When I was young—long before the invention of things like soup or buttons—I wrote a book called Finding Your Own North Star. In it, I described four “compasses,” metaphorical internal guidance systems that I believe come standard with every human life. If we learn to read these compasses, I said (and still say), we can get highly accurate instructions about how to build the lives we’re meant to have.

In case you’ve never encountered this concept, the four “compasses” are:

The body compass. Our bodies tighten and contract when we move away from our own best interests, and relax and lean forward when we’re headed in the [...]]]>

When I was young—long before the invention of things like soup or buttons—I wrote a book called Finding Your Own North Star. In it, I described four “compasses,” metaphorical internal guidance systems that I believe come standard with every human life. If we learn to read these compasses, I said (and still say), we can get highly accurate instructions about how to build the lives we’re meant to have.

In case you’ve never encountered this concept, the four “compasses” are:

The body compass. Our bodies tighten and contract when we move away from our own best interests, and relax and lean forward when we’re headed in the right direction.

The emotional compass. We spontaneously fall into foul moods when we’re off course, and better ones when we’re headed home.

The mental compass. This one does the math: Will this next step get me where I need to go? How can I plan and plot the right path?

The spiritual compass. This is the guidance gizmo I want to talk about below.

When I start talking about “spiritual compasses,” people sometimes think I’m getting a bit woo-woo. They’re wrong—I’m super-duper woo-woo. No, I don’t count every parking space as a manifestation of my higher self. Yes, I keep my mental compass up and running. I check it constantly. But at the end of the day, I’ve found my soul-compass to be the most nuanced, reliable, and accurate guide I’ve got.

However, these compasses don’t always work the way people assume they do.

When a discussion of spirituality heaves into view, people who don’t run away often rearrange their faces into solemn, reverent expressions, as if preparing to hear Heavy Concepts. But to me, there’s nothing heavy about the spirit. It’s made up of many experiences—each slightly different, but all characteristically light, in every sense of the word.

So in this article, I thought I’d follow up on my long-ago first self-help book by describing some of the ways our spirits like to guide us.

1. The Conversational Compass

Small talk is almost impossible for me. I lapse into a kind of conversational hibernation when asked to discuss things that fascinate many people: weddings, hedge funds, fashion. But if someone mentions a newly discovered species of fruit bat, I’m instantly alert. Ditto for tornadoes, Neanderthals, or the history of turmeric.

I’m not saying any of these topics is inherently better than any other. My point is that my deepest self—my primal soul—seems permanently fixated on my own nerdy passions. I can’t change that.

You have your own internal settings: things that fascinate you in defiance of all social pressure. You could be circling the drain of a terminal coma, and if someone mentioned one of these subjects, you’d pop up to ask a few questions. There are things you can talk about all night without noticing the time—conversations you’d enjoy with your leg in a bear trap.

These topics are compasses. They aren’t telling you to go out and do any particular thing, but they are showing you the territory where you can spend your one wild and precious life in a state of happy involvement. Follow them to the people and places connected to them, and you won’t stray far from your best path.

2. The Cuteness Compass

The sensation of being drawn to something cute—as opposed to earthshaking or grand—is unlike any other. There’s something primordial about it. You know your cuteness compass is activated when there’s something you’d protect to your last breath, while also feeling a strange urge to… eat it.

Each of us has our own panoply of cuteness. I know one man—a big, burly weightlifter—who is absolutely slain by any animal with absurdly large feet. Another friend, a sharp-eyed and skeptical genius, loses her mind over the unbearable cuteness of pufferfish.

If you find yourself grinning madly at anime drawings, horse-and-buggies, or tiny houses, indulge yourself. Start collecting cute things. Become a hobbyist. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this simple practice change people’s lives—leading them into the vicinity where they find jobs, friends, even ideas for a life’s work.

3. The Comfort Compass

Sometimes, when life is just too hard, I find that a blanket can change my whole world. Not just any blanket, mind you. Black Blanket. Black Blanket is a scruffy rectangle of fleece I’ve owned for twenty years. I carry it around when I’m nervous, like a toddler. I don’t intend to stop. There’s a reason some folks call a quilt a “comforter.”

You might find this kind of solace in a special chair, an easygoing friend, or a cup of tea. Whatever your source is, go there. Go there now. Go there often.

This is not just “self-care.” It’s a spiritual practice. At the heart of every wisdom tradition is the human soul’s cry for comfort in a world that can be brutally harsh. If something gives you a sense of safety, rest, and healing, it’s moving you toward the place where your spirit feels at home.

4. The Comedy Compass

“Laughter is the beginning of prayer,” said theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. He saw humor as a joyful acknowledgment of hope and a profound defiance of fear. If spirituality isn’t that, I want no part of it.

I think that’s why my spiritual compass constantly yanks me toward absurd situations, rollicking storytellers, and TV comedies created by writers who seem bent on exploring just how foul a human mouth can get. (Have you seen Deadloch? Buckle up.)

Of all the spiritual compasses I follow, this is the one that gets me in the most trouble. I have been disapproved of by people from all sorts of religious traditions—which is strange, because I love religion. So much of it is utterly hilarious. It’s the hilarity, not the solemnity, that feels like salvation to me.

Anything that strikes me as truly, deeply funny is part of my definition of heaven. Find what’s funny to you, and laugh. A lot. I believe it’s part of your soul’s journey.

5. The Cuddle Compass

I used to think of spiritual states as abstract, almost alien. I imagined that if I ever achieved spiritual awakening, it would be like dissolving into an ether so fine it would be almost theoretical.

Now I don’t believe that.

After many years of following these compasses, I’ve come to think that whatever spiritual truth may be, it’s not aloof. In fact, it’s almost incomprehensibly intimate.

When there’s something you trust so much that you want to cuddle with it—your dog, your beloved, your favorite pajamas—that thing is showing you something about the nature of the divine. Move your life toward whatever brings you that much peace, that much sweetness.

There’s no telling where you’ll end up. But you owe it to yourself to find out.

In Sum: The Comprehensive Compass

I know plenty of people who look for spiritual guidance in paranormal events—visions, prophecies, magical powers. If that’s what you long for, go for it. Follow your compasses, not mine. I wish you all the success and enlightenment in the universe.

But if you ever get tired out there on the road to Nirvana, consider a gentler alternative.

Try the idea that the world is filled with the spirit’s path, hiding in a million ordinary things. Things like an interesting conversation, an adorable cat, a soft place to rest, a hilarious joke, someone to hold—and someone to hold you.

Turn toward these things when you feel even the slightest magnetic pull. The soul’s messages are often so gentle we barely notice them.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t powerful.

After traveling far and wide—through hell and high water and struggle and strife—I’ve come to believe that the simplest, most ordinary joys are often the ones my spirit uses to call me home.

Here’s an image that recently blew my little mind. It’s called the “Coffer Illusion.” When you look at it, you’ll either see four rows of rectangles or sixteen circles. You probably won’t see both. But the rectangles and the circles are all right there, in plain sight.

When I first saw the Coffer Illusion, the circles were thin on the ground. Absent, in fact. Squinting didn’t help. Crossing my eyes didn’t either. Then my gaze relaxed slightly, and sixteen circles seemed to pop into existence. Then they were gone. The rectangles took over again. But now I knew the circles were there.

After faffing about for a [...]]]>

Here’s an image that recently blew my little mind. It’s called the “Coffer Illusion.” When you look at it, you’ll either see four rows of rectangles or sixteen circles. You probably won’t see both. But the rectangles and the circles are all right there, in plain sight.

When I first saw the Coffer Illusion, the circles were thin on the ground. Absent, in fact. Squinting didn’t help. Crossing my eyes didn’t either. Then my gaze relaxed slightly, and sixteen circles seemed to pop into existence. Then they were gone. The rectangles took over again. But now I knew the circles were there.

After faffing about for a while, I learned how to make the circles “pop.” My method is to stare at the vertical lines, ignore the horizontals, and repeat a kind of mantra: There are circles. There are circles. There are circles.

This made the circles easy to see. Then I could go back to seeing only rectangles, or switch back and forth, or even see some circles and some rectangles at the same time.

Why am I telling you all this?

Because it shows—not metaphorically but literally—that something can be right in front of our noses and completely escape our attention.

When researchers showed the Coffer Illusion to people who live in circular huts in Namibia, they initially saw only circles, no rectangles. Most Westerners grow up surrounded by right angles, while the Namibians lived in an environment that favors roundness. We tend to see what we’ve been taught to see, and miss everything else.

To me, this hints that the world may be far more interesting than we know. If we learn to switch focus, our minds might open to new realities that have been right there all along, waiting in our blind spots.

So what are the other “circles” we may not be seeing? What are we missing? What’s hiding in front of our noses?

Noticing the Mystery

There was a time when this question became my central preoccupation. I loved science, and I believed in strict materialism: Reality is what we can measure with our five senses, and nothing else.

Then, to my own astonishment, I began having “psychic” experiences.

It happened at the same time I became pregnant. I sometimes saw what was happening to loved ones far away, or vividly felt their emotions. When I checked with them, they confirmed that what they had done and felt exactly matched what I had “received.”

At first I found this so strange that I simply pushed it out of my attention. It worked beautifully; the anomalous experiences disappeared from consciousness almost as soon as they happened.

Then, late in that pregnancy, I learned that my future baby had Down syndrome. Grieving and terrified, I turned my attention back to the mysterious events I’d been experiencing. My child would almost certainly suffer in this world. He would have significant disabilities. 

But what if there were abilities I had never considered, abilities a person with Down syndrome may have in abundance?

I still loved science, but I began to contemplate the possibility that there is much about our world that science has not yet explained. I called it magic—not because I think it defies reality, but because, at least for now, we have no explanation for it.

“There is magic,” I would repeat to myself when fear threatened to overwhelm me. “There is magic. There is magic.”

Slowly at first, then with increasing ease, I began to notice how many uncanny things had been happening to me throughout my life. Often, I felt the tangible presence of a gentle, flowing power that held me as if I were a newborn myself. A warm pressure flooded my chest, as if someone had placed a hand over my heart. Comforting words appeared in my mind like dew.

When I told people about this, most of them thought I was deluded by emotional disruption. But to me, then and since, the “magic” in the world is simply, observably there, as real as the circles in the Coffer Illusion.

Keeping Our Eyes Open

Once we come to see something we’ve never seen before, even though it was clearly present all along, our minds can begin to open to the possibility of virtually anything else.

Our culture generally trains attention not only toward materialism, but toward dark forces: danger, destruction, death. Our vision is shaped by these invisible conventions, just as surely as our eyes have been trained to see corners and ignore curves.

But we can learn to see that other truths are also present, and always have been. For example:

We learn history as a series of wars, plagues, and conflicts. But human beings have spent far more time cooperating than fighting one another. Every single one of us receives thousands of hours of care from the moment of birth. Focus on that as you contemplate humanity. Repeat to yourself:

“There is love. There is love. There is love.”

We may see nature as “red in tooth and claw.” But hungry polar bears have been known to play with sled dogs instead of eating them. Ducks sometimes offer some of their own seeds to fish. Alligators have been observed giving “boat rides” to otters, who ride on their backs.

“There is delight. There is delight. There is delight.”

Millions of people live in desperate circumstances. Their suffering is real, as is the moral imperative to help when we can. But nature still floods into human eyes and ears, no matter where they are. The sunset flares. The stars appear. A tiny spider laces its geometric silk across a gap in a fence.

“There is beauty. There is beauty. There is beauty.”

Again, I’m not saying we should avert our eyes from horror and pretend that only sweetness is real. I’m saying we can learn to see what lies beyond the biases that shape our worldview. We can learn to switch back and forth, or even to see it all at once.

Expect Amazement

The point of this, I think, is not knowledge but humility.

It is illogical hubris to believe that what we have seen so far—any of us, or all of us—is everything that exists. And while our minds may balk when we look for the unseen, I think our hearts goad us onward.

Long after that difficult pregnancy, I can see that I had always longed to believe in “magic,” in the vital flow of the Mystery. And as we look at the darkness and horror that sometimes seem to be everywhere, part of us knows enough to keep looking for something radically, entirely different.

What should we expect to see if we keep looking?

I have no idea. I can’t see it yet.

But I’m keeping my mind open to the possibility that astonishing things are right in front of me, entirely invisible to my ordinary habits of mind. I anticipate many moments when those new realities will “pop” into my perception.

Until then, I walk the world with my eyes wide open, repeating to myself:

“There is more. There is more. There is more.”

Lately I’ve been getting quite a few questions about AI… 

Not from skeptics, but from people like you, who may be sitting with the very big decision to join Wayfinder Coach Training. People who identify as Wayfinders and care deeply about helping others, but who may be wondering whether human coaching still has a place in the world that’s emerging.

It’s certainly a reasonable concern. The world is handing more and more of our interactions over to algorithms, chatbots, and endlessly responsive, always‑on digital assistants.

And yet, after more than twenty years of coaching and training coaches, what I’m seeing is that human coaching is becoming more necessary [...]]]>

Lately I’ve been getting quite a few questions about AI… 

Not from skeptics, but from people like you, who may be sitting with the very big decision to join Wayfinder Coach Training. People who identify as Wayfinders and care deeply about helping others, but who may be wondering whether human coaching still has a place in the world that’s emerging.

It’s certainly a reasonable concern. The world is handing more and more of our interactions over to algorithms, chatbots, and endlessly responsive, always‑on digital assistants.

And yet, after more than twenty years of coaching and training coaches, what I’m seeing is that human coaching is becoming more necessary and valuable, not less, precisely because of the things AI will never be.

Without a doubt, AI can give people useful information (and plenty of it). It can notice patterns, suggest frameworks, and even compose sentences that sound like empathy. 

But if you’ve used AI, you know it can be an echo chamber for the heart; full of affirming or sirupy words, empty of true sustenance. It can’t laugh or cry with us. It can’t be the steady voice that grounds our anxious selves back into peace, or the eyes that reflect compassion when we’re hurting, or the intuition that sends its subtle signals through the infinitely wise human body.

No matter how many screens we see every day, none of them really sees us. Not in a way that heals the human psyche.

In Wayfinder training, we’ve always focused on accessing the deeply human abilities that are already part of your core wisdom. While many methods might teach you to coach in replicable (and therefore mechanical) ways, Wayfinder tools dissolve false reactions, ultimately revealing your essential self. And that shines in this world like a lighthouse in the dark. 

AI simply can’t compete with it.

Millions of people are starving for real, human connection, precisely because they’re being bombarded by the illusion of connection. As more of human life becomes mediated by screens, notifications, and automated responses, the hunger for genuine human contact will continue to grow, not shrink. 

In Wayfinder training, you’ll receive over 211 hours of instruction, live virtual classes, small‑group practice sessions, one‑on‑one mentoring, and community calls. All of this hones the skills necessary to steer a human life along its most joyful course, even as change disrupts every plan we make. 

This all helps you get your bearings in a sea of continuous, churning, increasing information. Then you can guide others—others who, right now, are seeking calm shores and human connection.

Wayfinder training teaches you to be the navigator and companion so many people need—and along the way, to feel the reassuring presence of your fellow trainees. If you’ve forgotten what it feels like to connect human to human, you’ll be amazed by how good that feels.

Right now, the world needs Wayfinders more than ever. 

If you’re ready to become a force for authentic healing, and want to share the experience with a joyful tribe of like-minded others, Wayfinder Coach Training could be the best next step for you. 

Come join us.

I promised to share with you the first and, I believe, most powerful of the Wayfinding compasses: something I call the Body Compass. 

From early childhood, you’ve been taught to override signals from your body in order to cooperate with other people: sit quietly and listen when you want to squirm, pretend you’re fine when you have a headache, get up when the alarm rings even if you’re still exhausted.

None of this is universally bad—it all helps us work together in groups—but it has one outcome that’s not only problematic, but catastrophic. It makes most people turn off the signals that are constantly flowing through our [...]]]>

I promised to share with you the first and, I believe, most powerful of the Wayfinding compasses: something I call the Body Compass. 

From early childhood, you’ve been taught to override signals from your body in order to cooperate with other people: sit quietly and listen when you want to squirm, pretend you’re fine when you have a headache, get up when the alarm rings even if you’re still exhausted.

None of this is universally bad—it all helps us work together in groups—but it has one outcome that’s not only problematic, but catastrophic. It makes most people turn off the signals that are constantly flowing through our bodies to direct us toward our comfort, our joy, and our destiny. 

We tend to think of thought and decision-making as occurring in the brain. Then we imagine that the brain is somehow not part of the body. In fact, our nervous systems extend everywhere inside the body, and work with the brain to help guide our actions.

Your nervous system is incredibly good at steering your life—if you let it. It works through several complementary systems:

• Cognition. This is conscious, usually verbal thought. Most of us have been trained to see it as the one and only device for navigating life. But alone, it is clumsy and inaccurate. Trying to think your way to your destiny using only cognition is like trying to knit with two clubs.
• Perception. This is the awareness of the world that comes through our five senses. It picks up far more than we ever consciously recognize. It works best when we are in a state of open awareness, not deep thought.
• Interoception. This word refers to our awareness of internal signals: tension, trembling, pulse rate, nausea, restlessness. This is the system we are taught to ignore and override in order to be socially appropriate. And it’s one of the wisest advisers we have.
• Neuroception. This term, coined by Dr. Stephen Porges, scans the environment for minute signals or patterns, deciding in every moment whether the people, places, and things around us are safe or dangerous. You can think of it as your “spidey senses,” but this is no comic-book fantasy (though again, that’s how we’ve been taught to think about it). Neuroception is very real and very sophisticated.

Even though you may have shoved most of these systems out of your conscious awareness, you haven’t lost them. They are the basis of your physical life—the most empirical and reliable devices you’ll ever possess. Under the surface of the life you’ve been taught to live, they’re always working. They combine to move like a compass, one that always guides you toward your right life. 

Here’s how it works: Every time you encounter a decision point, large or small, your body evaluates the situation at a level far more nuanced than conscious thought. Your entire nervous system creates a physical experience that’s meant to warn you away from bad decisions and toward good ones.

“Reading your body compass” is simply noticing how your body signals “yes” or “no” to a decision, and following its guidance. This is not rocket science. However, I’ve coached actual rocket scientists who had forgotten (or been trained) not to do it. Here’s what I taught these folks, and thousands of others, who needed to access their own deepest wisdom to navigate the world.

A Practice to Tap into Your Body Compass

Take five minutes and try this simple practice wherever you happen to be:

1. Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and then let your attention travel slowly through your body, head to toe, noticing sensations, areas of comfort or discomfort, patches that feel numb or quiet. Don’t try to change anything. Just notice.​
2. Now, remember a time when you made a decision that later turned out to be problematic: the used car you bought on impulse, the educational opportunity you passed up, your first marriage, whatever. Remember being in this experience. Now, scan your body again. What did that negative experience feel like in your body? Don’t use emotional words like, “heartbreak” or “fear.” Use physical signals. Things like “Tight gut,” “Armor in my shoulders,” or “Whole-body collapse.” This is your body compass saying, “WRONG WAY! MAKE ANOTHER CHOICE!”
3. Whatever you do, don’t stop now. Shake out your arms and legs, take a few deep breaths, and let that bad memory go. Replace it with one of the best times in your life: adopting the shelter cat who became your trusted companion; choosing the doctor who stuck with it and diagnosed a tricky illness; quitting the job that was slowly but actively murdering you. Go to the moment you made this good decision. Scan your body. Name the sensations. Again, use physical terms, not emotional ones. “The flying feeling,” “The warm glow in my chest,” “The spontaneous smile.” 
4. Almost always, a wrong decision causes tightening and constriction, while a good choice feels like loosening, freedom, or weightlessness. Once you’ve learned to recognize your own body’s “compass readings” (which you’ve just done), you’ll feel more and more subtle versions of these two sensations. 

When I began noticing and using my own body compass, I was deeply entrenched in the wrong life. I didn’t know that I wanted to be a writer, or that I needed to leave my community’s very intense religion, or that I wasn’t cut out for the career I’d chosen. 

Pushing all this out of consciousness had cranked up my body compass to full volume. I’d been in chronic pain for more than a decade. My immune system barely worked. Weakness and lack of energy had slowed or stopped anything I had thought of as “forward progress.”

Then I noticed the physical clenching that accompanied many of my daily choices, and the slight relaxation when I let myself do things I thought were “unproductive.” Things like sitting down by a tree for ten minutes, or petting my dog, or reading a novel.  

I began doing more of these things, just for physical relief. As I turned toward the choices my body compass enjoyed, I began to discover who I was and what my life wanted to be. Not just a tree-hugger, but someone who spent time in the wilderness helping people who healed ecosystems. Not just a dog lover, but someone who loved the well-intentioned animal inside myself and other humans. Not just a reader, but a writer.

Since then, I’ve taught thousands of people to read their body compasses. I’ve seen that once we start doing this, life becomes a version of the game, “You’re getting warmer, you’re getting colder.” At first, choosing what your body compass loves may feel almost ridiculously small and subtle. Hang in there. Fasten your seatbelt. Within weeks or months, this simple practice might well take you and your life from cold, to cool, to warm, to bright, blazing, hot.

Keep choosing what makes your body compass feel “colder” and “warmer.” By the time we meet again, you may be in a much better place. 

Every day there’s at least one news event that hits my guts like a pinball paddle. My stomach congeals into a tiny ball, then zings up into my throat, then drops through the floor, then rolls around looking for a way out.

Sound familiar?

The headlines these days would set anyone spinning. Political conflict, climate change, and economic instability have always been around, but now they’re reaching bizarre levels. And given deepfakes and AI, we can’t even know for sure what’s real.

How to cope with all this? I’ve heard even the most rational experts encourage us to “trust our instincts” and “sharpen our intuition.” Seriously? Faced with [...]]]>

Every day there’s at least one news event that hits my guts like a pinball paddle. My stomach congeals into a tiny ball, then zings up into my throat, then drops through the floor, then rolls around looking for a way out.

Sound familiar?

The headlines these days would set anyone spinning. Political conflict, climate change, and economic instability have always been around, but now they’re reaching bizarre levels. And given deepfakes and AI, we can’t even know for sure what’s real.

How to cope with all this? I’ve heard even the most rational experts encourage us to “trust our instincts” and “sharpen our intuition.” Seriously? Faced with the insanity of the world, we’re supposed to fall back on our spidey senses?

Yep. 

Historically, times of chaos and crisis have been weathered best by people who trusted their hunches. But here’s the problem: we need our intuition to navigate situations that trigger anxiety—but anxiety flatlines intuition.

Somehow, we have to stop the anxious churning in our guts so that we can trust our guts to lead us through the madness.

The Paradox of “Clear Fear”: Awareness Without Anxiety

All animals experience fear—it’s what galvanizes quick response in a crisis. A car swerves toward us, so we jump back. An alley seems dark and forbidding, so we take another route. Real fear is a clear motivation to react to a physically present danger. Once we act, it dissipates.

Anxiety, on the other hand, doesn’t bother animals because it comes from the human ability to imagine what isn’t there. It’s the prolonged, fraying state of “What if?” It’s picturing calamities that haven’t happened—and probably never will. There’s no productive outcome from anxiety, only suffering. 

We stay with anxiety for the same reason we might stay with an abusive partner: because it lies. It makes the false promise that it will keep us safe. But actually, anxiety itself is extremely dangerous. It drains our energy and pulls us out of the present moment—the only moment in which we can ever act—to dwell in terrible possible futures.

Intuition, on the other hand, arrives when the mental noise dies down. It may offer quiet warnings (“?”) but it will never trigger an ongoing panic without any course of action. That’s just anxiety.

Remember that intuition tends to feel like:

• Quiet clarity rather than urgency
• Spaciousness rather than constriction
• A soft “yes” or “no” rather than an urgent detailed story
• A sense that something positive is brewing, even in dark times.

In other words, the baseline of anxiety is a jittering misery. The baseline of intuition is peace—often peace that seems to make little sense, given the scope of the world’s problems. It’s when we choose that peace, in spite of everything, that intuition begins to guide us.

How do we get to peace? By dropping out of the spinning mind, into the present-moment sensation of the body.

Finding Intuition Through the Body

Our bodies are like animals that believe our mental images. When we imagine catastrophes, they flip on the fight-or-flight response. But when we return to the present, telling ourselves the simple story “I’m okay right now,” our bodies begin to settle.

Stay present a few minutes, and our nervous systems begin to regulate, finding the state of equilibrium that is our normal, healthy state. 

This doesn’t mean we’re not ready to face problems. A relaxed driver sees the road more clearly. A relaxed tennis player plays better. A relaxed thinker spots more creative solutions. And while all this is happening, we feel happier.

Neurologists have found that people who meditate regularly, bringing the mind back from its wandering and worrying into the simplicity of presence, literally rewire their brains. A brain that’s hair-triggered by years of anxiety can restructure itself by gently disengaging from its habitual stories and anchoring into whatever is happening now. 

Try this: A Practice to Help You Relax into Peace

1. Take five minutes to sit, walk, or lie down by yourself.
2. Observe your anxiety.
   If anxiety is present, acknowledge it. But to avoid getting swept away, imagine that the anxious part of you is riding a roller coaster, and you’re standing on the ground, watching. See how your mood goes up, down, and around. 
3. Offer kind words.
   Gentle self-talk is a secret weapon for regulating your nervous system. If you’re alone, speak out loud in a soft, low, slow voice. Offer simple thoughts, like, “You’re okay.” “It’s a bumpy ride, but you’re safe.” “I’m right here.” You don’t even have to believe it. Your nervous system is designed to come out of fight-or-flight when it hears a calm, low voice.
4. Ask to see one peaceful step forward.
   Once you can feel even a slight separation from your most anxious self, turn your full attention to the peaceful part (the one standing by the rollercoaster, not the one riding the rails). Ask yourself, “What is my best next step toward peace?”
5. Follow your own advice.
   Your intuition is like the GPS on your car: it won’t give you a long, complicated list of everything you should do in the future. It will give you the next, simple step. Take that step. 
6. Repeat.
   This can become a way of moving through the world, one moment of guidance at a time. Your anxiety will tell you “That’s not enough!” It is enough. Try it and see.

Living from Peace, Not from Fear

You probably won’t wake up tomorrow to find the world’s problems solved. But you can wake up to a practice of calm intuition. 

Over and over, notice anxiety, step back from it, and ask the calmest aspect of yourself for the best next step. At first this may seem too simple. But over time, you’ll find yourself acting with wisdom you didn’t know you had. 

This is enough to create a foundation of sanity inside yourself. And then something amazing may happen: the people around you will find a sanctuary in your energy. Where anxiety made you one more point of panic, your intuition will offer peace to the whole world.

So the next time you hear something awful, the next time you feel your stomach begin to lurch and spin, step away from the anxiety. Access calm. Trust that your intuition is real, and that it will lead you forward safely. 

Yes, even now.

If you’ve been following my work for a while, you’ve heard me talk about “wayfinding.”

I borrowed that word from an anthropologist, who used it to describe the ancient Pacific Islanders. These incredible voyagers crossed thousands of miles of open sea without maps or compasses, guided by individuals whose ability to “read” ocean currents, winds, stars, and sea life gave them almost superhuman navigational skill. 

Wayfinding, as I use the word, is that same art, applied to the landscape of our modern lives. Wayfinders are able to rely on their own inner wisdom, rather than what they’ve been taught by modern culture. They know that “ordinary” methods [...]]]>

If you’ve been following my work for a while, you’ve heard me talk about “wayfinding.”

I borrowed that word from an anthropologist, who used it to describe the ancient Pacific Islanders. These incredible voyagers crossed thousands of miles of open sea without maps or compasses, guided by individuals whose ability to “read” ocean currents, winds, stars, and sea life gave them almost superhuman navigational skill. 

Wayfinding, as I use the word, is that same art, applied to the landscape of our modern lives. Wayfinders are able to rely on their own inner wisdom, rather than what they’ve been taught by modern culture. They know that “ordinary” methods simply cannot keep up with the unprecedented rate of change we’re seeing in the world.

You May Be a Wayfinder

In every traditional culture, certain people were recognized as Wayfinders—not always literal navigators, but people who felt destined to restore, heal, and bless their people and the world. Wayfinders are born to their art. You may be one of them. 

See if this describes you:

• You’ve often felt out of place in school, work, and other institutions.
• You’re deeply drawn to nature and the natural world.
• You have deep empathy for other beings (sometimes almost painfully).
• You long to help heal any being who is suffering.
• You have a strange melange of interests, which may include: psychology, the arts, philosophy, ecology, storytelling, and spirituality.

The part of me that fits this description has led me through my own life’s purpose, which is to help Wayfinders like you recognize your true calling and show you how to live it fully. It’s why I created Wayfinder Coach Training and why, every chance I get, I share tools and resources that I’ve found truly life-changing.

Moving as a Wayfinder through an unraveling society

There’s no denying that the world feels incredibly stormy right now. Structures that seemed solid are rapidly dissolving. Institutions, ecosystems, social norms—they seem to be unraveling. For many, that collapse brings anxiety, confusion, and even despair. But for a Wayfinder, it’s also an initiation. Because when external order collapses, something within us stirs awake.

Wayfinding doesn’t deny that the ship is pitching in high waves. Instead, it teaches us how to find our true bearings within the storm, then heal and guide others. Wayfinders can rise to the challenges of these times not because we’re immune to fear, but because we can sense a deeper current running beneath the chaos, a wisdom that never stops flowing and can keep us safe.

You already have the instruments to tune in to that current. You were born with them. I call them your “inner compasses.” When you learn to trust them, you’ll discover that you were never truly adrift, only untrained. And that training isn’t effort, but a kind of homecoming.

Your Four Inner Compasses

In the coming months, I’ll share these tools with you in more depth, but for now, here’s a little preview:

• Your Body Compass shows its reading through physical sensations: tightening, opening, lightness, heaviness. Your incredibly sophisticated nervous system knows what’s true and what isn’t, long before your mind can explain why.
• Your Emotional Compass helps you navigate every decision you’ll ever make. Emotions like peace, joy, and even sadness all have messages for you. They reveal whether you’re moving toward or away from integrity.
• Your Spiritual Compass connects you to the vast awareness that contains literally everything. It gently teaches you that you’re part of something benevolent and radiant, like the stars used to guide the Wayfinders across the Pacific.
• Your Mental Compass helps you discern clear thought from fearful noise. As you gain clarity and move toward curiosity, creative solutions start to arise. In the age of deepfakes and AI, this is becoming more and more crucial.

Each of these compasses is like an internal sense organ, helping you find what’s true for you. When you learn to “read” them, fear ebbs, direction emerges, and life starts to flow more joyfully.

Finding Your True North

Before you can really use a compass, you need to establish that “you are here” point. You also need a sense of your destination, your right life, which is utterly unique to you. Then your inner compasses will tell you your next step. And your next. And your next.

So, Wayfinding begins exactly where you are. Not at your ideal destination, but in this precise moment of your life. Even if you feel lost, alienated, or unsure, there’s wisdom in that place. 

I often advise people to “start low and stay slow” by making small changes that feel easy. 

HERE’S A SIMPLE WAY TO START WAYFINDING RIGHT NOW

Look around. Calmly notice your surroundings. Take a deep breath. Accept that everything in your immediate environment is tolerable. Don’t fight to be anywhere else. This deep acceptance allows you to begin navigating.

Next, notice if your body is relaxed. If it isn’t, notice what causes it to tense up. Accept that, as well. As you give up resistance to the present moment, notice where you would go if you felt no pressure or concern about anything. This might be a trace of curiosity, or a deep yearning. Whatever it is, give it your full attention.

This simple act of release and re-focusing will begin pulling you toward your purpose like a powerful magnet. Step by step, it will turn you into someone wiser, more joyful, more attuned, and more capable of rising to these challenging times.

This step alone, if you do it repeatedly, will take you all the way to the life you were born to live. But there are many more Wayfinding methods. Next month, we’ll begin exploring your Body Compass—the part of you that almost magically knows your best choice in every moment.

Until then, keep accepting whatever is present and feeling for the pull of genuine desire. And know that you were built for this voyage.