“Solitude is where one discovers one is not alone.” ~Marty Rubin

“No one invites me to their party.” That’s what middle school was like for me, anyway. No matter how hard I tried, I could never really fit in with any friend groups.

It seemed like everyone got the instructions on who to hang with and where to sit except me.

I was the serious, quiet type. And the gossipers and sleepover crews didn’t want serious and reserved. So I bounced around, making a buddy here and there. But I was never fully brought into the social scene.

At first, I figured it would sort itself out and I’d find my people. But middle school turned into high school. And high school turned into my first year of college.

I was still on the outside looking in.

No matter how often I put myself out there to try and squeeze into different circles, I’d end up alone again before long—feeling even more lonely than when I just kept to myself.

The worst part was when I pretended to be someone else, just trying to fit in. And it would work…for a minute. Then I couldn’t keep up the act anymore.

I was back to being an outsider. But now I also felt like I lost some inner part of me that made me, me. I was drained. I was bummed.

Eventually, I realized I had hit rock bottom. I was tired of criticizing myself and trying to contort into someone I was not just to please people who didn’t actually care about me.

I had already chased after so many groups and friends, desperate for that connection, but all I was left with was emptiness.

Finally, one day, I asked myself, “Who has been here through it all? The highs and lows, wins and losses?”

The answer was me, myself, and I. ‘I’ was the constant.

‘I’ was the one listening and providing answers when I talked myself through difficult situations. ‘I’ was the one patting myself on the back when I succeeded at something.

That realization—that I already had the most loyal companion imaginable—brought me more comfort than any superficial friendship or party invite could. I had myself, and I was enough.

I decided to stop begging for validation or acceptance from others. I was going to validate myself.

I started actively spending more time alone, without distractions or social media. Reading, writing, and taking myself on solo dates.

I discovered so much about my interests and strengths. I found inspiration and magic in solitude I had never known before.

For the first time in ages, I was at peace. I felt whole, not like some fractured version of myself. I was alone but not lonely. I was independent yet fulfilled.

I became my own best friend. And that made all the difference.

It taught me that I alone am enough, even if others don’t see my worth. Their approval is meaningless unless I have self-approval first.

Further, an interesting thing happened once I stopped desperately chasing friendships—I started attracting people who liked me for me. Turns out when you’re confident and self-assured, you give off good vibes that draw others in.

I made some fantastic friends in college who didn’t care that I was an introvert. And you know what’s the best part? I even found my love partner! Everyone valued my insight and quiet persistence.

For the first time, I felt like I belonged while still being fully myself.

I learned four vital lessons from my lonely middle school days:

1. You are your own best friend or worst critic. How you talk to yourself matters. Build yourself up rather than tear yourself down.

2. Embrace what makes you different. Don’t hide your unique gifts and talents away in some quest to fit in. The right people will appreciate them.

3. Connections can’t be forced. Friendships and relationships worth having tend to come when you least expect them. Stop chasing and let things unfold.

4. It’s better to be “alone” than in bad company. Having toxic or fake friends is far lonelier than having just yourself.

My middle school self would never believe me if I told him one day, he’d have true friends and a partner who adores his little quirks.

But by making peace with being alone, I found the relationships I had craved for so long and discovered that all the acceptance I needed was my own.

I still consider myself an introvert. I enjoy my solo time and quiet hobbies. But now I don’t feel pressured to be someone I’m not just to keep friends around. The connections I do have are based on authenticity from both sides.

And when I need advice or just someone to listen, I turn inward. I explore my feelings through journaling. I tap into my inner wisdom through long, contemplative walks alone. I’ve become my own counselor and cheerleader.

I’m so grateful that the younger me kept striving to find his place. All that perseverance led me right where I needed to be—firmly rooted in myself.

If you’ve been going through something similar, I see you. And I want you to know that you are enough, exactly as you are. You don’t need to earn a spot at anyone’s table for your life to have meaning.

The people who will love you most deeply are on their way. For now, love yourself. Treat yourself kindly. Pursue your passions unapologetically.

Speak encouraging words into the mirror each morning. Put in the work to be your best friend.

And know that wherever you end up in life—surrounded by a tribe of people who adore everything that makes you different or embracing solitude and forging your own singular path—you can’t lose as long as you have yourself.

I am my own closest companion. You can be your own, too.

Whatever stage you’re at in your journey of self-discovery, keep going. Know that the loneliness and feelings of not belonging won’t last forever.

Have faith that things will get better, especially when you nurture your relationship with yourself above all else.

Maybe today is an awkward day where you’re struggling to find your place. That’s okay. Breathe through it. Tomorrow holds new possibilities.

Maybe you’re entering a season of solitude that first feels uncomfortable but will ultimately lead to profound growth. Lean into it entirely rather than resist it. There is a treasure to uncover.

Or maybe you have finally attracted a “tribe” that appreciates the unique shades of who you are. Congrats! But never lose sight of your own worth that exists with or without them.

Wherever you’re at, you’ve got this. And you’ve got yourself. That’s all you’ll ever really need.

So stay true to yourself. Don’t shrink parts of you to appease others. Keep taking chances on yourself, even when no one else will.

Trust that by being loyal to your own soul, you will find both inner fullness and meaningful connections with time.

For now, chin up, sweet soul. I’m proud of you for how far you’ve come. How far you’ll go from here is breathtaking. Onward.

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In the spring of 2012, I heard this word, “rest.” I realized how horrible I was at it. I wasn’t even sure what it was. Was it extra sleep? Was it not working on Sundays? Shortly after I heard this word, my life began changing. For one reason or another, one by one, the things with which I occupied myself were stripped away until I found myself with nothing left to hold.

A year later I was in a panic, wondering how we were going to make ends meet. Everything in me said to do what I had always done: get on email, get on the phone, make the next thing happen. Anyone who knew me knew I was someone who could make anything happen. If I didn’t know how, I bought a book and learned. Anything I ever wanted, I found a way to get.

Then I heard the word again, “rest.”

“What?! Now? No. My family is depending on me. My reputation is at stake. I don’t have time for rest. I will rest when things are okay.”

“No. That is not what rest is.”

Rest is not something you do. Rest is something you put on. It is something you are while you do what you are doing. Rest is a posture.

I decided to do the exact opposite thing my insides were telling me to do. I went to the backyard, sat on a chair, and watched. I did not know what I was watching for. I listened. I did not know what I was listening for. Every time a thought or an idea came to my head, I wrote it down and then resumed sitting.

It was horrible, like ignoring an itch for hours. I knew that if it was this hard for me to physically sit still, it was important for me to learn. If my body could not sit still, then how could my mind or my heart? So I decided to discipline myself to sit that way at least one day a week.

Eventually, I sat this way more often. Meanwhile, my professional life continued to fall apart and the temptation to do something about it grew. I heard so many voices, some from friends and family but most from my own head:

“You’re lazy.”

“You’re being irresponsible.”

“What are you doing??!!”

“It’s up to you to provide for your family.”

“Get up and make something happen, now!”

Simultaneously I heard another voice:

“Rest.”

“How long do I wait?”

“Rest.”

This was the summer of 2013. A year later, we received the call about our soon-to-be-born baby’s condition. I had thought that the urge to get up and do something was strong before, but now this was on an entirely new level. Again, I heard the voice say, “Rest,” so we didn’t research Trisomy 18. We didn’t look for different doctors who would say something we wanted to hear.

I continued to sit and stare at the fence, quieting my body, and eventually, at times, quieting my mind and my heart as well. I cannot even describe the amount of fear that was present. But this time it was different. It was as if in the past, fear had walked in the door and I was afraid; now fear stood in the doorway and waited to be invited in.

More and more, fear gathered at the door, but it did not come in. It only waited. I could see it there. It was terrifying. But I wasn’t able to invite it in. Rest was occupying the space instead.

Some moments in the hospital on January 7^th, 2015 I thought my wife might die. I expected to hold our lifeless baby that morning. I knew I would speak at Olivia’s funeral and not know what to say. It was like a nightmare. But I remember it. I was there. If she would have lived only an hour, I would have been there for that one hour. Because fear was at the door, but rest was inside.

My posture was rest, quiet, and trust. It was not about making things happen. It was about watching, listening, and being there and nowhere else. I was not going to miss it, as horrible as it could have been.

During the first few months of Olivia’s life, fear kept congregating at the door. We thought we saw her last breath so many times. We were so sleep-deprived. I passed out one day just walking across the room.

At this point, I felt pretty incapable of getting up and making something happen. The doctors were clear that there was nothing we could do. Hospice was at our house every few days. I was not tempted to get up and do something about Olivia. Now I was tempted to get up and work. To make sure the bills got paid. To make sure my career did not disappear any more than it already had.

But underneath was a stronger need: to run, to get the hell out of this situation. Work can be an easy place for a man to avoid the realities of his life. It was pretty obvious, though, that work was not to be my focus—that whatever time we had left with Olivia was to be cherished, every minute of it. Still, I felt the urge to run more than ever.

“Rest.”

I continued to hold the posture. To sit. To stare at the fence. To listen quietly. I was not going to miss it.

I was there the whole time. All fourteen months of her life.

I lost my posture at times. But I can say that the thirty-year-old Nathan (five years ago) would have occupied himself the entire time, trying to make things happen, running like crazy away from the pain.

No. I had practiced for this all year. I knew how to allow the itch, the pain, to be there and not to move. I knew how to allow the voices in my head and the voices from others to be there without being influenced by them. I knew how to go deeper within my self, to the place where a still and quiet voice whispered the word “rest” over and over.

I had practiced the posture; the time had come to use it. I was there the whole time. I did not miss my daughter’s life.

In March of 2016, when I got the call that Olivia had stopped breathing, I was on a bike ride with our other three kids. Time stopped. Jude asked if Olivia was okay, and I was able to look at him and say, “Yes. Even if she does die, all of us are okay.”

We rode our bikes so fast. Fear was now filling the doorway and had crowded around the house and the windows and as far as the eye could see. We rode our bikes. I didn’t feel much, but the tears streaming down my face told me, “Today is the day. It is finished.” We kept riding.

I don’t remember getting off my bike. I’m guessing I had never run so fast. But I will never forget the feeling of walking through the back porch door and seeing Heather and Olivia there. The most sinking and unreal amount of pain I have ever felt mixed with an equal amount of peace, beauty, and a sense of victory.

After a lot of crying, the only words I could say to Heather were, “We did it.” We won. Olivia won. Heather won. I won. Our family won. Our community won. Yes, Olivia died, but that was never the battle we were fighting. We had chosen to fight fear instead.

I don’t think I have experienced the remainder of that day, or the next few days, or the funeral or the burial yet. I think I’m still back processing the day Olivia was born. It’s weird. I have never grieved like this before, but I think the body has a way of pacing how much pain it allows in at once.

I’m realizing now that we will be experiencing the pain and the beauty of Olivia’s life and death for a long time. I don’t know if or when we will ever feel normal or even functional again. But I do remember one thing about the morning after Olivia died, vividly.

I remember going for a run and the feeling of rest overwhelming me. Not happiness or excitement—I was very sad—but so much rest. And I remember noticing how little fear I sensed, like it was not even at the door anymore. It was as if the battle had ended, and fear had lost and just turned and went home. There was no temptation to run or to make anything happen. Olivia was dead, but I felt an amazing amount of rest. And trust. And quiet. And strength.

Since that day, fear has returned to my door. I have struggled more than ever to rest. This battle is never-ending. But once you win one battle, every battle after is different. Now you know you can win. You know what it feels like to say, “We did it,” and you know you can do it again.

I have a feeling the next year is going to be more difficult to rest than the previous two years were. That is a very overwhelming thought. But I have a wife and three living kids and one sleeping daughter who need a husband and a father who knows how to rest.

That is what I will choose to do.

Fear at the door, rest inside.

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“Within you, there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself.” ~Hermann Hesse

When I work with people who are suffering from anxiety, fear, grief, or other challenging issues, I like to take them through a simple exercise I call “The Noticing Exercise.”

It’s my first port of call when helping people break free from mind-created suffering.

It’s amazing how quickly, and effortlessly, people can move from suffering to peace, simply through shifting their focus to being aware of the present moment—noticing the sensation of the body touching the chair, the ribs expanding on the in breath, or the sounds in the room.

Even deeply troubled individuals can experience peace the very first time they try this simple meditation.

How is this possible?

It is because peace is already there inside all of us. It’s an integral part of who we are. When the mind’s activity subsides, even for a moment, peace is what remains.

The ocean provides a good analogy.

At the surface, the water is constantly in motion. It never stops, even for a moment. But when you drop down into the depths, there is stillness and peace.

It’s exactly the same with the mind.

On the surface level, the mind is always active but, in the depths of our being, there is a natural peace and stillness that is unchanging… always present, always available. Being part of our essential nature, it can never leave us.

Although this inherent peace is always there, it goes unnoticed in most people through the deep-seated habit of giving our exclusive attention to the surface movements of the mind.

We are so pre-occupied with what’s going on at the surface that we simply fail to notice what’s happening in the depths of our experience.

And, of course, there is nothing ‘wrong’ with any of this.

Spending our days lost in thinking is the human condition. It’s what we all do.

Being swept away by the restless waters of the mind is perfectly normal, particularly when we are faced with intense patterns such as anxiety, trauma, or grief. And yet, the fact remains that, despite appearances, there is a peace inside every one of us that is untouched by what’s going on at the surface, however intense it may be.

Withdraw your attention from the mind, even for a moment, and it’s there.

You don’t have to create it; just recognize what has always been there.

Peace doesn’t leave you. You leave peace.

Stress, anxiety, and unhappiness exist primarily in the form of thoughts.

If you are able to become fully present in the moment, thoughts subside, and stress and anxiety are replaced by peace and stillness.

Of course, most people will pick up their painful stories again as soon as the meditation comes to an end, but the fact they were able to be free of their suffering, even temporarily, provides us with clues for finding a more permanent solution.

With practice, anyone can learn to withdraw their attention from the mind for longer periods of time and thereby extend the periods of peace.

Have You Been Barking Up the Wrong Tree?

Most people are looking for peace where it can never be found—not lasting peace anyway.

It’s a bit like losing your keys in the house and looking for them in the garden.

You’re never going to find them… because they are not there.

Most people I help have been searching for peace through the path of self-improvement, often for years.

And it makes total sense.

If my mind is causing me trouble, then the obvious solution is to try to fix it—to ‘work on myself’ and try to convert all my anxious and unhappy thoughts and feelings into pleasant, happy ones. Try to create a new, improved version of myself.

But, if you’ve been down this path for any length of time, as I have, you’ll know that fundamentally changing the mind is not so easy.

The problem with this approach is encapsulated in the following quote from the Indian spiritual teacher, Nisargadatta:

“There is no such thing as peace of mind. Mind means disturbance; restlessness itself is mind.”

Like the surface of the ocean, the mind is constantly in motion. It is restless by nature.

And, although there may well be fleeting moments of peace here and there, they will inevitably be followed by moments of agitation and disturbance.

Restlessness is the nature of the mind. Trying to make it calm and peaceful is like trying to iron the surface of the ocean. It’s simply never going to happen.

Making Peace with The Mind Just as It Is

To find a solution that actually works, we must first understand the true cause of suffering. It’s not what most folks think.

People believe, as I did for years, that the anxious, stressful, or fearful thoughts themselves are the primary cause of suffering.

They believe that:

• the mind is broken and needs to be fixed.
• anxiety, fear, confusion, etc. are inherently bad or wrong.
• there’s something wrong with them for having these thoughts.
• they can’t experience peace or happiness until they are gone.

These beliefs are the main reason people suffer.

As the Jesuit priest Anthony de Mello said:

“There’s only one cause of unhappiness; the false beliefs you have in your head, beliefs so common, so widespread, that it never occurs to you to question them.”

What if, instead of spending years trying to fix the content of the mind, we focused instead on making peace with the mind, just as it is?

What if, rather than fighting and resisting fear, sadness, envy, or confusion, you were able to accept them as natural expressions of the human condition?

What would happen to your anxiety if you didn’t see anything ‘wrong’ with it?

Or your sadness if you didn’t mind it being there?

They may still feel unpleasant but, in the absence of resistance, they’d lose their power to affect your peace.

We can wrap our non-peace in the peace of acceptance.

You Don’t Need to Have a Peaceful Mind to Experience Peace 

On the path of self-improvement, the goal is to find peace of mind.

But this approach is unlikely to succeed simply because the mind is restless by nature.

Here’s the truth:

You can’t stop bothersome thoughts from arising, but you can stop bothering about them.

One of my teachers used to say, “You suffer because you are open for business.”

You entertain your thoughts and invite them in for tea—engage with them, ruminate over them, wallow in them, play them over and over in your head—and create suffering for yourself as a result.

You don’t need to have a peaceful mind to experience peace.

You need to stop giving it so much attention and importance.

If you are able to accept whatever appears in your head, whether pleasant or unpleasant, with an attitude of non-judgmental acceptance, you will always be at peace.

Acceptance is like kryptonite to the mind. It loses its power to disturb your peace.

The Two Types of Peace

There are two types of peace.

There is the feeling of peace, which is a temporary respite from feeling restless or agitated. Like all feelings, it comes and goes, like clouds passing across the sky.

Then there is the peace that exists in the depths of your being; the backdrop of peace that is unchanging, ever-present, and has nothing to do with what is going on in your head.

Even in the midst of the most turbulent storm at sea, in the depths, the ocean remains calm and unmoving.

There is a peace inside every one of us that remains untouched by the movements on the surface, no matter how intense.

And it’s not difficult to find. How could it be if it’s already who you are?

You don’t need to fix or change anything about yourself to experience what is ever-present inside you.

You just need to dive below the surface and discover what is always there.

The peace you are looking for is with you always. But you’ll never find it on the level of the mind.

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“Great people do things before they’re ready. They do things before they know they can do it. And by doing it, they’re proven right.” ~Amy Poehler

Ready isn’t a state of being, it’s a state of mind. Or maybe I should say we don’t have to be anything to qualify for the label of being ready for something; rather, it’s a mindset in which we choose to embrace the unknown. My story starts like this…

A few months into my soul-searching, I realized I had to move. Away from my unfulfilling job, away from my unhealthy habits perpetuated by my city lifestyle, away from my complete and utter stagnancy. But this also meant moving away from friends I’ve come to know so well, family I love, and a sense of security that you can’t really put a price on.

I knew I had to create a big enough change for myself for it to feel like I was starting over. I wanted to live somewhere where no one knew my name or, better yet, where no one knew anyone who knew my name. Notice I said I knew I needed that change, not that maybe I would move, or I was considering it. Did it scare me? Yes. But did I know it was what I craved and needed on a soul level? Also yes. A bigger yes.

I started looking into some towns out west. The mountains were calling, but it was the polar opposite of the east coast city life. I had no idea what it would take to live in weather like that, let alone which towns I would be happy in.

After some research, I found an apartment complex I liked and added myself to the waitlist. This was in January, and my current lease wouldn’t be up until October. I definitely wasn’t ready to pay triple the monthly rent amount to break my lease.

Well, fast-forward to September and it was time to give my notice of whether I would be moving out. Would I stay or would I go? Everything inside me was screaming at me to take the chance and go. But I didn’t feel ready. All the “what ifs” started flooding in… What if I put my notice in then change my mind? What if I don’t put my notice in then change my mind?

Eventually, I silenced everything except my gut, my intuition, and it said ever so calmly and confidently go. So I put in my notice and ended my lease before I knew where I would be going next.

This would be the first step of many that I decided to take before I felt ready. The thing is our heart knows what’s right before our mind does.

And you know what? After I put my notice in, I got an email from the apartment out west that I had applied to almost a year prior. They had a unit available two weeks after my lease would end. I was shocked. I don’t think it could have worked out any better than that.

This first step was the best decision I’ve ever made because it’s opened me up to so many amazing experiences and relationships that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I got to know a place that was completely different than any home I had ever known, I truly felt the most independent I ever had, and I met some beautiful souls who I know I’ll get to call lifelong friends.

That first step showed me that the unknown can be intimidating as hell, but if you choose to embrace it, it can open you up to so much growth.

Here’s what I’ve learned from doing more things before I felt ready.

It helps you grow your faith in yourself.

It allows you to see things about yourself that maybe you wouldn’t normally see just doing the typical day-to-day things. By putting yourself in new (and hard) situations, you’re able to see yourself navigate the unfamiliar and do so successfully. You not only learn how to do new things but also see firsthand that you’re capable of so much more than you previously thought. This allows for greater trust in your feelings and intuition.

You create a new baseline of bravery.

When you start to build up this confidence in your ability to handle a variety of new situations, it creates this new sort of baseline. A new standard to which you hold yourself. In knowing you can handle more than you could before, you tend to then, in turn, expect more of yourself and function from a raised baseline of what you consider to be brave. Or in other words, it takes more to intimidate you. Less scares you. Which means you can do more.

You find new ways to do things.

It’s interesting how your mind can adapt. Sometimes when we get stuck on a certain plan, it hinders the outcome. For example, if we’re so focused on thinking we need to research art history for a year before we take up painting, that takes away a lot of our time and fun, doesn’t it?

When you decide that you’re capable enough to get something done, the “how” somehow becomes less important. You become open to more possibilities and new ways of getting things done. In the painting example, maybe you open yourself up to the possibility that you’re too hard on yourself or that you don’t have to know all the history to enjoy the activity. Or maybe you realize you enjoy painting with your fingers even though all the artists you’ve read about used paint brushes.

You find more fulfillment.

This openness created throughout the process of intentionally and repeatedly trusting yourself encourages you to try things that you wouldn’t typically delve into. You find it easier to follow your own curiosity, and things that once seemed silly suddenly seem intriguing.

For me, this looked like following a spiritual nudge to sign up for Reiki training even though I knew nothing about it. This ended up leading to a mediumship practice that’s helped me and other people heal. When you build on things that make you happy, it only leads to more happiness.

You become unstoppable.

You start to see this confidence weaving into all aspects of your life. When you trust yourself over anyone and anything else, you’re not as easily shaken by what life throws at you. That’s not to say it’s always easy. Sometimes you need to make decisions you know are right for you, even though they’re difficult. And sometimes you know you need to take steps to start feeling happy before you’ll stop feeling sad.

Emotions are complicated, but if you get to a point to where you can hold space for them, you allow yourself to learn from them and work with them, and that is truly powerful.

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