God, no! Or… maybe… fuck, I don’t know

When I started this journey to become whole five years ago, I had no idea what kind of intention I was putting out there. It was more of a desperate, logical, cold glance at my life like, “What the hell happened to me?” And then this thought: if I don’t change, the only constant in this equation is me. And that’s not a good thing if I don’t like where it led me. So, change became necessary. Maybe if I change, I could stop being broken. Maybe I’d stop looking for the puzzle piece that matches my brokenness—one which brings with it simultaneously both a satisfying relief, and a sense of emptiness when pulled away.  Maybe I’m just supposed to be me, just like that. Me (who the hell was that? I had no clue). And maybe—just maybe—I’d meet someone who’s whole and healthy too.

At that, I really had a good laugh with myself – now I was really dreaming.

But that intention… just like a silent magic spell spoken into the silence that moment in the office, just sort of stuck in my mind as I was packing up to leave, drive home, cook for my kids, clean (or not), and collapse into bed, just to do it all again the next day. And slowly, that intention started to take root in my life – form in the world – take your pick.

First, I started hiking. Little did I know that these weekend hikes would become my sanctuary—my five-hour meditation each week, just me and the mountain, me and the dirt, the earth, this world, in this magnificent universe that we live in. Yes, that one, the galaxies, all the way down to the atoms (those are my limits in science knowledge, but I am sure that there is so much more that I cannot even begin to comprehend).

Little did I know that I would be the type to meditate—give me a fucking break, you think I have time for that? I would have laughed at you in that office of mine if you’d said that to me. But the road led me slowly, on a path that I didn’t even realize was leading me towards myself. Just like I wished, in the hollowness of that moment.

Last June, I hit a sudden pivot, why? Because I hit a wall. I was sitting once again with heartbreak, the kind that hits you twice as hard because it’s the same pattern. I got fooled again. And I fell into that same hole. That was the double heartache. And then came the horrifying conclusion: “I’m doomed to repeat this. No matter how much work I do, I’ll always end up here.”
But then, from deep inside me, came a resounding scream from a faraway echo, “No. No fucking way that I will allow that. This time, no way.” It was time to get to know myself—no more shortcuts.

And so… last June, as I was striving to get to know myself, I was afraid to be bored by myself at home. No, seriously, I was finding excuses like, “Work more—you know it’s the end of the fiscal year, and surely I have to work into the night, and wake up at 4 a.m. again to finish everything… right?”
But as I took a good look at myself, I almost started bursting out laughing. Get bored? When am I ever bored? Not ever. Definitely not with myself – don’t you find me entertaining? Well, guess what? So do I. Hahaha, I know that you all know I laugh at my own jokes – that is a Tzur trait… So I started doing the things that I love to do. Hike. Read. Write. Think. Listen to podcasts on all sorts of topics. Yay!

And it was during one of those hikes that I decided to try doing things differently if I wanted different results. Maybe, and very reluctantly, just start to mix things up. I usually listen to a pre-curated Spotify playlist, but this time, I picked an album by  who is now one of my favorite artists, The Banot Nechama. I had no idea what the songs sounded like, but I thought, “Why the fuck not?”
And so the first song plays. I’ve never heard this song, but, as it starts, I cannot believe it—but I already love it. The first few words are in Hebrew, but I cannot make them out. As it unfolds, each sound pulls me more and more into it. And then come the words this time in English: “Spent most of my life doubting my belief, believing my doubts. My mind was so complex, it remained unflexible. So why not try… to simplify – believe your beliefs, doubt your doubts.”
Holy hell. Those were my exact thoughts walking into that hike. How does that happen? It’s like the song was written for me.

And that set me off on a whole new train of thought. Have you ever had a song feel like it was speaking directly to you? Like, this song is just about exactly what you are going through right at this moment in time? And then, years later, you hear the same song, and it still resonates with you, just differently this time? It made me think about that same sensation in other places; a piece of art that catches your eye that makes you think, “I know this feeling.” Why does that happen? And why does it happen to everyone? How does that math work? Are there a set (not sure how big of a set this is) of human experiences that we are all echoing into the world?  Do you understand the question? And just as I was pondering that, the next song comes along: “I love you.”

There’s a sadness about this music—not just sadness, but deep agony. And as I am walking, I can access this feeling, because, I am deeply heartbroken that moment in time – just raw.  That’s what it sounds like, that pain inside of me. But at the same time, there’s this lightness, something so tender it lifts your heart. It’s hope – and that too is inside of me. It’s something yummy and good. Both of these feelings exist in the same song, at the exact same time.

I wonder if this is why everyone else I let listen to this song hates it. I don’t know. But honestly, it’s probably one of the best songs I’ve ever heard in my life.

And as I sat there, experiencing the song so deeply, I felt… shhh. I quieted my thoughts. I stopped trying to define the feelings, to put words to them. I just observed. What am I “actually” feeling? In my body, you know, that live thing I carry around with me.
I took a breath in and tried to float on the music. And it worked—kind of. The words were still there, but I kept going. Some of the feelings were elated, energizing, good, yummy, real—those feelings felt light, like being weightless and lit up from the inside all at once.

Then there was the other feeling. I didn’t particularly like it. It felt tingly  (that is really not such a good word), like something I didn’t want to hold onto. But I stopped myself. This was an observation, not a judgment. Everyone who reads this and knows me knows, I have been silently judging (sometimes not so silently), but the joke is on me. Judgment is approaching the world through ego, however if it is the truth that I am seeking, I must suspend my judgement and simply observe and process. So, I just noted it: there’s another feeling here. I didn’t name it. I didn’t analyze it (yes – I didn’t analyze it – mazal tov to me). I just observed that it was different.

As soon as I had that thought, I recognized something incredible—I can hold two distinct, completely opposing feelings at the same time.

And just like that, I felt alive more than I remember in… well, I don’t remember ever feeling quite this way. My body took over, and my mind came along for the ride. I was so focused on the experience of my feelings that I didn’t notice my body had gone on alert. Suddenly, I could feel the wind brushing my fingertips, grazing every surface of skin that was exposed.
As I looked around, I noticed the bushes and trees, the golden grass that looked like wheat. Everything around me was moving in that same wind—just the slightest summer breeze. For the next four hours, I was part of nature, completely.

And no—I didn’t take mushrooms. I was just one with the universe. Yes, I know it might sound weird. The ongoing joke at home, compliments of my son, is that I go into a pizza shop and say “Can you make me one with everything”.

It was the most meditative experience of my life. At that point, at least. As I made my way down from Eagle’s Peak, on my mountain, I had a whole new understanding of life. For just a few minutes, I wasn’t just experiencing it. I was part of it. The experiencer and the experience both, and all at once.

That hike shifted something deep within me. I knew a transformation had occurred, though I couldn’t yet grasp its full implications. I felt a kind of greatness I hadn’t known existed—not just the joy I’ve experienced in many moments of my life, but something entirely different. My spirit felt elated, and for the first time I could remember, my body was free from the constant gnawing anxiety that had been my companion for so long it felt like a permanent part of me. Even that brief reprieve felt like a monumental victory.

But then, the next morning, I woke up—and that burden was still gone. What the hell? Could it be that the effects of the hike had lasted more than a few hours, maybe even a whole day?

It wasn’t until about a month later that I realized: this lightness, this freedom, wasn’t just a fleeting shift. It was here to stay.

And there, on the mountain, I started reconnecting with myself – reconnecting with that long forgotten light inside of me.