The blur of those months was equal parts exhilarating and rejuvenating. I moved through new landscapes, cultures, religions, languages, architecture, ideas, fashions, and cuisines. It grounded me in a deeper sense of compassion, trust, faith and self.

It was also exhausting. Movement, it turns out, requires sustained energy in the forms of food, fuel, money, planning, coordination, long bus rides, adjusting to strange customs, finding places to sleep and deciphering restaurant menus.

After a while I started to slow down. I still reveled in movement, but by the time I reached Nepal and India several months later, I found myself staying in places for weeks instead of days. The longer I stayed, the more I felt I really got know a place and it’s people. Each place I visited had so much history, nuance and depth—all things I could hardly see, let alone appreciate from the window of a train. By the time I arrived in Sri Lanka, I was stayed put in a small beach hut for the better part of three months. These last eight months in Guatemala, I’ve hardly moved at all.

Funnily enough, staying still, at least physically, has helped me move in different directions:  I’ve made great spiritual, emotional and psychological strides these last eight months—all of which would have been difficult to do if I was constantly moving. A different kind of movement for sure, but no less important. 

Over the years I’ve come to appreciate travel as an active meditation in the postures of stillness and movement. Each has its gifts.

Real movement stirs things up. When I move into truly new territory I encounter what’s foreign to me in the true sense of the word. I make contact with the outer other. New possibilities emerge on the horizon. True movement often facilitates my journey through inner landscapes, not just outer ones. It helps me clear old energies and tap into new ones, gives a sense of purpose and adventure and delivers me toward new and unimagined destinations. 

Real stillness is the midwife of inner vision and clarity. It gives space and time for things to settle, like the stirred up silt in a murky pond. Stillness facilitates integration. When I relax into the quiet of stillness, I hear inner voices that the hustle and bustle drown out. I open, inviting a chance to meet the inner other. New potentials bubble up from the depths.  

Busyness seems to me to be the posture of one who is neither moving nor still. A limbo of sorts, where the gifts of both postures are unaccessible.

In busyness we are constantly distracted but aren’t able to sincerely and wholeheartedly explore a new perspective. We pigeonhole ourselves within the boundaries of one space but give ourselves no chance to truly tune in. It’s like sitting down to meditate, and changing our position every five seconds. Progress becomes very slow. 

For a long time these postures of being in the world felt like they were constantly competing with each other. If I had one I couldn’t have the other. Either do or be. I had to choose. 

When Julie-Roxane and I met years back, we envisioned a paradoxical life that embraced stillness and movement. A life that would allow us to stop and really settle down when stillness called and a life that would allow us to pick up and travel on when movement came a knocking. Not either/or but both/and. 

At the time, that was a pretty hard life to imagine. In the western life I had lived up until that point, I usually felt I couldn’t stop moving but was never really going anywhere. Like I was on a perpetual merry-go-round that was gaining speed.

I’m happy to say that these days that life isn’t so hard to imagine. Learning to see stillness and movement as complimentary, rather than competing, has helped. Another thing that’s been helpful has been to work with these seemingly paradoxical opposites like one would work a zen koan. 

CAN I FIND THE STILLNESS IN MOVING?

CAN I FIND THE MOVEMENT IN STILLNESS?

The transition periods between stillness and movement continue to be difficult for me. Like anyone else, I struggle with the law that governs our mortal realm: inertia. When I’ve been moving for too long I begin to lose energy, focus and a sense of meaning. At these times, slowing down can feel empty, scary and uncertain. When I’ve stayed still for too long I start to stagnate and lose purpose. At these times, moving can feel risky, uncomfortable and daunting. 

The qualities and rewards of stillness and movement often take time to reveal themselves. When I am immersed in one, it’s easy to forget about the balancing, complimentary and constructive virtues of the other. At first when I transition to the other I cannot help but notice what I’ve lost rather than what I might gain. It’s human to overvalue what we already know and undervalue what is uncertain—even if the former, in retrospect, turns out to be a very poor compromise.  

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I think of a moonshot as trying to go somewhere you haven’t been before and don’t know how to reach. There’s a few tricky things about a moonshot. 

The first is finding the audacity to look up (or out—however you want to think about it). It’s not that the target is impossible or even improbable, just that you’ve never dreamt to aim for it before. You’ll likely be considered a lunatic for doing so by the rest of us mere ground-dwellers. 

The second is getting off the ground. It takes an enormous amount of initial energy to overcome inertia. Where are you going to find the resources for that?  

The third is reaching escape velocity. This means achieving the speed and momentum you need to take you beyond the pull of the world you know and into new, uncharted territory. This takes sustained effort and a good deal of bravery. You’ll need to tolerate a lot of friction and a good deal of risk. Many things will need to be put in the fire.

The Resistance¹ you’ll encounter in this stage is enormous. Your first surge might not be enough. You may need a few booster rockets. Just don’t hang on to them after they’re spent.

The fourth is settling in for the long journey. Getting out into space is an incredible accomplishment, but it’s really only the beginning. You’re going to need a great deal of focus, staying power and a god-like willingness to recalibrate your direction again and again. It’s easy to drift off course out here. Space is big and it turns out it doesn’t care much about your mission.

If you’re going to take a moonshot, it’s important to know which stage you are in because each stage requires different resources, skills, tactics and strategies. 

For the past five years I’ve been focused on reaching escape velocity. The fear that’s haunted me most at night is of being pulled violently back down to the ground. Recently though, I’m beginning to feel that I’m entering the fourth phase.

Recently I heard psychotherapist and spiritual guide, Tom Kinyon speaking about this fourth phase. He was talking about NASA’s own moonshots—their Apollo missions. On their way to the moon they were off-target more than 99% of the time. Each time the spacecraft’s system recalibrated, it inevitably overcompensated in a different direction. Again and again it would recalibrate and again and again it would overshoot. 

It would be easy for NASA to see each flawed recalibration as another reason why they should have never tried for the moon in the first place. It takes courage to see this process of constant failure as the best way to actually land there.

I think it’s the same when navigating the stellar songlines of our soul—our own personal moonshots. Most the time we try something new and sooner or later we realize we’ve missed the mark. The first thousand times or so, probably by quite a bit. But each attempt refines our direction slightly, each dials us in a little more than the last, slowly but steadily delivering us to the moon.

*Featured image is of a gigantic super moon rising at dusk over an 8,000 meter Himalayan peak in Nepal.

The post Taking moonshots appeared first on Alasdair Plambeck.

Here’s three ways you might think about your dreams. They aren’t mutually exclusive, I’ll often consider all three approaches when working with my dreams. 

1) Assume the dream is trying to tell you something about your waking life

In this approach, we examine the dream for messages and insights that might instruct us in dealing with the relationships, environments and events of the day world. 

2) Assume that everything in your dream is a part of you.

In this approach the elements of our dream don’t correspond to realities “out there” but instead illuminate the inner dynamics of our own psyche: sub-personalities, attitudes, feelings, wounds, rejected qualities and hidden potentials. In this approach the “I” in our dream is our ego, our conscious attitude, what we think about ourself.

The dream hints at the relationship between our ego and other elements of ourselves which have been lost, hidden, rejected, repressed or are otherwise unconscious. The dream’s function is as a counterbalance, compensating for imbalances in our ego consciousness. Bringing these aspects into awareness allows us to integrate them into our conscious personality, thus reclaiming psychic pieces of ourselves and becoming more whole.

3) Assume that your ego is wrong.

In the first two approaches, we are analyzing the dream to see what it might mean for us, our conscious self. Another way of saying this is that when we try to extract information from our dreams, we are subjecting the dream in service of the ego. In this third approach we assume that the underworld of the dream cannot be translated to the upper, day world of our ordinary lives—the two worlds are fundamentally different.

The dream is a divine power that has a direct transformative impact on the dreamer. Any attempt to make meaning of the images of the dreamworld is the ego’s attempt to bring the dream back to the day world where it doesn’t belong. It strips the dream of it’s holistic, multi-dimensional power. Here, the saying that an image is worth a thousand words applies.

The dream may have no intention of serving the ego at all. It may be that the ego’s agenda is exactly what’s getting in the way of a true transformation. So we resist the urge to play the ego’s game of interpretation and instead we look to linger in the dreamworld as long as we can, working directly with its images and giving them time to work on us. In this approach we surrender to the desires of the dream, letting go of our ego’s need to understand and control.

WHAT CAN MY DREAM TELL ME ABOUT MY WORLD?

WHAT CAN MY DREAM TELL ME ABOUT MYSELF?

CAN MY DREAM HELP ME REALIZE THE DEEPER DESIRES OF MY SOUL?

What I like about all three approaches is the assumption that our dreams might be vessels to deeper knowing and hidden potentials. 

The post Three approaches to dreamwork appeared first on Alasdair Plambeck.

1) Turn the push notifications for all your apps off. 

2) Turn your phone on silent. 

3) Set your phone to do not disturb between the hours of 8:00 PM and 8:00 AM.

Even if only for a day, it’s worth reminding ourselves what it’s like to have our attention back. The subtle states of quiet focus and curiosity available to us when we’re not constantly interrupted. The strange and familiar places our imagination takes us when its given the wheel. The vibrancy and discomfort of the ensuing silence.

Our attention is powerful beyond measure. It’s the main asset I bring to my coaching clients. It can heal. It can cultivate community or conflict. Every business is a carefully organized system of attention and it fails when it begins paying attention to the wrong things. Our attention has the power to create things that never existed. It’s magic.

Our attention can be stolen but it cannot be saved. The moment it’s given to us, we are asked to give it away. Yet because it constantly renews in every moment (until it doesn’t) we take it for granted and drastically undervalue its worth. 

I’m sure for some this exercise will seem incredibly impractical. I think that’s worth bringing attention to as well. Why is it that you allow constant interruption? Is that really serving you? Are you giving away your attention too cheaply? Are you giving it to people and places that have not earned it and do not deserve it? What might change if things were different? 

It’s a hard truth that inattention to the small and often relentless choices we face everyday leads to a life without attention.  

Each choice we make, no matter how small, is a fresh opportunity to craft the kind of life we want to live. In reality, it’s the only way. Brick by brick the house is built—or the prison. 

There’s a snag here that’s easy to get caught on: what if I don’t know what I want—then what? In that case, paying attention can feel terrifying. It can amplify the pain and confusion we desperately want to avoid. “Keep busy and carry on” is the modern antidote here. Perhaps, but that’s no recipe for a life.

In his book The Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship, David Whyte suggests that attention is exactly what’s needed in such moments:

“Not knowing what to do, we start to pay real attention. Just as people lost in the wilderness, on a cliff or in a blizzard pay attention with a kind of acuity that they would not have if they thought they knew where they were. Why? Because for those who are really lost, their life depends on paying real attention. If you think you know where you are, you stop looking.”

I love Whyte’s observation because as a traveler it resonates. So often what I seek in getting lost in a culture, a wilderness or a psychedelic journey is an intensified attention to the world and my place in it. Fear is a helpful companion at such times. It reminds me what I need to do: pay attention. That simple.

Paying attention is always the first step in navigating any situation skillfully.

It’s painful to realize we’re lost, but it’s a critical step in finding our way. It’s also temporary. The real risk is continuing to walk in the wrong direction, further and further away from where we want to be.

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There once was a boy who was lost and afraid,
A darkness had come and it grew every day.
He tried and he tried but he was never enough,
He ran and he ran but he could never keep up.

He was anxious and tired all of the time,
He didn’t understand why he never felt up to the task,
“What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I fit?” he would ask.

First he ignored the question,
Preferring to remain in a stasis.
Then he panicked,
Searching for answers in all the wrong places.

Do what he might the darkness kept knocking,
He was scared it might swallow him body and all,
More terrified still was he to heed his own call.

But then life asked him a question,
One that gave him direction.
New courage was found,
His heart danced and sung.
A fire sparked to life,
Where before there was none.

It came with a message:
Guard this, don’t let it be smothered,
Help it grow and share it with others.

When I finished it I was crying. 

Years ago, I spent a couple nights in the highland hills of Peru with a Quechuan tribe drinking ayahuasca, a powerful hallucinogenic. In Peru, ayahuasca is considered plant medicine. Sometimes, she’s affectionately referred to as Mother ayahuasca. You’d be hard pressed to hear her being called a “drug.” That is a Western term for Western ways. 

The experience was soul shaking. It’s hard to describe what happened those two nights and I’ve felt foolish whenever I’ve tried. It’s too deeply personal, a riddle wrapped in the contours of my life, its message meant to be lived, rather than understood. 

In The Gift, Lewis Hyde writes:

“The greatest art offers us images by which to imagine our lives. And once the imagination has been awakened, it is procreative: through it we can give more than we were given, say more than we had to say.”

This is the power of ayahuasca and other psychedelics. They give us visions that can galvanize the spirits and energies within. They have the power to light our soul on fire.

It is said that Native American tribes would distinguish between little dreams and Big Dreams. Little dreams were those that related primarily to the dreamer. Big Dreams implicated the whole tribe, perhaps even the cosmos. They might reenact them or make significant decisions on behalf of the tribe based on the messages in the dream. 

I’ve gone back and forth interpreting whether what happened those dark nights was an inner phenomenon or outer or some combination of the two. I’m not sure it really matters. Ayahuasca gave me a story, my own personal myth. It shook me awake and bestowed my life with a meaning it didn’t have before. 

The shamans in Peru say ayahuasca can only ever meet you half way. What begins as a vision must be made real through our active participation. The vision is vulnerable especially in the beginning. As it begins to fade and lose it’s otherworldly vibrancy, the warm, inviting temptation to drift back to sleep threatens. The hard reality of the outer world reestablishes itself. Doubt and fear creep in. But still, there’s a nagging feeling that something is different now. Dawn has finally arrived. Now is the time to get up and go to work.

Hyde’s reflections on the role of imagination and will in art are helpful here:

“There are at least two phases in the completion of a work of art, one in which the will is suspended and another in which it is active. The suspension is primary. It is when the will is slack that we feel moved or we are struck by an event, intuition, or image. The materia must begin to flow before it can be worked, and not only is the will powerless to initiate that flow, but it actually seems to interfere, for artists have traditionally used devices—drugs, fasting, trances, sleep deprivation, dancing—to suspend the will so that something “other” will come forward. When the material finally appears, it is usually in a jumble, personally moving, perhaps but not much use to someone else—not, at any rate, a work of art. There are exceptions, but the initial formulation of a work is rarely satisfactory—satisfactory, I mean, to the imagination itself, for, like a person who must struggle to say what he means, the imagination stutters toward the clear articulation of its feeling. The will has the power to carry the material back to the imagination and contain it there while it is re-formed. The will does not create the “germinating image” of a work, nor does it give the work its form, but it does provide the energy and the directed attention called for by a dialogue with the imagination.”

According to Hyde the imagination gives us our vision, but willpower embodies it in the world. The artist’s life is a tricky dance between surrender and control. Receiving and giving. 

In our Western civilization we tend to overvalue willpower. We idolize it. We all know the fable of the absent-minded dreamer who lacks the will to make her dreams a reality. Unpractical, idealistic, unrealistic, head in the clouds, pipe dream —these words and phrases sting for us. 

We’re less aware of the particular dangers of the will:

“Any artist who develops the will risks its hegemony. If he is at all wary of that sympathy by which we become receptive to things beyond the self, he may not encourage the will to abandon its position when its powers are exhausted. Willpower has a tendency to usurp the functions of imagination, particularly in a man in a patriarchy…The will knows about survival and endurance; it can direct attention and energy; it can finish things. But we cannot remember a tune or a dream on willpower. We cannot stay awake on willpower…The will by itself cannot heal the soul. And it cannot create.”

Rest, play, journey, explore, dream, create, wander. When the will becomes a ruthless dictator it persecutes these things. It cannot calculate their value nor can it imagine their worth. But these are what replenish and sustain that other part of us, that part which gives us the gift of re-imagining ourselves, the world and our role in it. 

The post Write down your personal myth appeared first on Alasdair Plambeck.

Money is a store of energy. When we work for money we trade our energy now for more energy later. It doesn’t always work out that way, but that’s the American dream. 

Money is an exchange of energy. There are two basic strategies for optimizing the exchange: work to find ways to give less energy for the money received or work to find ways to give more energy for the money received. They represent fundamentally different attitudes about how the world works. 

Money doesn’t grow on trees. That would take way too long. Still, it’s useful for some that you believe money is finite. Then you might trade your life for it.

Some people want you to be a consumer, so they call you one. Under their spell we believe we need what they’re all too happy to sell. They are the real consumers.

America constantly thinks about money but its terrified to have an honest conversation about it.

Managing money is one of the most practical and and important skills we can learn. Why were we never taught it in school? Why are we not teaching it to our children?

You can’t drink until you’re 21 but 17 is old enough for you to apply for student loans that may take decades of your life to pay off and will only be expunged if you die.

We are selling out our youth so we can buy them.

In America it’s taboo to ask someone what they make. It’s unthinkable to ask them how much they have (although everyone wonders). Only pop stars, tycoons and tyrants are beyond these rules—then their fortunes are publicly counted and worshipped. 

What get’s measured gets managed. That doesn’t mean what’s easily measured is important. We give away our power when we mistake net worth for self worth.

No one knows who owns what until the market goes belly up. Then half the neighborhood is for sale. Still no one knows who really owns what, only now the pretenders are outed and shamed. 

Here’s an exercise worth doing. Next time you are driving down the street ask yourself this: how many of the cars I see driving down the street do I think are actually owned by their drivers? (Owned in this case means the car is completely paid off—no loans or leases.) Compare that with your answer to another question: how many cars do I believe are owned outright when I’m not doing this exercise?

Money conjures all sorts of illusions. It’s hard to penetrate below the appearance of things. How might your perception of the world and yourself change if you were to beneath the veneer? Who profits when you’re not able to? 

It’s rare to pay cash for anything. How much are you paying for convenience? Who’s selling it to you?

The financial system you’ve been born into isn’t interested in your bold dreams of change. It wants to make spending easy and painless—a downward-facing slope that’s so fun and easy to slide down you can’t resist. Same old, same old.

Financial scandals erupt into the public consciousness only to be stuffed back down as violently as they arrived. We don’t want to know how far things have gone. So we strike a deal with the darkness: I will allow you to exist if you allow me to pretend you don’t. That suits all the things that thrive in darkness just fine.

We make similar deals with our own darkness. We project outward what we’ve been told we lack inside. Money consumes us. Or we consume it. Either way, we are its servant. 

Surplus or deficit, it matters less than we think. Either can be used as a crutch.

Money has created more freedom and opportunity for more people today then any other time in human history.

Whether or not we deserve our privilege isn’t the point. The real question is what will we do with it? We are all standing on the shoulders of giants.

Some of us are terrified by the freedom money offers. It forces us to recognize our responsibility. It’s easier to hide.

Some of us believe money will free us. It entangles us until we realize true freedom can’t be bought. 

Money is not the root of all evil but its roots can be traced back to plenty of evil things: forced tribute, war and slave routes among them. Paul understood this. 

Money is a tool. It extends who we already are and magnifies what’s already there. 

Money is a teacher. It shows us where the work is yet to be done. 

Money work is about reading the old stories and rewriting them. Your money story began with your parents. And theirs began with their parents.

Changing your relationship to money is a form of ancestral healing. 

Changing your relationship to money is a form of energy work. You stop giving your energy to people who don’t deserve it. You learn how to conserve your energy, redirect it, release it and realize new potentials with it. 

Where energy flows, that’s what grows. That’s the magic of attention.

Money isn’t attention, but used effectively it can marshal it.

Pain is an ally. It focuses attention.

Worrying about money is a bad investment. It drains us of our energy.

If you don’t know why you are saving money you will spend it.

Many of us start doing money work because we are desperate to say No. No to a job, No to a place, No to a relationship, No to a lifestyle. No is a beautiful place to start. It’s motivating.

Saying No is important but finding your Yes is the true work. Your Yes is about YOU. Until you find your Yes, you’ll always be defined by your No.

Willpower is fickle. It’s dangerous to let your money rely on it.

Build a financial system that will put YOU first—even when you don’t. No one else can do that for you.

If your financial system isn’t simple you won’t trust it. If you don’t trust it you won’t use it. If you don’t use it, it won’t help you.

Saving is about creating three things: freedom, equanimity and opportunity. 

Saving money is a form of time travel. You are sending money to your future self. 

Humans are lazy. What would happen if you made saving your default? If you saved when you did nothing?

The true returns of investing in yourself never reveal themselves on a ledger, they are much more real than that. 

Money work is a powerful vehicle for self-knowledge. It forces us to ask three tough questions:

• What do I need?
• What can I do without?
• What do I truly value?

The real work has nothing to do with pie charts or financial wizardry—it’s about changing the way you live your life.

Here’s a good rule for creating a simple personal finance system that actually works: if it doesn’t change your behaviour stop doing it.

Facing our finances is shadow work. We turn and face what haunts us. It takes courage.

Money is incredibly illuminating. Your financial transactions are a record of your past priorities. It’s foolish to believe otherwise.

The true cost of poor money management doesn’t show up in the numbers. The true cost is not living your life. 

Cultivating a healthy relationship with money isn’t really about money. It’s about cultivating a healthy relationship with ourselves, others and the world. 

True wealth always emanates from within.

Money is spiritual.

If you’d like to change your relationship to money I currently have a few spaces available in my 5-week financial empowerment program which has helped others gain clarity in their finances, pay off five-figure debt and triple their savings. During the program you’ll learn a mindset, habits and a proven system for realizing financial freedom, building wealth and reaching your goals faster than you thought possible.

Book your free, 30-minute money session now. Don’t worry, if I can’t save you money and time we won’t work together.

*Photo was taken a few minutes walk down the street from our house on Lake Atitlan in Guatemala.

The post Debt is a trap, wealth is a habit & money is spiritual appeared first on Alasdair Plambeck.

Here’s a way of thinking about the world that you might find helpful.

All of us live in an internal landscape. It’s made up of all sorts of interesting things: images, words, beliefs, sensory data, feelings, fears, thoughts, values, and ideas just to name a few. In essence, it’s the world I alone inhabit. I like to imagine my internal landscape as a massive snow globe that my inner self walks around in.

It’s unique to me. That’s because my internal landscape is shaped in large part by how I collect and process information, which in a broad sense, makes up what it means to be me. But it’s also shaped by the actual stream of information available to me, which is determined by my environment.

Our internal landscapes likely share some things in common (more than say, a bat’s internal landscape will, which is why we can even have a conversation about this) but they also differ wildly. This is pretty easy to test for yourself: just talk to your parents for a while. We all live in our own little snow globe.

It’s worth thinking about your internal landscape because your internal landscape influences every aspect of your experience, including what you see, feel, think and do. Most of us underestimate how large a role environment plays in shaping our internal landscapes. That’s because so much of this process is going on beneath the surface of consciousness.

A good analogy might be the screen you are reading this post on. What’s really happening behind your screen? You probably have only the faintest idea. But that doesn’t stop you from living in the digital world projected on your screen.

We are incredibly porous beings, constantly soaking up our environment. We collect its stimuli, images and symbols and repurpose them to build our own little worlds and to make sense of them.

Every environment exerts a force on us. No environment is neutral.

We can steer this process by paying attention to the environments we inhabit. Here are three types of environments we all spend time in. Perhaps you can think of others.

Physical environments

Here are a few examples: your bedroom, a cabin in the woods, a conference room, a beach at sunrise, a noisy hotel bar, a mountain pass, a library, a casino, a train station, an airplane, your posture.

Physical spaces are the most obvious environments because they are so tangible but that does little to prevent us from underestimating their influence on us. Even physical environments have many hidden qualities that influence us in non-obvious ways. Ecology, architecture, poetry, science and religion are just a few of the many disciplines devoted to studying these relationships.

Social environments

These are the social webs that, being human, we are all entangled in. For most of us this begins with mom and dad, and expands all the way out to the more abstract: our culture.

Here are some other examples: your grandparents, your facebook friends, an alcoholics anonymous group, a dinner party with your boss, your neighborhood committee, your book club, your drinking buddies, strangers on the subway, your favorite podcast hosts, your cats, your local news reporters and the communities they report on, your ancestors.

All social environments include messages about what our internal landscape should look and feel like. Some of these messages are clearly communicated but many more are suggested, ambiguous, concealed or entirely unconscious. We often have only the foggiest idea of our own intentions, let alone someone else’s.

Mental environments

Of the three, these are the hardest environments to describe because they are the hardest to see. They are the places we go to in our minds. That makes mental environments particularly dangerous because we’re often not aware when we’re in one. Some mental environments you might inhabit are your email, facebook’s online platform, computer code, your preferred news network, a lecture, a language, liberalism, a movie, your inner dialogue.

Mental environments are like the architecture of a building. With man made environments it’s the matrix of decisions, values, incentives and ideas that create the environment itself. A hallway and a door suggest different things. So does a gothic cathedral and an Egyptian pyramid. The movie The Matrix is a particularly popular example of a mental environment created by machines for humans to live in.

These categorizations are oversimplified and somewhat arbitrary. No environment fits neatly into one category—it’s much more multilayered than that, with each category being interwoven into the fabric of the others. It’s not about accurately categorizing every aspect of the environment—that’s impossible. But thinking of them as semi-distinct environments can be a useful framework with practical value. Before we get there though, let’s try fleshing these ideas out with an example.

We can look at Instagram as a social environment (those you follow, those who follow you, advertisers, the company) nested in a mental environment (its algorithm and software) nested in a physical environment (your phone or computer, the servers and fiber optic lines that make up the internet). If you spend time on Instagram, it’s worth thinking about all three of those layers and how they might be shaping your internal landscape.

For example by the time you’ve logged on your social environment has already been determined for you in substantial ways. Anyone without either a phone or internet has already been filtered out, which is most of the world. Instagram’s algorithm decides for you what you will see from those you follow (and those you don’t) and in what priority. Instagram also shapes your social environment in another significant way: through advertisers. Most advertisers are people you don’t know who want something from you bad enough to pay to be in your social environment. Creepy.

Our environment is also influenced in other less obvious ways. For example the architecture of Instagram—its platform—is determined by the decisions of the company and its engineers which are influenced by their values (predominantly Western), its philosophy (predominantly capitalism) and its incentives (predominantly profit). The only actions you can take on Instagram are one’s the company has allowed. With emojis even the emotions you can express have been chosen for you.

Your physical environment on Instagram is probably the most predetermined of the three. Everyone on Instagram is interacting through a screen (as opposed to directly, in real time) which we know effects social dynamics in crazy ways. Our body posture also changes when we are on Instagram and that in turn also effects how we feel and how we communicate with others.

How much of our experience on Instagram is influenced by this one fact? That you and everyone else is hunched over, staring into a small, glowing square?

We have very little idea. But all these aspects and many more provide a constant stream of information that shapes the internal landscape you live in. Would Instagram be worth billions if it didn’t?

Becoming aware of the environments we inhabit

Like Neo, recognizing what environment you are in is the most critical step. And as The Matrix suggests, very few people get this far. Thinking of environments as social, physical and mental can help us recognize more of the environments we inhabit. A good way to start is by making a list.

Once you are aware of the environment you are in, you can begin to evaluate how it may be influencing your internal landscape.

One way is by thinking about some of the key relationships that determine a particular environment. In what ways might they be shaping your internal landscape? How comfortable are you with that? Knowing your values will help you consider whether the particular relationships in an environment are cause for concern.

Another way to think about an environment we inhabit is to ask who controls it (if anyone) and to what degree? Is it possible to know? Who are they and what are their values, motivations and incentives? Can you trust them? All this can be hard, if not impossible to know for sure. A good short hand is to follow the money. We’re all only human after all.

Perhaps the best way to evaluate an environment is to put thinking aside and explore how you feel when you are in it. How do you feel before or after? If you notice a change, how long does it last? Is it positive or negative? What patterns do you see emerging? What’s your gut telling you?

Anecdotes from others you trust or scientific studies can be helpful too but it shouldn’t be an excuse for checking in with your own intuition.

Letting others decide whether an environment is healthy or unhealthy for you is not only shirking your responsibility—it’s dangerous.

Once you are aware of an environment and how its influencing your internal landscape, you’ve gained power over it. Now you can:

• Manage yourself in the environment.
• Modify the environment.
• Move to another environment.

In the remainder of this post I’ll explore how you might apply these three strategies to your physical, social and mental environments.

Managing yourself in the environment

If you can’t change the environment or are unwilling to leave it entirely you can learn to manage yourself while you are in it. Can you choose when you are there or how long you stay? Can you take breaks? Can you stand instead of sit? Can you set realistic expectations about what you’ll accomplish and how much energy you’ll have after?

The mall is a physical environment that despite my best efforts, I occasionally still need to visit. I know it drains me so I plan to go late in the day after I’ve already spent my best energy on more important things. When I go I know exactly what I’m there for so I can get out quickly. And I’m careful not plan much after so I have time to recharge.

An alumni of my financial empowerment program identified a social environment that was getting in the way of reaching her and her husband’s financial goals. They both enjoyed spending time out on the town with their friends but financially they always seemed to lose control: the social norm of everyone buying a round encouraged excess and the social pressure made it difficult to manage their individual spending. Realizing this, she began bringing a predetermined amount of cash and leaving her credit card at home.

Email is an addictive mental environment for me that reduces my productivity and can prevent me from unwinding. Knowing this, I set specific times during the day for checking my email and I don’t check it on my days off. I’ve programmed my phone to switch to “do not disturb” from 8:00 PM – 8:00 AM. When I’m able to stick to these rules I’m happier and more creative. Conversely, when I’m feeling frazzled and disconnected, my email habits are one of the first things I check.

Sometimes managing ourselves in a suboptimal environment is all we need to do or can do. In these situations it often only takes a couple minutes to find simple, effective solutions that can improve our experience and limit it’s effect on our internal landscape. When we know our self-management strategies for a particular environment we can revisit them as a sort of checklist when things aren’t going so well.

Managing ourselves can be a good strategy in the short term or for environments we don’t spend a lot of time in. However for environments we inhabit frequently, relying on this strategy alone can sap us of our energy and willpower. In those cases we might need to look for ways to influence the environment.

Modifying your environment

We can modify many of our environments to some extent. The same way we underestimate our environment’s ability to unconsciously influence us we often underestimate our ability to consciously influence our environment. Even small tweaks can be empowering when we’re intentional about them. Managing the environment often requires more energy but the potential impact it can have on our internal landscape often makes it worth trouble.

We can organize our physical work space, declutter our room, put a fresh coat of paint on the walls or add some potted plants in the kitchen. We can augment the physical environment of our bodies by adjusting our posture, improving our diet, receiving a massage or going for a run.

We can ask a good friend to accompany us to a cocktail party where we’re not likely to know anyone else or to be in the audience for a critical speech we’re nervous about giving. In the case of my client, she could share with her friends why she was trying to spend less at the bar and ask for their support.

We can manage our mental environment by changing the channel on the tv from the evening news to the nature channel. A trick that I’ve used to manage my email is to apply a filter that automatically removes newsletters I’m subscribed to out of my inbox into a less visible folder which I check when I have the spare time. This makes a mental environment I spend a lot of time in much less chaotic.

These changes may seem small but they aren’t trivial. When we are intentional about the ways we prune, weed and seed our environment we become gardeners, carefully tending to our internal landscape and encouraging the ways we want it to grow. For this strategy to be effective we must be discerning about what can be changed, what’s worth changing and when a more radical approach might be necessary.

Move to another environment

This is often the most powerful option we have at our disposal. While we may focus on either leaving an environment or moving to a new one these are always a package deal. We can’t go somewhere new without first leaving where we are and vice versa. This double move (leaving something known and embracing something unknown) is why it’ can be so hard to do. But when we pull it off, it can be transformational.

When I was leading a community of mastermind groups in San Diego it was common to witness a new member go through a radical transformation in multiple areas of his or her life after joining. It was a joy to watch but it wasn’t a surprise. Alcoholics anonymous is another great example of this. The remarkable transformations that AA is known for are more likely to happen when someone not only leaves a disempowering social environment but transplants themselves in a truly empowering one—and stays there.

As a traveler, I leave and enter drastically different physical environments all the time. Recently I moved from living in a small caravan ensconced in the woods to a spacious chalet overlooking the deepest lake in Central America with mountains on the horizon. The move has instigated substantial shifts in how I see the world—literally and metaphorically. I feel and think and do differently here. I can’t help it.

You can choose new mental environments by deleting your social media account, learning a language, turning off the tv or picking up a book.  Recently I unsubscribed from a daily digest of the world’s news I had been following for years. I was amazed how much my world changed just leaving that environment. I hadn’t realized to how much it was coloring my internal landscape with cynicism.

As you become aware of the environments you spend time in and intentionally use these strategies you will face resistance. You will wake up to the ways your internal landscape has already been groomed and terraced. You will notice the myriad ways others try to shape it. You will be better prepared to recognize ally from foe. You may even begin to intuit the internal landscapes of others.

You will claim your rightful throne as master of your inner domain.

The post Internal landscapes: how to be the master of your inner domain appeared first on Alasdair Plambeck.

Recently a coaching client of mine started seeing a woman but felt the relationship was cooling off (he’s given me permission to share this story). They had seen each other a handful of times and each time things had clicked. He was really excited about her but lately she’d been slow to respond to his texts. It didn’t take long before he started to fill in the gaps:

The last date actually hadn’t gone so well, perhaps she wasn’t that into me. I have been texting her a lot, maybe she thinks I’m too needy. The other day she posted a photo on facebook with another guy, she’s probably found someone else. 

He’d been torturing himself with stories like this for a while when we spoke. He was tired of always initiating so he’d come up with a plan. He’d text her one last time. Then he’d go cold turkey. It would be on her to respond. If she didn’t make the next move he’d wouldn’t.

It was clear though that what he wanted most was to deepen the relationship, not walk away from it. Had he been honest with her about how he felt? Had he told her his intentions and how the ambiguity was hurting him? No, he hadn’t. 

I suggested that since he was already willing to lose the relationship he try being radically honest with her instead. It’d be uncomfortable, sure, but by owning his truth and asking for clarity he’d give her a chance to give it. It’d also force him to lead by example. Maybe she didn’t know how he truly felt. Or maybe the relationship was in fact doomed, but if it was, wouldn’t he want to know that sooner rather than later? By turning to face the heat—instead of walking away with an explosion at his back—he’d be acting with integrity. He’d come out stronger for it. Perhaps they would too. Maybe she wants some heat.

I call this fierce leaning in putting it in the fire.

Fire is a great truth teller. Exposing something to the flames is liberating and terrifying. If it isn’t true, it will burn up.

Most of us secretly cherish our delusions. Parts of us desperately want to stay deceived. But think of the time you’d save and the progress you’d make if that belief you held on to so fervently went up in smoke. Save yourself the cold regret.

When you’ve found something worth keeping, the fire will help you refine it. Placing it into the crucible means sacrificing its current form. This is an important point: you must be willing to lose what you have. In exchange you gain the power to filter out impurities: the stories that aren’t serving you, the assumptions that are misguiding you and the prejudices that are blinding you. Too much distance from the heat—mental, physical or emotional—and things will solidify. All worthwhile relationships and ideas constantly need purifying.

For those things you want to forge, the fire allows you to give them shape.

Fire, combined with the hammer’s blow, imbues its object with the resilience needed to survive contact with the world. The blacksmith knows what it takes to create something that lasts.

In the end my client courageously decided to turn around and hold the relationship to the fire. He shared his truth. In return she shared hers. It hadn’t been what he feared. She was interested but an uncertain living situation had made her hesitant about stepping into a longterm relationship. Shortly after they had their best date yet. And just recently he told me they’ve decided to travel to Spain together at the end of the year. That should keep things hot.  

Put it in the fire. Only then will you begin to know what you have. 

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The other night we performed a ritual to thank Chana Masala (that’s her name). It was new moon. Without the old moon’s glow the dark night sky glittered with stars. The Milky Way’s speckled band stretched for lightyears over our head. On those nights it’s as if everything becomes possible.

We lit a stick of incense and sat outside gazing at Chana. It’s at night when you can really glimpse her soul. Her old, faded exterior disappears into the dark and her soft, golden glow emanates from within. In those moments she reminds me of a spaceship: a lone bastion of light and order traveling through the wild darkness of the void. On nights like that, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

I thanked her for being the vessel that launched us into this new life of ours. While living in this caravan we married, started a podcast and founded multiple businesses. We’ve danced naked in the midnight rain and spotted deer from our doorstep. It won’t be until we leave that the nostalgia truly kicks in. I suspect at times it will be near unbearable.

I thanked her for the way she’s quietly sheltered us from the rain and the sun, the cold and the heat. She has always seemed so joyful to been given the chance, giving us whatever we need and everything she has without a expecting anything in return. And not just us: she’s been home to more spiders than I could possibly count (sometimes I wish Chana’s love was a bit more conditional). 

When she speaks she’s only ever said kind things: the sliding sound of her curtains being opened each morning. The happy hum of her ceiling fan while we cooked. The playful rumble of her water pump whenever we asked for water. She’s not a jealous lover either: she generously shares the birdsongs and acorn-thuds she’s given.

When we found her she had been sitting dormant in a driveway for over year. She was in complete disrepair. We took her home with enthusiasm and showered her with love: new kitchen, new shower, walls, new floors, new cabinets, new pipes, new wires, new lights, new paint… Sometimes I felt she was thanking us for giving her a new life. Other-times I wondered is she was simply reflecting back what had been given her. 

She’s been a good friend. She knows everything about us, and we her. 

Recently someone came to look at Chana Masala. We were still struggling with the idea of parting with her when Jean-Baptiste visited. A traveling carpenter in his early thirties, Jean-Baptiste was tired of building houses for millionaires and billionaires in Paris. A friend of his had bought five hectares of untamed land in the Alps. He was thinking about joining him. It would cost him his job and most of his savings. 

In that liminal state the three of us sat down for coffee and shared stories. 
He told me about his friend’s fish which lived in a small fishbowl. One day his friend moved the fish into a larger aquarium. Jean-Baptiste noticed the fish began to grow. 

“Do you think humans are like that too?” he had asked his friend. 

I laughed. 

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Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone by Brene Brown

Insightful, hilarious and charming are the words that come to mind when I think of this book. Dr. Brown, a social scientist from Texas, explores what over a decade of research is teaching her about navigating our own personal wildernesses in an age of increased polarization. What makes her message so refreshing is how personal it is. Dr. Drown explores her research through the the context of her own experience which gives her mountains of research-based data a life of it’s own. An essential guide for anyone walking their own path through the metaphorical wilderness of life. I think I’ve read it three times now.

AWOL on the Appalachian Trail by David Miler

In 2003, David Miller left his job, family, and friends to fulfill a dream and hike the Appalachian Trail. AWOL on the Appalachian Trail is Miller’s account of this thru-hike along the entire 2,172 miles from Georgia to Maine. Well written and refreshingly introspective at times, David’s story really puts you into the shoes of a thru-hiker.

The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate—Discoveries from a Secret World by Peter Wohleben

I’m reading this book right now. A German forester, Peter makes me feel like a little child exploring the wonders of the forest for the first time. Peter’s curiosity and reverence for forests imbues a sense of magic in nature that can otherwise be hard to see and is so easily forgotten. Trees are pretty incredible creatures when you stop and take the time to get to know them.

The Practice of the Wild by Gary Snyder

Nine meditative essays from the influential beat poet on the Wild. After growing up in the far west of America’s West Coast, Gary turned his attention to the Far East where he studied zen and eastern thought for over a decade. The result is a refreshingly deep and modern perspective that bridges two world’s of thought. This book is a soothing balm for the spirit. My biggest complaint is that the book ended.

The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin

What can I say? Darwin’s findings underpin modern science and how we see the world today. There’s not a single discipline which hasn’t been influenced by his work. Still as relevant today as the day it was printed. A walk in nature will never be the same after dipping into Darwin’s mind.

Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer

Krakauer reconstructs the story and mystery of Chris McCandless’ life and death. It’s a heartbreaking and fascinating life, fiercely lived, and a powerful story, expertly written. If you believe as Plato did that the unexamined life is not worth living, you’ll enjoy this book.

Wanderlust: A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit

In this heady exposition, Solnit explores the possibilities presented by walking through a historical perspective. A bit dense at times, but for those poetically and philosophically minded it’s a very interesting history on the act of walking. Solnit is an incredibly deep thinker and a masterful writer (I also recommend her book A Field Guide to Getting Lost which is a similarly deep exploration into wandering, being lost, and the unknown).

A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush by Eric Newby

A classic in travel writing. Newby’s recounting of his disastrous journey to the mountains of the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan is fantastic, deadly and hilarious. British humor at it’s absolute best.

Walden by Henry David Thoreau

Everyone knows the story, but few take the time to read his work. Thoreau’s contemplative experience in nature, simplicity and self-sufficiency is a joy to read. Thoreau was a deep thinker and a gifted writer—a combination that goes particularly well together.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Coelho adapted a classic myth for a contemporary audience and the result was a story that pierced the modern soul. I’d wager that half the spiritual, soul-searching journeys of the last 25 years can probably be traced back to this book. It’s a great read for anyone going on a journey (which is everyone).

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