Occasionally, when we push ourselves hard during a workout, we hit a wall. I don’t mean collapsing, I just mean stopping.
Sometimes it happens without us noticing. We just find ourselves standing still, panting, hands on hips instead of running. Sometimes we can push through and find some strength to continue when we’d usually stop. We might chalk this up to some new mental mindset or technique, but a lot of the times we don’t know what worked.
In all these situations, the person giving up is the same person we’re all used to being. You. The person who tends to think the same thoughts. The person with your genetics. Your habitual consciousness.
I know myself pretty well at this point. If I leave the situation in the hands of my typical self, I know what’s going to happen. When I’m swimming laps, I might think, “OK, I have one more lap in me.” And that’s what will happen.
But in that particular moment, when we just need to run for a few more minutes or lift that weight one more time, do we have to be that same old person? Is that habitual frame of mind the best one for the job?
When we ask that question, another follows. Who might it be more helpful to be?
Maybe we need to briefly become someone or something else, or briefly stop being ourselves. This might happen spontaneously. Like, you’re in the pool and for a minute, your leaden legs filled with lactic acid start to slash through the water like a tiger shark’s tail.
To make this sort of thing to happen, we need to find ways to give up control and allow it to happen. Then, and only then, do we open up to the possibility of something different happening.
When we are by ourselves, it can be easy to become delusional.
A little bit too much pride, and we fall for the illusion of being more than we really are. A little bit too much doubt, or fear, and we can believe that we are hopeless.
That’s one of the reasons we need other people.
Other people can help to break the illusions that we have cast around ourselves in private.
For example, it might be in your nature to believe you are a very neat and tidy person. This might even be somewhat true. There’s hardly ever a dirty dish laying about. You’ve got good manners.
But if you ever find yourself around someone who is much more orderly than you, it can be hard to keep this act up.
Maybe you’re eating a meal with this person, and you realise that they carefully place their cutlery down on the plate while they’re not eating. And you, to your shock and horror, wave your knife and fork about like a pirate.
In that instant, you just aren’t as orderly as you thought you were. In a very particular, personal way, you’ve been humbled.
This is a good thing.
Most of the time, we hang onto our habits and beliefs so stubbornly that it takes a certain kind of person or event to have this effect on us.
I tend to think I’m a pretty calm person. But one day, I’m sitting in a theatre waiting for a show to start and I notice a very calm older woman sitting near me. She’s incredibly still. She’s simply sitting. I realise my legs have been thrashing about, my fingers have been itching my scalp and thumbing through my phone. In contrast to her, I’m all movement.
It might never happen, or take a lifetime, but at some point, our confirmations and expectation are eventually bowled over by reality.
This is a good thing.
Reality is a good thing. But that doesn’t mean it feels good when it smacks you in the face.
Reality can hurt because it is shattering and dissolving something we thought was true and good and right. That’s what a belief is. I’m competent at riding a motorbike. I’ve got a business mind. I’m a good person.
These ideas can give us a lot of structure and stability in our lives and how we orient ourselves in the world. When we can’t hug them close, it hurts. We might feel like we have nowhere to stand or nothing to hold onto. We might suddenly feel small, or weak, or strange, or odd, or imperfect, or broken.
But once the pain, which can often be just a mild irritation, subsides, humbling is always a good thing, because reality is always a good thing.
It’s always new and refreshing. It’s always spontaneous. It’s what is actually happening.
And although it can feel comfortable, familiar and safe to pat yourself on the back, and to tell ourselves certain things, even if they are partially true, we tend to be better off when something or someone comes along and unapologetically and undoubtedly shows us we don’t know what we are talking about.
December 2, 2025 @ 12:03pm – Burnley, Victoria, Australia
Will AI take my job?
This is a question that has been hanging over many of us this year. Will AI replace me? Will I no longer be needed? What will I do?
Many of us have been thinking about these questions. They make us anxious about the future because now the future looks different.
For some of us, it’s easier not to think about it. We quickly change the topic or fill our heads with distractions. Others might shout and complain and point fingers, hoping that it helps.
Crying, screaming, hiding, shrieking, and cursing are all options available to us. But they don’t really change anything about the situation. In fact, they usually make it worse.
AI, like any other technology like concrete or wireless networks, exists.
Popular self-help authors encourage us to do what’s in our control to make the situation better. “If you’re scared about it, lean into it.”1 Use your agency and “slurp up all those problems and knowledge, and leave nothing for anyone else to do”2 and “push through (your) own excuses… even when (you) didn’t feel like it.”3 Even if there are layoffs or other acts of fate, you will be in a better position.
This is a helpful way to look at problems, but the reality is, of course our jobs could no longer exist.
Here are some more hard “could be truths”:
You didn’t do a good enough job (for this company at this time). True.
What you were getting paid for can now be done by someone with less training, or for less money.
Someone can do what you do but better, faster. TRUE.
It’s hard to look at these directly.
But of course it could be true.
I think it’s hard to look because there is such a slippery slope from “I’m not actually needed” to “I’m not good.” It’s scattered with guilt and shame and beliefs and all sorts of things. They feel connected.
But I didn’t say, “You are a loser,” “You are a failure,” “You should have done something,” “You won’t be happy again” or “It’s all downhill from here.” No judgements.
If you look closely, you’ll see that there is space between. Of course there’s space. It’s possible to separate these things.
Admitting that ‘I’m no longer needed here’ doesn’t take away your agency or say anything “bad” about you.
It’s difficult and painful but we must be able to recognize that it could be, and might be, one day, true.
January 11, 2025 @ 11:08am – Bolinda, Macedon, Australia
It’s a shame we take our thoughts so seriously.
They distract and pull us away from what’s actually going on. They sneakily absorb our attention without us noticing. Spiritual teacher Osho goes further, calling them “parasites”.
If we could just take a step back and find a little distance, our thoughts might have less influence over us. We might be able to live without instantly reacting or getting caught up in their stories.
This is possible with a little mindfulness, and shows us there’s nothing there to worry about.
With “humility and the patience”, Richard Rohr says, “you will say 98% of your thought patterns are repetitive and useless.”
So what do we do with them?
Even if they are mostly negative or trivial, it’s not possible to stop the tap of thoughts. Instead, the usual advice is that we should treat them kindly.
It’s good advice. Letting your thoughts float by without clutching onto them or harsh judgement helps to de-potentiate their energy and prevents one from acting them out. Altering your nervous system with a long walk or a cold plunge can also help.
But it’s not easy to be kind and understanding, especially when we are dealing with persistent, ‘sticky’ or uncomfortable thoughts.
So here’s another approach.
Your thoughts are racing, they’re really distracting you, and pretty soon you’ll be completely carried off by them. When that happens, try saying this:
“Yes? What else.”
Let’s say you’re upset about the dinner you’ve cooked for yourself. Thoughts might show up like:
“I should have planned this better.”
“I should have eaten that yesterday, now it’s going to go bad.”
“I wish this looked more appetising.”
Step 1: Say “Yes?”
Firstly, affirm the thought by saying, internally or out loud, “Yes?”
When you say this, try to take on the attitude of someone who is patient, a little bemused, and on the verge of exasperation, like someone dealing with a person who doesn’t quite know what they’re doing.
“Yes?” is a statement of recognition. You’ve grabbed hold of something that usually lives in the dark and you’ve brought it out into the light. And you want to do so without being judgmental. We’re not wishing it away or demanding it be different.
The thought may not feel very nice to touch. The thought might have a feeling tone of desperation, or sadness or some other emotion. If it’s something annoying, problematic or scary, you’ll probably want to drop it and do something else. Eat some food, watch YouTube, whatever. Or you might fall back into the old pattern and get carried away thinking about it.
Step 2: Say “What else?”
If you can stomach one thought without distraction, see if you can handle a second.
After you say “Yes?” then say, “What else?”
Another thought might arrive.
The attitude should be the same. Slightly impatient, but non-judgmental.
When you do this, you’ve made the choice to grab some more stuff from down in the drain.
We keep that attitude going. We’re rolling our eyes at ourselves. We’re nodding. It’s not scary. It’s maybe even a bit boring. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just more thoughts.
When big, heavy thoughts appear
Sometimes really “big” thoughts will come up.
“I’m never going to be able to cook something nice.”
“I’m a loser.”
“It’s never going to change.”
“I’m going to be broke forever.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
They might feel scarily true, like facts rather than opinions. We might call these beliefs. A belief quietly trains you to expect certain things from life. Like a child might expect to see Santa on the roof on Christmas Eve. But they’re just thoughts too, just ones you’ve probably thought a lot of times in your life.
And what do we say to beliefs? Same as we do to any other thought.
Yes? What else.
When we say “What else?” we don’t treat one thought as more special than another. And why should we? I didn’t choose any of the thoughts that arrived in my head, so why should I honour some over others?
By doing this over and over, we’re teaching ourselves that we can handle any thought.
Tips and caveats
This is a slow process, and we shouldn’t need to rush into it.
Start small It will feel stupid at first. You are talking to yourself. Start with small, everyday thoughts, before trying this with bigger beliefs. Practice while washing up.
Don’t go deep There’s no need to spend any time trying to understand or intellectualise the thoughts. This isn’t depth-psychology. All I’m suggesting is three words, plus a basic, non-judgmental attitude.
Watch out for moods If you’re in a really good mood, you probably won’t want to do this at all. If you’re in a really bad mood or feeling very reactive, I wouldn’t recommend it either. We’re adding attention to our thoughts, which might fuel some flames unnecessarily.
Why this works
One big reason this sort of practice is helpful is because it’s the exact opposite of what we usually do. Most of the time we do one of the following with our thoughts:
Buy it totally and get completely identified with it
Resist and rage against it
Run from it, numbing out with food, tv or other distractions.
But to simply look at a thought, raise our eyebrows, keep looking, and calmly ask for more, is a complete 180. And we could all do more 180s.
“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” – Joseph Campbell
“We have to acknowledge that we hate those things and only those things in the world that we first hate in ourselves.” – Ken Wilber
If you look up at the night sky in a city, you’ll see a couple of stars. There’s the constellations you’re familiar with, and a few others here and there. You may have seen the sky full of stars, but that’s probably not the sky that you experience most of the time. It’s limited, but it’s your sky. In a similar way, we are habitually identified with a certain type of consciousness, our ego. This is the attitude, thoughts, beliefs, that we have grown up with and grown used to.
It’s been developed for good reasons, because an ego helps us to relate with others and get things done in society. But because of how the ego is developed, unconsciously, and in response to stuff that happens in childhood, it is naturally going to be a little bit narrow. As we’ve grown up, we’ve made all these little choices about what is good, what is bad, and so on. It’s been in our interest to try our best, but we’re always operating off limited information. So our personalities end up a bit limited too.
The ego is missing some stuff. It’s probably over-indexed on certain things, under-cooked in other areas. It’s a house designed with very little oversight. Some of us spent most of the time designing a sleek infinity swimming pool. Others spent a lot of time getting the kitchen right, but forgot to plumb the bathroom. Some rooms are lit up with seductive mood lighting, others have no electricity.
In this imperfect process, as we double down on the things we believe to be important, we’re also doing a lot of shoving away of the things that are deemed dangerous or difficult, or that don’t particularly help us to navigate the world.
This stuff becomes what Jung called the Shadow, the “dumping ground for all those characteristics of our personality that we disown”1. Deborah Stewart, of This Jungian Life podcast, describes it as “the underbelly of the ego…that’s hard to look at… hard to feel really connected to…loaded with feelings of disgust, profound discomfort, and a feeling of wanting to push it away.”2
Although the ego and the shadow have such differing relationships with the conscious mind, they both constrain us. We are constrained by identification with some things and rejection of other things.
The Constraint of the Ego
I was collaging with some friends. I hadn’t made a collage in a long time. I thought it would be easy, but I found it very difficult to create a composition that I liked. I was selecting and cutting out images from magazines. I thought I was being clever. I thought I had a good eye and aesthetic. I’m a designer. I should be good at this.
But I was stuck. I was jiggling around pieces like a jigsaw puzzle. Nothing was fitting together. My friend D saw this and asked what I was doing. I said “I’m trying to move it around so it looks right.” She replied, “What’s right? It’s a collage.” She had a point. What did right mean? And why was that important? Why not just have fun? Why not make something silly, or shocking, or bright turquoise? No, for me, I need to get it right.
A few pieces of ripped paper shone a bright light on what’s habitual for me, what I identify with. The need to be careful, considerate, aesthetic, minimal. I pick pleasing things. I take care and attention and time. That’s my ego.
There’s no right way to do a collage, of course. That’s like saying there’s a right way to make a song. And I got more interesting results when I used colors that I don’t normally use, or if I used my left hand, or closed my eyes, or if I ripped things really quickly, or if I ripped instead of using scissors.
The Constraint of the Shadow
When I buy something at the supermarket, I don’t make small talk. I place my things down on the counter, my phone bristling ready to pay. I move on as quickly as I can. I want to be efficient. I don’t want unnecessary attention on me. I don’t want to slow down people behind me.
Now, sometimes, when I need coins for the laundry in my apartment building, I need to ask for change. It’s not possible to move by quietly like usual. I have to stop and say “Hey…” I have to ask someone to do something for me. In a way, I have to admit that I need help, or that I don’t have my life completely organized and together. Those are things that I would rather not look at directly. Things that my habitual side really can’t stand and pretends don’t exist. That’s my shadow.
And there’s a lot of defense mechanisms when I’m pushed into those shadow areas, even with something simple like asking for change. For some people it’s “hatred, disgust, avoidance, criticism, accusations, attacking.”3 In this case, I’ll get irritated. I’ll try and avoid it. I’ll roll my eyes. I’ll think about finding a machine to do this so I don’t have to think about it again. I’ll feel bad about holding up the line and apologize a lot.
Just like the ego constrained my collaging attempts, my shadow also prevents me from spontaneously asking for things.
There’s no need to blow up the ego, or to live out your shadow all at once. That would be reckless and dangerous. These functions have been carefully created for practical reasons. But we need to watch them closely. Watch how they shape our behaviour and most importantly how they constrain us into tight spaces.
We can try to stop squeezing ourselves between our (self-created) likes and dislikes. It’s not comfortable there and never will be. We need room to move. Like Viktor Frankl famously said, “between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”
We can look up at the sky and we can say “hey, I kind of know this isn’t the full sky, right? I kind of know that light pollution is blocking some stuff. I know there might be more out there.”
Buddha Bike 