“If you meet the Buddha, kill him.”
- Linji

Our reality is filtered reality. We have always lived in bubbles, the only difference now is that we create them ourselves. There was a time in which our thoughts were determined by our upbringing–now ideas flow on a global scale and can be tapped on a whim.

Still we cling to the familiar; we search for the right answer.

Technology has made distance irrelevant. Today, connections are not limited by geography; ideas aren’t penned in by town limits. But with that ultimate liberation came the inexorable turn inwards. Now we live in a world of partisan politics and personalized recommendations, and anything uncomfortable–ideas, relationships, art–can be filtered out with the press of a button.

Last weekend at #wds there was a talk led by Mark Silver. “We are nothing,” he began; the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. As the speech went on the girl next to me became visibly unsettled. A few minutes in, she physicalized what many of us in the audience–a roomful of people with sights set on “world domination”–were feeling: her beliefs were being challenged, and this girl couldn’t find the filter button fast enough. She bolted out of the room and dragged her friend out with her.

Normally the stakes are lower. You may have never walked out on a speech, but what about clicking away from a website you didn’t agree with? Pressing “hide” on Facebook? Watching only FOX News, or only MSNBC?

The most open-minded among us still struggle with being receptive to big, game-changing ideas, the kind of ideas that shake us to our core. We’re told these big ideas “define” us, and yet it’s these defining opinions and “facts” we must be most open about.

Bruce Muzik was raised in apartheid-era South Africa. As a young man Bruce had produced a hit single, was living rent-free in a beautiful mansion, and had fallen in love, but despite all the outward appearance of success Bruce felt numb inside.

While he claimed to be a “new,” post-apartheid South African, Bruce knew that racism had a tight hold on his subconscious.

After being publicly called out on his racism, Bruce vowed to move to the all-black township of Guguletu–one white man among a hundred thousand black people. The plan was to stay a month; Bruce ended up staying six. His fear of black people vanished in the first hour.

We look to religion, to tradition, to different schools of thought or party ideologies to give us answers. Answers are comfortable–they give us confidence and a sense of individuality. They give us permission to move on, to think about other things.

But consider that in ten years you might be the biggest critic of your current ideas. It’s no wonder that the human mind has an infinite capacity to learn, adapt, relearn: it’s when we think we’ve found the answer that we stop learning and start to die. No one system or thought is complete in itself, so we seek out new thoughts, new systems, new ways of looking at the world.

Because the only true answer is openness to possibility.

At some point we each come to realize the lie of “forever.” Mid-life crises, a rush to the hospital, our heart missing a beat… Our lives change when we come to grips with our own impermanence.

Life is filled with activities that demand more than they give back–watching TV, reading the news, shopping. As I get older I have made it a practice to free myself from those things that don’t make me better or more fulfilled. These days I wake up to my thoughts, my family, writing.

When we find the strength to reclaim our own time, to liberate ourselves from passive consumption, we cultivate a sort of silence. Distraction and anxiety and boredom give way to tranquility, rejuvenation. Suspended time is released—for writing, entrepreneurship, communing with friends. For exercise and meditation, for service.

Too much consumption is a block–when we stop consuming, we open the space for creation.

I still consume some things–I like to read; sometimes I go with my family to see a movie or live performance. My criteria now is simple: will this experience help me grow? Is it personally fulfilling? At the least, am I likely to remember this a year from now? If I can’t say yes to any of these questions, I look for something else to do.

The secret to a happy life is the conscious, deliberate use of time. Today I see potential everywhere. I am calm, driven. I notice the life around me–people, nature, the thrum of the city. I know what is important to me.

Do you?

Our lives are too cluttered, too noisy. Sometimes I read ten or twenty articles in a day, but ask me what I read a week ago and I couldn’t tell you.

Every outlet bursts with data, and writers on the net still seem to think that what people need is more information. Information is cheap–what the world needs is a voice. It needs passion and purpose and wisdom.

Half a year ago I stopped writing. I stopped engaging online. I put my digital life on hold and began looking inward, searching for something.

As my digital self lay dormant, I started to realize that incarnation of myself didn’t matter much–to me or anyone else. Had I said anything different from a hundred other self help/location independent “gurus”? Did I push the boundaries? Was I true to myself? (Did I take on more than I could handle?)

Our digital selves are infinitely malleable. We dictate our self-image. Every day we decide who we’re going to be.

Trying to fit the successful online writer mold burned me out. Turns out, impersonation is exhausting. This time around I’m putting my money on balls-out expression.

Get ready for the digital rebirth.