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This week David shares insights from his multi-year journey out of a near constant state of hypervigilance to feeling calm and alert the overwhelming majority of the time. It’s been such a game changer for him and his capacity for happiness and enjoyment of life. Maybe some of you will find it relatable. 💕

Thanks for tuning in,

-Mindy

Calm and Alert

My path from hyper-vigilant self-loathing to calm and alert.

In the relative quiet of the Pacific peninsula of Costa Rica, a place teeming with life, bathed in sunshine, and with beauty everywhere, a retired Drill Sergeant lives hunkered down in a compound. This isn’t a “real” person; rather, he’s a metaphorical embodiment of the most controlling, vigilant parts of my psyche. Once a commanding officer in the forces of my daily life, he now lives on permanent leave, sequestered in a fortified compound surrounded by high walls and surveillance systems—a prison of his own choosing that he thinks is a sanctuary. Today, I explore the transformation of this internal Drill Sergeant from an active commander to a retiree and how this reflects my journey from living under strict self-governance to embracing a life of greater freedom and emotional resilience.

He used to live at the base of my skull, a vibrating and tugging feeling that would radiate down my shoulders and shorten and shallow my breath. I would be pricked with cold sweats, and it was hard to pay attention in even small groups. My mind darted and jumped through ideas like scanning a bank of surveillance feeds. Now, he spends his day in a windowless compound, encircled by 20-foot walls topped with razor wire, obsessively monitoring a Batman-style command center with floor-to-ceiling panels of screens that echo the exhaustive vigilance and control I once imposed on myself. Just like I used to, he doesn’t sleep. Instead, he naps for a few minutes before returning to work; maybe he sips from a pot of coffee that’s always brewing, or he pops a stimulant. He’s always vigilant, always alert, never calm.

I was never in the military, so he’s always been fiction, a sad fiction born out of a need to navigate the rigidity and expectations of my mentally ill parents’ overly reliant religious adherence intertwined with my own common-place fears of non-conformity. I also see that he was necessary as a non-believer growing up in a community deeply rooted in religious stricture (Mormonism); I observed an intense focus on doctrinal adherence to religious norms that I felt incapable of adopting. My parents, and later my partner, seemed engaged in an unspoken competition: who could best follow the rules set by our faith? This environment prioritized compliance and showcased religiosity as a measure of a person's worth and success. For someone like me, who felt attached to the community but not to its belief system, this created a significant internal conflict.

I didn't resonate with the core beliefs, yet I was deeply enmeshed in the social and cultural fabric of the community. As an 18-year-old, I went to Costa Rica as a proselytizing missionary, quite an accomplishment given I was an atheist. The man in charge of my mission called me the worst missionary in Costa Rica because I “broke all the wrong rules,” meaning he couldn’t send me home for not recruiting enough new members. I had an amazing experience, but it also took a toll on me—I hid my true self in so many ways, and when it was visible, there was hell to pay. 

While enriching, my experience in Costa Rica highlighted the deep-seated conflict between my true self and how I hid when expectations were placed upon me. This dissonance set the stage for the Drill Sergeant's rise to leadership as a young dad and husband when I sought to establish control through rigid self-discipline rather than religious adherence.

Rigidity as Control

The Drill Sergeant led with a strict adherence to routines and a structured lifestyle, mirroring the religious rigor I observed but within a secular frame. This persona was my attempt to excel in a "game" I felt I could control and win, one where the measures of success were defined by my ability to maintain order and discipline rather than spiritual or doctrinal obedience. It was a way to claim agency in a world where I often felt powerless or out of place.

However, this approach came with its own set of problems. The more I let the Drill Sergeant dominate, his control seeped into moments meant for laughter or ease, but if he felt caught off guard (anything non-routine), he’d turn them into moments to be managed, stripping away the joy of unplanned happiness. The rigidity that provided a sense of control also boxed me into a corner where genuine connections and emotional engagements were limited. For many years I failed to realize that in my effort to find a way to succeed on my terms, I had inadvertently isolated myself from deeper, more meaningful experiences and connections.

Self-Loathing and Realization

A few years ago I started seeing my situation more clearly and facing this realization was painful. It took years to work through, and only just this past week did I start to see this whole narrative clearly (thanks to a luxurious chat with one of my best friends). Realization came in waves. The self-loathing stemmed from a clear awareness that, while I was winning this self-imposed game of control and discipline, I was losing out on the richness of life.

I started building a company in 2016, and for the next three years, I slept less than 3 hours a night. There were several weeks where I adopted The Uberman polyphasic sleep routine, only taking 20-minute naps throughout the day with no core of sleep. I made time in the mornings for a workout with our oldest daughter, daddy-funtime with our three youngest on Wednesday evening, and date-night with Mindy most weeks. I was also lifting heavy (500 lbs+) on nearly a daily basis to “feel calm.” Some of my routines were lovely, and I’m grateful for them, but too many of them were actively harming me. Finally, in 2020, when I sold the company I built, instead of feeling relieved that I was no longer stuck navigating a burned-out co-founder, not enough revenue to pay me what I needed, and enjoying the freedom to live a much more normal life, I turned to the Drill Sergeant to tell me all the myriad ways I’d fucked up. Everyone around me, from spouse to co-founder to parents, was elated, but I was numb because I couldn’t bear to look at or feel the enormity of pain that accompanied the Drill Sergeant’s appraisal of my efforts: an abject failure of discipline and character. 

He was so loud and so mean. God, I hated him, but because he was me, I hated me too. 

The strict routines and emotional suppression that characterized the Drill Sergeant's rule were effective in keeping me feeling safe and sometimes successful, but they also kept me distant from my own heart and the hearts of those around me.

As I've worked to understand and integrate this part of my personality, I've learned to appreciate and see compassionately the protection I felt that he gave me. He was truly all that I could muster at the time. The journey has involved softening the harsh edges of the Drill Sergeant, allowing more flexibility, and embracing vulnerability as a strength rather than a weakness. It's been about redefining success—not by the absence of failure or strict adherence to rules, but by the quality of my relationships and the authenticity of my engagements with the world.

This process is ongoing and complex, requiring practice and compassion. It's a path marked by setbacks, not just victories, each teaching me more about who I am and how I want to show up in the world.

Once pivotal in maintaining order and preventing emotional chaos (i.e., mental illness), the Drill Sergeant’s role in my psyche was clear: to monitor, protect, and control. He did his best to manage my fears and insecurities through strict routines and emotional suppression, viewing vulnerability as a threat to my mental stability. I hadn’t realized until now how large my fear of mental illness loomed in my psyche. 

Awakening to the myth of Deep Control

A critical turning point occurred when I began to see the Drill Sergeant not as a protector but as a warden of my own making. I wish I could claim that I did everything I tried with perfect clarity of purpose, but I don’t think things through as much as I trust in learning by doing. Certainly there’s a shadowy side to my heedlesness but it has also served me well. I feel so grateful for that part of me that took my entrepreneurial instincts and aimed them inward. 

I was so unsorted inside myself because some part of me, some very frightened and scared part of me, felt that his immovable will gave me a façade of strength, but it always conflicted with my deeply-rooted desire for emotional freedom.

I had an experience–yes, I was on mushrooms, but I don’t feel that was as important as the preparation work I’d done going in–where I saw just how much the Drill Sergeant worried about controlling everything around me. By adopting strict routines I created a burden of accommodation on the people closest to me. I tried to extend my control as far as I could, and I felt panicked anytime I came face-to-face with the limits of my control. I saw with clarity why I hated parties (friendly or professional); they had too many factors at play to create the carefully controlled existence I convinced myself was necessary to feel safe.

Looking more honestly at myself and having the tools to put some distance between the me that is observing and this persona that so often led the way in my life, I began to see how I was stuck in a loop. I was trying to exert control outside of myself by playing a game of self-control that required so much accommodation that if you wanted to be near me, it would cost you control. My discomfort with connecting with others’ vulnerably was based on a lie: that everyone was ultimately going to betray me. I see now that I was projecting how I felt about my parents onto everyone. 

In this manufactured isolation, I became emotionally disconnected from others and from myself. In this place where I existed for decades, I often reflected on how “life is a very low thing, sporadically interrupted by unaccountable joy.” The implication being that one must be prepared and outfitted for the slog because joy is fleeting and unpredictable.

I see how righteous I felt under the leadership of the Drill Sergeant. I also see how much I hated myself for being so obviously stuck in this awful mask that cost me so much. And I see now how much I hated righteousness in others because it reminded me of how detrimental it is to deeply loving relationships and emotional freedom. And I still hate righteousness. It is the biggest obstacle to my wanting to interact with my folks and one of the primary reasons I loathe interacting with my in-laws. But I sympathize with their plight—vulnerability can be terrifying. 

I remember a close friend recommending that I read Brené Brown’s book, Daring Greatly, and how much  it annoyed me. He asked that I not discuss it with Mindy until we chatted. I opened the chat with one of the Drill Sergeant’s worst takes: “If I felt the way this bitch talks about shame, I’d fuckin’ kill myself.”

“And that’s why you weren’t to discuss this with Mindy,” he said with sadness in his eyes. We went on to have an incredibly revealing conversation about how I showed up and how much I operated in a way that leveraged shame to be in control. 

I now have a much different perspective on how operant shame was in my life, even though I was then as I am now, little disposed to feeling embarrassed. 

Removing the mask and being vulnerable felt like entering a battlefield without armor. The process involved peeling back the layers of my psyche, questioning the origins of my need for control, and confronting the fears that fueled the Drill Sergeant’s dominance. This wasn’t a gentle realization but a series of confrontations with myself. It required me to be brutally honest about my fears—fear of uncertainty, fear of weakness, fear of emotional chaos, fear of losing track of myself. I realized that the security offered by strict routines and rigid control was illusory—it was a false sanctuary that insulated me from the very experiences that imbue life with meaning and depth. The truth was brutal to reflect on, but the tools and approaches that helped me most were very gentle.

I had to learn to be gentle with myself because that was the only way I could show up for myself that wouldn’t trigger the alarms the Drill Sergeant had set in place to “protect me.” Being gentle also gave me room to disentangle my sense of identity from this persona. But in that space, nothing felt sure. I had concocted a realm of control that was so pervasive and so complete that I was incredibly good at predicting the future: it was going to be miserable with a slim chance of sporadic joy.

Surfing the discomfort of not knowing

As I stepped away from the strict guidelines and self-imposed rules, I ventured into the terrain of uncertainty. Chaos has a kind of peace in it, and I’d felt drawn to it in my career as an entrepreneur, the family I built with Mindy, and our relationship. Chaos is so often equated with bad but it’s so clearly the reality of nature. Gaining access to the parts of me that yearned for the emotional freedom and flexibility to feel solid while balanced precariously in this thin meat suit, body-surfing my existence, took something more nimble than the black-and-white thinking that marked the way of the Drill Sergeant. 

It turned out that in not knowing and relaxing into the reality that I was a poor predictor of the future, especially when I stopped trying to fit into my narrow understanding, I found deeper desires and a vast ocean of feelings. In this sea of emotion, I found the freedom and authenticity I had longed for, free from the brutal judgments and righteousness that had plagued me.

Paradoxically, not knowing gave me access to a more sure and solid knowledge that I was okay because I could more easily see how often I’m okay. The right-here-right-now reality of my life currently and for some time is calm and alert. The Drill Sergeant can’t even conceive of a reality where one could be alert AND calm; in his world, these things are anathema. In his world, alert is a function of vigilance and restless concern, his primary tool to stay “sharp” is self-loathing, and one cannot hate oneself without stirring up a lot of anxiety.

Now alertness feels like being present. Relaxed at this moment, I can take in more of the texture of my reality and surf the emotions that well up, reacting more quickly and dexterously than I ever did as the awkward and uncompromising Drill Sergeant.

Left on delivered

I still get messages from my retired colleague in arms. Sometimes, a lot of messages. I trust myself now. I know that he’s coming from a place that he feels is protective, and it is, but it’s primarily a protective instinct to shy away from things that scare me. Now, when I feel scared, I feel it. I sit with it. I go on a walk or a ride, or I sit alone for a time—the emotions ebb and flow. Constantly changing. When I was reactive and resistant, those scared feelings would get tamped down, and narratives would start to come alive in me; you’re not good enough, you’re a piece of shit, you’ll always be weak, etc. They were so angry and constant that I adopted an entire personality to just try and not feel bad. It turns out that if you block feeling “bad” you blunt and tarnish all feeling, even the lovely stuff. 

I spent so much time locked away in my own head with the world happening and me missing it.

So, when I get a message, some addled thought coming from the compound in Costa Rica, I don’t react. It’s just a reminder to feel where I am and let it be.

A new way of being

It has been a bizarre and beautiful path to feeling calm and alert.

I’m learning that calm is a feeling throughout my body. A few years ago, I let go of powerlifting and lifting heavy weights. Two years ago, I learned how to run with proper form. I only run in perfect form because I want to run without injury for as many years as this body will allow–this means that the moment I notice slipping out of good form, I stop running. I walk for a few paces. Gather my sense of awareness in my body and get back to running.

This feels like my path to being calm. Whenever I notice my energy slipping out of calm, I ground myself in the present moment by focusing on my breath. Just like running, sometimes it takes a while to notice that my “form” has slipped, but once I notice, I address it. 

The most surprising result of this calm is that I have so much energy for paying attention, for being alert to everything that’s happening in me and the most important things that are happening around me. In the past, hyper-vigilance and self-loathing took all of my attention, with no room for feelings or reading the energy of the people around me. I conducted myself with all the grace and charm of a raging bull in a china shop. Today, time often feels like it’s moving very slowly. Feeling calm, I can drop into the present moment alone or with others and notice so much of what’s happening. So often, even when navigating conflict or challenging emotions, I feel how helpful it is to remain calm–the solidness I feel inside me when I remain calm soothing the feelings of panic that still show up.

And when it takes me a while or a couple tries to navigate a conflict or an emotion calmly, I am alert to the Drill Sergeant blowing me up with messages. Now this means it’s probably time for a run or a long walk. Maybe I’ll check the messages after I get back, or maybe I’ll just send him a short reply without reading them: “thanks for looking out; I think I got this.”

NEAT!

Stuff we think is neat enough to share! (David⚡️ & Mindy✨)

• Minutos de Aire — I have listened to this song a couple dozen times this week. 😅 I love the electric guitar solo parts and also just the general bubble-like quality to this song. 🎶✨

• And another one. I listened to a lot of Kalabrese this week and there’s some great stuff. 🎶✨

• More good thoughts from Adventure Time.

SOMETHING TO TRY

This week’s something to try is from the incredible book Tantra Illuminated:

My teacher said, “If you convince yourself that you're stupid, then you will obviously keep doing the things that 'stupid' people do. Remember that the ego's priority is to maintain its self-image. It would rather be right than happy, and if you keep repeating the 'stupid' behavior, the ego will have that satisfaction.

Now if, for example, mine is “I’m so stupid,” I might think the antidote is “I’m actually really smart!” Unfortunately, such a feeble rejoinder will not be successful in displacing an impure thought-form that has taken deep root and plagued you for years. As Abhinava teaches, the new purified thought-form 1) must be very powerful and 2) must terminate in the ultimate Reality. The only way to make it do that is to take it all the way to God. For example, instead of “I’m actually really smart,” I might say, “The divine intelligence that created this whole universe dwells within me as me, and by contacting it, I can understand anything I truly need to know in this life.”

Then you might take the ultimate challenge: go to the mirror and look yourself right in the eye and repeat your śuddha-vikalpa, no matter how silly you feel, until you get past the point of feeling silly. You may be amazed at what happens. (If the mirror doesn’t work for you, you could try using a loved one as your “mirror.”)

PARTING

WORDS

“[A]t some point the problem is no longer that the mouse is in a maze. The problem is that “the maze is in the mouse”. Sometimes whole organizations find themselves stuck in routines.

Praveen Seshadri

PIC

That’s all for this week! If you’re into this, share this newsletter with all your friends. Connecting with new subscribers is magical! 🧚🏻‍♀️

DISCLAIMER: This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only and is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice.