Writing & Philosophy

How I Choose to Move with Change Instead of Letting It Steamroll Over Me

Lately, it feels as if the world is unraveling. Every headline, every conversation, every anxious social media post repeats the same refrain — things are falling apart. The new administration is making sweeping changes, institutions are being gutted, and uncertainty hangs in the air like a brewing storm, ready to unleash its fury at any moment. People are panicking, clinging to fear like a life raft in a raging sea.

And yet, here I sit, feeling the same fear tighten in my chest, the same anxious thoughts pulling at my mind. I feel the urge to fight, to lash out, to take up arms against the uncertainty. To do something — anything — to push back against the chaos. But then I take a breath and remind myself — this has always been the nature of things. Chaos is never as far away as we like to believe. It waits just beyond the illusion of order, ready to spill over the edges of our carefully constructed lives. And when it does, we act as if it’s some great violation, rather than the return of something ancient and inevitable.

Alan Watts once wrote, “The more a thing tends to be permanent, the more it tends to be lifeless.” We forget that everything — governments, economies, societies — are living processes, not fixed structures. They grow, evolve, decay, and are reborn. To expect stability in an ever-changing world is like expecting the ocean to hold still.

It won’t. It never has.

So I ask myself: What do I actually control? The answer, of course, is not much. I cannot dictate the course of a government. I cannot slow the march of time or force things to remain as they were. But I can choose how I meet the moment.

I can choose to move with change instead of against it. I can choose not to let fear paralyze me, even as I watch those in power tear things down with reckless abandon. Destruction is infuriating — it makes me want to scream, to fight, to demand that things be made right. But even in the wreckage, there is opportunity. If the old world is crumbling, then we are the ones who must lay the foundation for something stronger, something better. And as frustrating as that is, as much as it burns to see what’s been lost, it’s the only thing we truly can do. Watts also said, “To resist change, to try to cling to life, is like holding your breath: if you persist you kill yourself.” So instead, I exhale. I let go of what I cannot hold, and I turn my attention to what can be built in its place.

The world may feel like it’s unraveling, but it is not simply falling apart — it is reshaping itself. And while we may not control the storm, we are not powerless within it. We do not give up in despair. We do not shrink back in fear. Instead, we put our hands in, we shape what comes next, we guide the world toward something better. This is the dance — not passive acceptance, but active engagement with the ever-changing flow of life.

So today, I dance — not away from the chaos, but into it.

Mindfulness — the art of being truly present, here and now. To cultivate it in daily life, one must begin with the simple act of attention. Not as a grim duty or a spiritual exercise, but as an exploration, a playful curiosity about this moment, as it unfolds.

I tell this to myself, as I channel my inner Alan Watts.

First, I imagine him to say, “recognize that mindfulness is not about achieving something. It is about noticing what already is.” A starting point could be your breath. You don’t need to control it, for your breath breathes itself. Sit quietly for a moment and simply observe the rhythm of inhalation and exhalation. Feel the air moving through your nostrils, the rise and fall of your chest. This, you see, is an anchor — a way to come back to the present whenever your mind drifts.

As you go about your day (my inner Alan Watts tells me), mindfulness can be woven into the most mundane activities. Washing dishes, for example, can become a meditation. Feel the warm water on your hands, the texture of the soap, the sound of the running tap. (This is why I don’t mind doing the dishes.)

Walking, too, becomes an opportunity to feel the earth beneath your feet, to notice the sway of your arms, the sounds of the world around you. (This is why I like taking solitary walks.)

I imagine Alan telling me that “the key is to avoid labeling these experiences as ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Simply notice them.” The moment you try to forcemindfulness, you turn it into yet another task, another thing to “get right.” But life, as Alan would say, is not a riddle to be solved; it is a song to be sung.

And when you inevitably find yourself lost in thought, distracted or overwhelmed, be gentle with yourself. The act of noticing that you’ve wandered off is, itself, mindfulness. In that moment, you are aware of awareness.

Ultimately, mindfulness isn’t something separate from life. It is life. It is the art of realizing that you are not apart from this flowing moment but an intrinsic part of its dance. The wind doesn’t have to try to blow; it simply does. So, too, let mindfulness arise naturally, as an expression of your own being.

And with that, my inner Beavis and Butthead start going, “Heh heh, heh, heh heh heh, he said ‘blow.’”

Very happy about the updated covers on my Bridge of Eternity series. They should be available from booksellers soon. In the meantime, I still have a stock of autographed copies with old cover art. Hit me up if you want one of those. Free, just pay postage.

These days, it can feel as if the world itself is at war, spinning in a frenzy that threatens to pull us under. The future seems uncertain, and with that uncertainty, fear arises — fear that the things we hold dear will crumble, that the freedom we cherish will slip through our fingers. It’s natural to feel disillusioned and angry, perhaps even betrayed by those who allow such things to happen. But what if, instead of getting lost in the storm, we found a way to touch the peace that lies beneath it all?

Let us consider the nature of peace. We often think of it as a quiet, tranquil environment — one free of conflict or disturbance. But true peace is not a place, nor is it dependent on what happens around us. True peace is the depth of an ocean, the boundless expanse of the sky. It is something that we are, not something we must seek outside ourselves.

Imagine yourself as the sky, vast and open. Within you, clouds of thought, emotion, and worry drift and gather. Storms arise, lightning flashes, thunder rumbles — but all of it passes. The sky remains untouched, unchanged by the drama unfolding within it. This is the true nature of peace: an inner stillness that doesn’t depend on external calm, but rather welcomes everything without resistance, without losing its essence.

Of course, it’s easy to feel that life’s storms are too fierce, that the pressure is too intense. We may think we’re on the verge of being crushed by the weight of it all. But in those moments, remember that even the fiercest storms pass. All things in life are impermanent. No empire, no movement, no leader lasts forever. And just as they come, they will go. We are not here to fight the tides of history but to find within ourselves the strength to meet them with grace and wisdom.

When the world is in turmoil, our greatest act of courage is not to run away or lash out, but to cultivate that calm center within us. This isn’t to deny the suffering in the world or to turn our backs on others. On the contrary, when we find stillness, we can move through life with clarity and compassion, able to see beyond our fear and anger, able to act wisely rather than react impulsively.

In times of great upheaval, remember that what you are — what you truly are — cannot be touched by any outside force. You are the awareness in which all these events arise and dissolve. This awareness is boundless, open, and unshakeable. It allows you to feel deeply without being overwhelmed, to care without becoming consumed. And from this place, you can bring the light of calm and kindness into the world, even as the storms rage around you.

So, if you feel the urge to flee or despair, pause. Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and remember the sky within you. Let the clouds of anger, fear, and frustration drift by. You need not push them away, nor cling to them. Simply allow them to be, as the sky allows every cloud to pass. When you touch that boundless, peaceful awareness, you bring a little more peace to the world itself.

And that is no small thing.

I hope these words offer some solace and perspective to those who need it most. Each person who touches that place of inner calm becomes, in their own way, a quiet lighthouse amid the storm, guiding others back to their own unshakable peace.

You know, going to sleep is a bit like falling into the arms of life itself — surrendering, letting go of the day, trusting that you will be caught.

As you lie there, try not to think too hard about falling asleep, for it’s rather like trying to remember a dream; the more you chase it, the faster it flees. Instead, invite yourself to simply be. Notice the rise and fall of your breath, the soft weight of your body against the bed, the gentle rhythm of the dark.

Now, imagine yourself as a drop of water in a great river, flowing effortlessly along. You are both that single drop and also the entire river, moving through valleys and plains, winding gently towards the vast ocean. There is no hurry in this river, no particular place to be. It just flows — complete, unhurried, at ease.

Or perhaps think of yourself as part of the vast night sky, filled with stars. Each of these stars is a spark of light, a reminder that even in darkness, there is beauty. You are not separate from these stars but a part of them, connected through the simple miracle of existence. In this vastness, all your worries are like clouds passing by — temporary, insubstantial.

In the end, realize that sleep isn’t something to do; it’s something to allow. It’s a journey without effort, a return to a place that has always been within you. And as you let yourself drift, remember that this moment, as you lie here, is perfect just as it is — quiet, peaceful, whole.