It's Not That Deep

stay healthy, check up on the homies, and don’t forget to stop and smell the roses

Over the past few months, I’ve gone down multiple rabbit holes in mythology, psychology, and various wisdom traditions. Joseph Campbell’s Power of Myth¹ taught me the importance of rituals, metaphors, and following your own hero’s journey. I found a map in King, Warrior, Magician, and Lover for how to express and integrate the four mature masculine archetypes. The Tao Te Ching continues to be a source of guidance as I flow through uncertainty.

But despite being immersed in the deep waters of big questions and heavy ideas, I’ve been finding myself more attuned to simple reminders that emerge from daily life, rather than timeless books. It's in these everyday moments, I realized, where the true essence of living often reveals itself.

Last year, when I was on sabbatical and trying to do everything all at once, I ended up not backpacking at all, which I regret. I felt like I had neglected the part of me that comes alive when I’m surrounded by the silence and stillness of the wilderness.

This summer, I decided to change that and prioritize time in nature. Over the past two weeks, I’ve honored my commitment to revel in the communion of nature, backpacking in Yosemite, kayaking in Lake Tahoe, and rafting in the Rocky Mountains².

Yosemite: A Reminder Rather Than an Epiphany

After a slow first day of reading by waterfalls and napping multiple times, I settled into my tent nestled in the wilderness of Little Yosemite Valley. I wasn’t planning to hike in the dark, but after a group of early risers carelessly shined their headlamp directly into my rainfly-less tent at 4am, I was up, shivering in shorts and scrambling for snacks that I would need for the ascent. Fortunately, having hiked the Mist Trail before, I was able to navigate my way through the switchbacks without a headlamp.

At 6:35am, with the warm glow of the sunrise on my back, I reached the top of the cables. Somehow, despite being woken up by other hikers, I was the first one up. For half an hour, I had all of Half Dome to myself. I watched as the shadows slowly retreated to make way for the new day. I tiptoed between boulders, inching closer and closer to the edge before my gut stopped me. With the somatic memory of a rollercoaster in my stomach, I gazed across the valley at Yosemite Falls and the only thought that emerged was “Life is short.” A simple truth that I obviously know, but rarely remember until I’m on top of a mountain staring thousands of feet down below.

Stepping away, I explored the rest of the summit, scanning for the perfect pair of round rocks that would support my back and not destroy my butt. After finding a cozy spot, I sat down and faced the sun as it was still softly horizontal to me. I closed my eyes, took some deep breaths, and just chilled out for a bit. For some reason, it’s always effortless to feel gratitude when you’re alone on top of a mountain.

Lake Tahoe: Finding Novelty in the Nuance

A week later, I found myself floating on crystal clear emerald waters. After almost a decade of skiing every winter in Tahoe, this magical place truly feels like home. I have sunset spots and secret docks pinned on Google Maps without names, only lat/long coordinates. I know where to find $2 pints of ice cream, the best chocolate chip cookies, and hidden powder stashes. I’ve experienced the lake by motorboat and polar plunge, but never by kayak.

As we waited for the rental stand to open, we evaluated our options. We opted for the middle option, a clear bottom kayak that came in at $85 for two hours. For $20 more than the standard, we would be granted the ability to look directly between our legs and gaze into the second-deepest lake in the US.

Once we reached shallower waters, the translucent base revealed new sights. With a birds eye view, I could see all the way to the bottom. Sand ripples patterned the aquatic floor, remnants of past waves and winds on this calm and clear morning. Away from the distractions and demands of modern life, here we were, floating on top of an aquatic gallery with a private viewing of nature’s artwork. I couldn’t help but crack a smile like a little boy visiting the zoo or trying ice cream for the first time.

This moment illustrates a recent shift in my approach to life. In my early 20s, I prioritized breadth over depth. I traveled to new places before revisiting past locations, scratching off my world map with a coin immediately once I came back. Even though I’m still living without a lease for the fifth consecutive year, I tell people that it doesn’t feel like I’m traveling anymore; I simply live seasonally between places that feel like home.

I used to chase novelty in the form of newness. Now I try to slow down to enjoy novelty in the nuance³. After multiple kayak rides and countless Tahoe visits, I experienced the lake in an entirely novel way. And it only cost me an extra $20.

Colorado: Mindfulness in Motion

Three days after Tahoe, I headed to SFO with hiking shoes on feet, flip flops dangling off backpack, and fanny pack concealed underneath jacket. I was traveling to Denver via basic economy on Frontier Airlines—a nightmare for most, but a creative challenge for me. In an effort to bring everything I needed for an adventure-filled weekend, I made sure to wear my biggest garments and ensure every cubic inch of my backpack was occupied.

I came to Colorado to visit my friend Parker and also to redeem myself after breaking my ankle in February and feeling like a sack of soggy crippled bread. At the campfire on our first night in Buena Vista, J told us the story of how earlier that day, he was trail running up in Breckenridge and stopped to snap a few pics for a bachelorette party who proceeded to moon and flash him. The next day, we biked around Buena Vista, rafted down class 3/4 rapids, and feasted at my favorite restaurant Simple Eatery in Colorado.

After deciding not to camp a second night due to impending thunder storms, we headed back to spend in the night Denver and prepare for a different adventure. Whether it was through sheer ignorance, stoke, or both, I suggested we bike from Denver to Boulder. Perhaps a long bike ride is the ideal challenge for me because I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until I was 14. I also don’t own a bike so charging in without any training usually yields interesting results (like when I bonked while biking around Lake Tahoe).

After re-learning how to change gears and how to make turns without braking to a near halt, I turned my attention inwards. Some people sign up for 10-day retreats hoping to empty their minds, but there are other methods too. Simply hurl yourself downhill at 30mph on 1-inch wide tires and watch how quickly your mind clears of everything but the present moment. No mantras, no gurus, just the raw focus of survival. Each curve demanded my full attention, each bump in the road a reminder of my own mortality. It wasn't deep in the traditional sense, but it was profound in its simplicity.

This wasn't about finding the meaning of life in ancient texts or through hours of silent meditation. It was about discovering that sometimes, the most potent moments of clarity come when you're too busy living to overthink it. As I flew down that hill, fully immersed in the experience, I realized that perhaps mindfulness isn't always in the stillness, but sometimes in the chaos of fully embracing the present.

There’s More Than One Way

As I continue to deepen my coaching practice through client sessions and scholarly books, I'm reminded of the learnings that can only come from lived experience and embodied wisdom. The mountains of Yosemite, the waters of Lake Tahoe, and the bike paths of Colorado have reminded me of foundational lessons that no textbook could convey. These experiences have shown me that pure joy and complete presence often arises from the simplest of moments.

There's more than one way to live a good life. You can work a 9-5 that's "just a job" and find meaning in a 40-person group chat that's always popping off with spontaneous plans for Spikeball or bike rides to get ice cream. You can live in a van and work remotely, relying on the gym for showers and the alpine wilderness for making meaning. Beauty lies in the diversity of paths we can choose.

You don't have to go to church, devour ancient texts, or talk about your feelings all the time to find fulfillment. Meaning can be discovered in the grand conversation of why we are here, but also in the small moments of sharing a meal with loved ones or the tranquility of a slow morning.

The pursuit of meaning looks different to each individual. For some, it’s praying to God. For others, it’s working to put food on the table. Or pushing yourself to the limit through ultrarunning. You don't have to pursue meaning solely in books or philosophical discussions. Meaning can be found in the mundane – whether that's at the top of a mountain or at the bottom of a lake. These moments of connection with the world around us can be just as profound as any spiritual text.

Whenever a friend comes to me feeling stuck or facing a tough decision, the first thing I ask them is if they've been taking care of themselves. Our basic needs⁴ are so simple, yet so important. The fundamental aspects of self-care form the foundation upon which we build our experiences and understanding of the world. Often, the most impactful changes in our lives come not from grand gestures or deep introspection, but from consistently honoring our foundational practices and continuing to do what makes us feel alive.

With all my ramblings on the importance of living in the real world and making contact with reality, I'm still going to deepen my study of topics like trauma, psychology, and spirituality. In fact, I have No Bad Parts, Quarter-life, and The Spell of the Sensuous on my desk waiting to be read. Finding balance between deep meaning and simple joys isn’t an “either, or” but rather two sides of the same coin.

In the end, it's not that deep⁵. Life's profundity often lies in its simplicity. Whether we find meaning in summiting mountains, paddling across lakes, cycling through new terrains, or in the pages of a book, the key is to remain open to the lessons each experience offers. By embracing both the extraordinary and the ordinary, we can craft a life that is rich, meaningful, and uniquely our own.

Let’s go deep

Incredibly ironic given this essay, but if you’re interested in exploring the deep stuff with me, you can check out my coaching practice.

1. Here’s the Power of Myth in book form and the original interview series on YouTube.

2. It might seem like a lot to do three trips in just two weeks, but it didn’t feel that rushed for me. Yosemite was a solo trip and I spent the first night camping in the valley. Tahoe was a quick 2d/1n trip and we stayed in the Palisades Village. The hotel offered free bike rentals which we used to bike from Palisades to Tahoe City—big fun. The Colorado trip was also super easy from a logistics perspective. My friends have a guest room with a comfy bed and a shit ton of gear so all I had to do was bring myself and some clothes.

3. Credit to my friend James Quiambao for his essay on Newness vs. Nuance

4. As Marshawn Lynch said: "Take care of y'all bodies, take care of y'all chicken, and take care of y'all mentals because we ain't lasting that long."

5. But it kinda is deep though if you think about it. From Joseph Campbell (thanks Aish for sharing):