The Lie of Arrival

In my early years on this life journey, I believed, like many do, that there was some kind of final destination to reach.

Of course I did.

That’s what the mind is designed to do. It’s a goal-setting, problem-solving, future-projecting machine. It scans the past for bad stuff, imagines a future that will avoid more of that bad stuff (or promise reward)—and organizes life around a clear linear structure: before, after, next.

This is the mind doing what it was made to do.

And our society has been built entirely around it.

The Linear Point A to Point B Path
Kindergarten leads to first grade, which leads to high school, which leads to college and maybe grad school if you’re ambitious (or confused or both). Then comes the job, the career, the relationship, the kids, the mortgage, the next big promotion. Then the push to retirement. Grandkids. Maybe, a quieter life. And then… well, we all know how the story ends.

There is always another moving goalpost.

Spirituality, I eventually realized, is not immune to this same sort of push.

In many spiritual circles, the language is different but the pattern is similar. There’s always the next level of awakening. The next clearing. The next initiation. The next identity to outgrow. The next version of you who will finally be free, peaceful, untriggered, immune to fear, and permanently serene.

If you just do a little more work.
If you just release one more layer.
If you just heal this last thing.

But here’s the truth no one really wants to say out loud, because it doesn’t sell: There is no enlightenment state waiting. There is no final gold-star arrival.

There is only living with greater capacity and less internal war.

What does that actually mean?

It means fewer parts of you fighting reality as it is. Fewer expectations and inner arguments about how things should be. Less resistance when fear shows up. Less shame when old patterns resurface. Less panic when life doesn’t cooperate with your timeline.

It means you still feel grief, but it doesn’t completely fracture you.

You still feel fear, but it doesn’t run the system.

You still feel anger, sadness, confusion, desire, disappointment—all of it—but there is more space around it all. More steadiness.

This is the part most people don’t know: more capacity isn’t about feeling good all the time. It’s about being able to stay present when things don’t feel good. Fewer civil wars inside your nervous system.

Life is met instead of managed.

The Shift I Wish Someone Had Spelled Out to Me Earlier.

Not “How do I transcend my humanity?” —> But “How do I become more intimate with it?”

Not “How do I get rid of my fear?” —> But “Can I stay present when fear visits?”

Not “What’s wrong with me that this is still here?” —> But “What kind of capacity is life asking me to build now?”

No one escapes from loss, change, aging, or uncertainty.

There is just Life.
This moment, right here.
This nervous system learning, over time, that it can handle more than it once could.

That’s real freedom.

Not escaping the mess.

But no longer being at war with it.

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