Taking Responsibility for My Life

Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot on where I am in life.

Many of you may have noticed that I’ve been quieter than usual over the past few months. I haven’t been posting much, writing as much, or creating in the way I normally do. It wasn’t because I had nothing to say. If anything, it was because there was too much happening beneath the surface.

I felt called to step back.

At the end of last year, I spent over two months in Peru, immersed in both the Amazon jungle and the Andes Mountains. During that time I participated in indigenous ceremonies and worked with traditional plant medicines—including ayahuasca, San Pedro, and psilocybin mushrooms—held within deeply intentional ceremonial settings.

Contrary to what some might expect, the experience wasn’t chaotic or dramatic.

It was sobering.

I felt like I was seeing my life with unusual clarity. It was almost like a life review. Patterns became obvious. Priorities shifted. Questions I had been carrying for years suddenly felt much simpler.

That process didn’t end when I left Peru. In many ways, it only began.

After returning home, I spent weeks editing a documentary I filmed there. When I finally finished it, something in me crashed. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t edit. I couldn’t create. I needed to stop and rest.

Then, almost immediately afterward, I turned thirty.

I didn’t expect that birthday to affect me as much as it did.

There seems to be something about entering a new decade of life that naturally invites reflection. I remember feeling it at twenty, and I imagine I’ll feel it again at forty and fifty.

Turning thirty had me looking honestly at my twenties.

What had I actually done? What had I built? What had I learned? What had I been avoiding?

When I looked back, I felt immense gratitude. I wrote ten books. I created four documentaries. I traveled across much of the world. I spent years immersed in meditation, retreats, monasteries, wisdom traditions, and conversations with incredible teachers.

It has been a beautiful decade.

But alongside that gratitude came another realization.

For most of my twenties, I assumed everything would somehow work itself out. I thought that eventually one of the books would take off. Or a documentary. Or social media. Or something would naturally provide enough financial stability to support the work I loved doing.

That never really happened.

I’ve been fortunate in many ways. I’ve received countless messages from people sharing how my work has impacted their lives, and that has meant more to me than I can express. The encouragement and support I’ve received from people around the world has been deeply meaningful.

But encouragement doesn’t pay my bills.

So much of my twenties became a cycle of working, saving money, spending it on another journey or project, learning something new, creating from that experience, and then starting over again.

Looking back, I realize I spent much of that decade seeking: seeking truth, seeking understanding, seeking experiences, seeking wisdom, and ultimately, seeking myself.

Today, something feels different.

My cup feels full.

For the first time in many years, I don’t feel any urge to chase another experience. I don’t feel restless. I don’t feel like I need another country, another retreat, another teaching, or another answer.

What I desire now is integration. Groundedness. Stability.

I want to embody what I’ve spent years learning.

I want to build a life.

One realization has become impossible to ignore:

My life is my responsibility.

I recently heard a phrase that has stayed with me:

If it is to be, it’s up to me.

That sentence has become something of a compass.

It’s easy to explain away our circumstances—the economy, algorithms, bad timing, other people, or past decisions. Some of those things are real.

But ultimately, they don’t change the fact that my life is still mine to live.

I began noticing subtle ways I had been giving my power away. Quiet forms of victimhood. Stories about why things hadn’t worked. Reasons why I wasn’t where I hoped I’d be.

Whether those stories were true or not almost stopped mattering.

The question became:

How do I choose to respond to reality as it is?

That realization has been both terrifying and deeply liberating. It means no one else is steering the ship. I am.

Not perfectly, of course. Some days I show up well. Some days I don’t. But I’m becoming much more interested in the daily practices that allow me to consistently show up: sleep, nutrition, movement, focus, reducing distractions, and being intentional with my attention.

I’ve also realized something else about myself.

Throughout my twenties, I struggled with consistency. I would build momentum around writing or creating, then disappear for months to travel or pursue another project. I’d come back and rebuild, then disappear again.

Again and again.

For a while I was regretting that I hadn’t been consistent enough. Now I simply see it as a lesson.

Consistency matters—not because consistency itself is the goal, but because meaningful things are built through steady attention over time.

I don’t want to spend another decade constantly starting over. I want to keep showing up—for my work, for the people I love, and for the mission that has quietly guided me for years: helping people awaken to their true nature and live from that understanding.

One of the biggest lessons Peru gave me was how easy it is to become distracted. Life constantly pulls at our attention. There are endless opportunities, endless ideas, endless opinions, endless noise.

Without a clear intention, it’s incredibly easy to drift and become lost.

So I’ve been returning to one simple question over and over again:

What is most meaningful?

That question doesn’t always give me immediate answers, but it does orient me. It keeps bringing me back to what matters. And perhaps that’s all we really need—a reliable compass.

As I move into this next chapter, I feel a shift happening.

Less seeking.

More building.

Less chasing.

More embodying.

Less waiting for life to happen.

More consciously creating it.

My intention is to write more, share more, and create more—not only when I feel inspired, but also when I don’t. Because I’ve learned that waiting until we feel like showing up often means we never fully show up at all.

So this is my commitment—to myself, and perhaps now to you as well: to keep returning to what matters, to keep creating, to keep building, and to keep asking one simple question:

What is most meaningful?

I think that is a worthwhile question for all of us to ask ourselves.

Wherever you are in your own life, I hope you take a moment to pause and honestly ask yourself whether the direction you’re moving is aligned with what matters most.

Thank you for being here and reading about my journey.

I’m grateful to walk this journey with you 🙏