into the universe. My prayers are no longer a list of requests (“Please give me a promotion”). They are a list of questions (“What is this situation here to teach me?”) or affirmations (“May I have the strength to be compassionate today”). It’s a dialogue with myself.
The “Synchronicity” and “Signs” That Guided My Midlife Awakening.
When Coincidence Feels Like a Conspiracy of Grace
When I was considering a major career change, it felt like the universe was giving me signs. I’d be worrying about it, and then a song with the perfect lyrics would come on the radio. I’d meet a stranger who happened to work in the exact field I was considering. A skeptic would call it “confirmation bias.” But the sheer volume of these synchronicities felt like a conspiracy of grace, a series of cosmic winks reassuring me I was on the right path. It taught me to pay attention to coincidence and to trust the subtle guidance of the world around me.
How I Created My Own “Spiritual Practice” Without a Church or Temple.
My Custom-Built Faith
I don’t belong to any organized religion, but I have a daily spiritual practice that keeps me grounded. It’s a custom-built faith. In the morning, I spend ten minutes meditating (a nod to Buddhism). I write in a gratitude journal (a practice backed by positive psychology). I take a long walk in nature (my version of church). And once a week, I have a deep, honest conversation with a close friend (my form of confession and community). My practice is a patchwork quilt of things that bring me peace and connection, and it’s uniquely mine.
The Big Questions: Who Am I? Why Am I Here? What’s My Purpose?
The Questions Are More Important Than the Answers
In my twenties, I needed answers. In my forties, I’m learning to love the questions. The big, existential questions—”Who am I? Why am I here?”—used to terrify me. I felt like a failure for not knowing. Now, I see them differently. I realize these aren’t multiple-choice questions with a single right answer. They are essay questions you spend a lifetime writing. The purpose isn’t to arrive at a final answer, but to live inside the questions and let them guide you toward a more examined and meaningful life.
The Difference Between Religion and Spirituality: A Midlife Perspective.
The Container vs. The Water
I think of religion as the container—the institution, the rituals, the rules. I think of spirituality as the water—the actual, felt experience of connection, awe, and purpose. In my youth, I was very focused on the container. I went to church, followed the rules, and thought that was enough. In midlife, I’ve become much more interested in the water. I realized you can have a beautiful container that is completely empty. And you can find the living water of spiritual experience in many places, even outside of a traditional container.
I Explored My “Shadow Self” (Carl Jung) and It Was Terrifying.
Meeting the Part of Me I Pretended Didn’t Exist
In therapy, I learned about the “shadow self”—all the parts of myself that I repress because I find them shameful or unacceptable. My shadow included my anger, my envy, and my laziness. For years, I pretended these things didn’t exist. But they were running the show from behind the scenes. The work of looking at my shadow, of owning these less-than-flattering parts of myself, was terrifying. But it was also liberating. By bringing my shadow into the light, I took away its power to control me unconsciously.
The Role of Forgiveness (of Self and Others) in a Spiritual Midlife.
I Let Go of the Poison I Was Drinking
For years, I carried a bitter resentment toward a former boss who had wronged me. I thought my anger was punishing him. A friend told me, “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” That hit me hard. A huge part of my midlife spiritual work has been forgiveness. It wasn’t about excusing his behavior. It was about choosing to release myself from the prison of my own bitterness. The same goes for forgiving myself for past mistakes. It’s about letting go of the poison.
How a Psychedelic Experience (Under Legal, Therapeutic Guidance) Changed My Perspective.
Six Hours That Felt Like a Lifetime of Therapy
My friend, a veteran struggling with PTSD, participated in a clinical trial using psilocybin-assisted therapy. He described the experience as six hours that did more for him than ten years of talk therapy. He said the medicine temporarily dissolved his ego and allowed him to look at his trauma with a sense of compassionate detachment. He felt an overwhelming sense of connection to everyone and everything. It wasn’t a party drug; it was a profound, sacred, and medically-supervised tool that rewired his perspective on his life and his trauma.
The Comfort of Ritual in a Chaotic Midlife.
My Small Anchors in a Stormy Sea
When my life felt chaotic and uncertain, I found immense comfort in small, personal rituals. It wasn’t about religious dogma; it was about creating tiny islands of predictability and intention in my day. My morning ritual of grinding coffee beans and brewing a perfect cup. My evening ritual of lighting a candle and journaling for ten minutes. These small, repeated actions became anchors in a stormy sea. They were a way of telling myself, “Even when everything else is out of control, this small moment is calm and sacred.”
I Deconstructed My Childhood Faith and Rebuilt Something Stronger.
The Spiritual Renovation of My Soul
My childhood faith was like a house I inherited. I lived in it for years without ever questioning its foundation or architecture. My midlife crisis was the moment I realized the plumbing was faulty and the roof was leaking. I had to deconstruct it, plank by plank. It was a painful, scary process. I had to examine every belief and decide if it was still structurally sound. The faith I have now is smaller, but it’s one I built myself. It’s solid, authentic, and I know every single piece of it is true for me.
The Day I Stopped “Searching” and Started “Listening.”
The Answer Was Already There
I spent years “searching” for my purpose. I read books, went to workshops, and traveled, always looking for an external sign or answer. I was like a man searching for his glasses while they were on his head the whole time. The shift came when I stopped searching and just got quiet. I started a daily meditation practice. In the silence, I realized the “answer” wasn’t out there somewhere. It was a quiet, persistent whisper that had been there all along. I just had to be still enough to hear it.
The Concept of “Ego Death” and My Midlife Experience With It.
The Day My Job Title No Longer Mattered
For 20 years, my identity was my job title: “Vice President.” It was the first thing I mentioned at parties. When I was laid off at 48, I experienced a kind of “ego death.” Without that title, who was I? The experience was terrifying. It felt like I had disappeared. But in that empty space, a new, more authentic self began to emerge. One that wasn’t defined by a business card. I had to lose my ego-based identity to discover who I was without it.
How I Found a Spiritual Community That Accepts Me As I Am.
I Found My Tribe at a Yoga Studio
I craved a sense of spiritual community but felt unwelcome in traditional religious spaces. I finally found my “church” at a local yoga studio. It wasn’t about the exercise. It was about the shared intention in the room. It was about the teacher who spoke about compassion and self-acceptance. It was about the quiet nods of understanding between students after class. It was a community of people who were all on a path of self-exploration, and there was no dogma, no judgment—just a shared space to breathe and be.
The Unexpected Wisdom in “Mundane” Daily Tasks.
My Zen Practice Is Washing the Dishes
I used to rush through chores like washing dishes, seeing them as obstacles to get through before I could relax. A Buddhist book I read suggested treating mundane tasks as a form of meditation. Now, when I wash the dishes, I try to just wash the dishes. I focus on the feeling of the warm water, the smell of the soap, the satisfaction of seeing a clean plate. This practice of bringing mindful attention to a mundane task has become a powerful source of calm and presence in my day.
I’m More Connected to the “Universe” Than Ever Before.
I Stopped Feeling Like a Drop and Started Feeling Like the Ocean
I used to feel like a separate, isolated individual, struggling against the world. My spiritual practice has slowly changed that. Through meditation and spending time in nature, I’ve started to have moments where that feeling of separateness dissolves. It’s a feeling of being a part of something vast and interconnected. It’s not an intellectual idea; it’s a felt sense. It’s the difference between seeing yourself as a single, anxious drop of water and realizing you are a part of the entire, powerful ocean.
The “Letting Go” That Is at the Heart of Every Spiritual Path.
My Hands Were Too Full to Receive Anything New
I was trying to find peace, but I was clinging desperately to my old resentments, my need to be right, and my fear of uncertainty. A spiritual teacher told me, “You cannot receive a gift with a clenched fist.” That image stuck with me. I realized the core of any spiritual path is the practice of “letting go.” Letting go of control. Letting go of grievances. Letting go of my rigid ideas about how life “should” be. As I slowly learned to unclench my fists, I finally created the space to receive peace.
How I Found a Sense of “Oneness” After a Lifetime of Feeling Separate.
The Day the Birds Weren’t Singing “at” Me
I was on a hike, feeling particularly anxious, when I had a strange thought. The birds weren’t singing “at” me. The wind wasn’t blowing “on” me. I was a part of the forest, and the forest was a part of me. The sounds and sensations were just the whole system breathing. For a brief moment, the boundary between “me” and “the world” dissolved. I wasn’t just an observer of nature; I was a participant. That fleeting feeling of “oneness” was more profound than any intellectual understanding. It was a glimpse of a deeper reality.
The Day I Realized the “Divine” Was Within Me.
I Stopped Looking for God in the Sky
I spent years looking for God, or the “divine,” as an external force—something “out there” to pray to or believe in. The great spiritual shift of my midlife was the realization that I had been looking in the wrong place. The divine wasn’t a separate being in the sky. It was the spark of creativity within me. It was the capacity for compassion in my heart. It was the deep, intuitive wisdom in my gut. The kingdom of heaven wasn’t a destination; it was a state of consciousness I could access right here, right now.
My “Spiritual Toolkit”: Meditation, Journaling, Nature Walks, and More.
The Different Tools I Use to Stay Grounded
I don’t have one single spiritual path. I have a “spiritual toolkit.” When my mind is racing with anxiety, I use the “meditation” tool. When I’m feeling confused and need clarity, I use the “journaling” tool. When I’m feeling disconnected and small, I use the “nature walk” tool. When I’m feeling lonely, I use the “deep conversation with a friend” tool. It’s not about following one rigid system; it’s about knowing which tool to pull out of the box to help me navigate whatever challenge I’m facing that day.
The Conflict Between My “Rational Mind” and My “Spiritual Heart.”
My Inner Scientist vs. My Inner Mystic
My rational, scientific mind loves evidence and proof. It scoffs at things like “intuition” and “synchronicity.” But my spiritual heart knows there is more to the world than what can be measured in a lab. For years, these two parts of me were at war. My midlife journey has been about getting them to have a respectful dialogue. My rational mind helps me stay grounded and avoid charlatans. My spiritual heart reminds me that the universe is full of mystery and wonder. They are both valuable advisors.
How I Explained My New Beliefs to My Religious Family.
I Focused on Shared Values, Not Different Dogma
I was terrified to tell my devoutly Christian parents that I no longer shared their beliefs. I knew it would hurt them. When I finally had the conversation, I didn’t focus on the dogma I had rejected. I focused on the values we still shared. I said, “While my path looks different now, the core values you taught me—like compassion, integrity, and service to others—are still the foundation of my life. I’m just exploring them through a different lens.” By focusing on the shared values, we found common ground instead of a battlefield.
The Unexpected Parallels Between Quantum Physics and Ancient Mysticism.
The Universe Is Weirder and More Connected Than We Think
I’m an engineer, a rationalist. But as I started reading books on quantum physics, my mind was blown. The ideas that everything is interconnected at a subatomic level, that observation affects reality, and that the universe is made of vibrating energy—these sound less like science and more like something out of the Upanishads or a Buddhist text. Realizing that the cutting edge of modern science and the core tenets of ancient mysticism are starting to converge gave my skeptical mind the permission it needed to explore spiritual ideas more openly.
The Power of a “Pilgrimage” to a Place That’s Sacred to You.
My Mecca Was My Childhood Home
A pilgrimage doesn’t have to be to Mecca or Jerusalem. My “pilgrimage” was a solo trip back to the town where I grew up. I walked the halls of my old high school. I sat on the porch of my childhood home. I visited the graves of my grandparents. The journey wasn’t about tourism; it was an intentional, sacred act of reconnecting with my own history and honoring the person I once was. It helped me understand where I came from, which gave me the clarity I needed to decide where I wanted to go next.
How I Learned to Be “Present” in a World of Distractions.
My Life Was Something I Planned to Get to Later
I realized I was living my entire life in the future tense. I was always planning, worrying, or strategizing about what was next. My actual, present life was just a blurry series of moments I was trying to get through. Learning to be “present” was a practice. It started with one minute a day, just focusing on my breath. Then it expanded to trying to be fully present while drinking my morning coffee. It’s a constant battle against distraction, but every moment of presence I can find is a small, precious victory.
The Peace That Comes From Surrendering Control.
I Finally Stopped Trying to Steer the River
My life motto used to be “If you want something done right, do it yourself.” I was a control freak. My midlife crisis was a series of events that were completely out of my control. It forced me to learn the lesson of surrender. It wasn’t about giving up. It was about realizing that I am in a river, and my job isn’t to steer the river; it’s to steer my little boat as skillfully as possible within the river’s current. The peace that came from letting go of the illusion of control was immense.
The “Sacred Pause” I Take Before Making Any Big Decision.
The Space Between Stimulus and Response
I used to be very reactive. An email would trigger an angry response. A problem would trigger an impulsive solution. My single most powerful spiritual practice has been cultivating the “sacred pause.” Before I respond to a trigger, before I make any significant decision, I force myself to pause. Sometimes for just ten seconds. Sometimes for a full day. In that small gap between stimulus and response, I find my wisdom, my compassion, and my clarity. That pause is where my freedom lies.
How I Found My “Soul’s Calling” in My Late 40s.
It Was a Whisper, Not a Lightning Bolt
I expected my “soul’s calling” to arrive like a bolt of lightning. I thought it would be a grand, dramatic revelation. It wasn’t. It was a quiet, persistent whisper that I had been ignoring for years. It was the gentle pull toward activities that made me feel alive and the subtle feeling of dread for the things that drained me. My calling wasn’t a destination I had to find; it was a compass I had to learn to read. It was the quiet, internal voice that was always pointing me toward my own True North.
The Ancient Texts That Felt More Relevant Than Today’s News.
The 2,000-Year-Old Solution to My Modern Anxiety
I was feeling overwhelmed by the 24-hour news cycle and the constant churn of social media. I felt anxious and distracted. I picked up a copy of “The Meditations” by Marcus Aurelius, a Roman emperor who lived almost 2,000 years ago. His struggles with anxiety, distraction, and finding meaning felt more relevant and helpful to me than anything on cable news. It was a profound reminder that while our technology has changed, our core human struggles have not. The wisdom of the ancients is a powerful antidote to the chaos of the modern world.
My Journey With Tarot/Astrology as a Tool for Self-Reflection.
The Cards Were a Mirror, Not a Crystal Ball
I don’t believe that tarot cards can predict the future. But I have found them to be an incredible tool for self-reflection. I use them not to ask, “What will happen to me?” but to ask, “What is a different way I can look at this situation?” The archetypal images on the cards act as a psychological mirror, triggering insights and connections my conscious mind might have missed. For me, tarot and astrology aren’t about fortune-telling; they are a creative and playful way to journal and access my own intuition.
The Difference Between “Spiritual Bypassing” and Genuine Growth.
Using “Good Vibes Only” to Avoid My Own Mess
I had a friend who was a “spiritual bypasser.” Whenever a difficult emotion came up, she would cover it with a layer of toxic positivity. She’d say things like, “It’s all for a reason,” or “Just focus on the good vibes.” She was using spiritual concepts to avoid doing the messy, difficult work of facing her own pain. Genuine spiritual growth isn’t about floating above your problems on a cloud of affirmations. It’s about having the courage to go down into the basement and clean up your own mess.
How I Found My “Center” in the Middle of a Storm.
The Eye of My Own Hurricane
My life felt like a hurricane of external chaos—work deadlines, family drama, financial stress. I kept trying to control the storm, which was impossible. My meditation teacher gave me a new image: be the eye of the hurricane. The storm can rage all around you, but there is a place of profound stillness and calm right in your own center. My spiritual practice became about learning to access that internal eye of the storm, regardless of what the winds were doing outside.
The “Thin Places” Where the Veil Between Worlds Feels Thin.
A Glimpse Through the Curtain
Celtic spirituality talks about “thin places,” locations where the veil between this world and the eternal world feels especially thin. I’ve experienced this. For me, it happened once while standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean at sunset. Another time, it was while holding my newborn child. In these moments, my ordinary, ego-driven consciousness receded, and I felt a profound connection to something sacred, timeless, and vast. These are rare, precious moments that give you a glimpse through the curtain of everyday reality.
The Power of Chanting, Mantras, or Affirmations.
Changing the Soundtrack of My Inner Critic
My mind’s default background music was a track of self-criticism and worry. It was a terrible soundtrack. I started using a simple mantra during my walks: “I am peaceful and at ease.” At first, it felt fake and silly. But I kept repeating it. Slowly, over months, it began to work. The repetition started to overwrite the old, negative soundtrack. An affirmation isn’t about magically making something true. It’s about intentionally choosing a new thought and repeating it until it carves a new, more positive groove in your brain.
How My “Crisis” Forced Me to Confront the Biggest Questions of All.
The Universe Shook Me Until I Woke Up
Before my midlife crisis, I was too busy to think about the big questions. My life was about mortgages, promotions, and parent-teacher conferences. I was comfortably asleep. The crisis—a divorce, a job loss—was the universe grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me awake. When your comfortable life is stripped away, you have no choice but to confront the foundational questions: Who am I without my job title? What truly matters to me? What am I going to do with the time I have left? The crisis was the catalyst for my most important work.
The Joy of a “Secular Sabbath.”
My Mandatory Day of Rest and Delight
I’m not religious, but the concept of a Sabbath—a weekly day of rest—seemed brilliant. So I created a “Secular Sabbath.” Every Sunday, I have two rules: no work emails and no chores. My only goal for the day is to do things that delight and restore me. Sometimes that’s a long hike. Sometimes it’s reading a novel in a hammock. Sometimes it’s a marathon of a favorite TV show. This intentional, scheduled day of rest has become a non-negotiable part of my week and a powerful antidote to burnout.
I Started a “Dream Journal.” It Revealed My Subconscious Mind.
A Nightly Report From My Soul
I started keeping a journal and a pen by my bed. As soon as I woke up, before checking my phone, I would write down any fragments of dreams I could remember. Over time, I started to see recurring themes, symbols, and anxieties that my conscious mind was ignoring. My dreams were like a nightly report from the CEO of my subconscious. They showed me what I was truly worried about, who I was angry at, and what I secretly desired. The journal became a fascinating and free form of therapy.
The Humility of Realizing You Don’t Have All the Answers.
The Freedom of “I Don’t Know”
For the first half of my life, I thought my job was to have all the answers. I had strong opinions about everything. It was exhausting. The most profound spiritual shift for me has been embracing the phrase “I don’t know.” What is the meaning of life? I don’t know. What happens after we die? I don’t know. Admitting this isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s an act of intellectual and spiritual humility. It replaces rigid certainty with a sense of open, curious wonder. And there is immense freedom in that.
The Connection Between My Body, Mind, and Spirit.
My Body Was Keeping Score
I used to see my body, mind, and spirit as three separate things. My body was a vehicle to carry my brain around. But my midlife crisis showed me they are inextricably linked. My unresolved emotional stress (spirit) was causing my anxiety (mind), which was giving me chronic back pain (body). My body was keeping the score of my spiritual and mental struggles. True healing only began when I started treating myself as a whole, integrated system, addressing my physical, mental, and spiritual health together.
My “Life’s Purpose” Is Simply to Be Here, Now.
I Gave Up the Search for a Grand Mission
I used to be obsessed with finding my “life’s purpose.” I thought it had to be some grand, impressive mission, like curing a disease or starting a movement. The pressure was immense. My spiritual journey has led me to a much simpler, more peaceful conclusion. My purpose isn’t some future achievement. My purpose is simply to be as fully present and as compassionate as I can be in this moment. And this one. And this one. The grand purpose of my life is simply to pay attention to my life.