Each of us walks into life with only a limited understanding of who we are. We spend a lifetime staying inside our familiar comfort zones. Often, we define ourselves by what we do, rather than by who we are, or by the grace that comes from continually learning and unlearning, touching the deeper spiritual core of the soul.
For me, the spiritual path has always been more than a refuge in times of struggle. It is a companion. It helps me open my eyes to the complexity of life, the paradox of mystery, and the gift of not knowing. It invites me to meet those vulnerable moments of uncertainty and doubt—especially in times of social unrest or personal upheaval, when loss and fear feel near.
During those difficult times, I can slip into blaming, complaining, or rigid thinking. But sometimes there is a small opening, a flash of insight into my own beliefs. And that opening begins the journey of questioning what I’ve held as reality. It is like stepping into the night of the soul. Sometimes the doorway begins with a free fall—just asking for help. Sometimes it is as simple as realizing that my thoughts are getting in the way of loving, and my heart wants to feel less worry in the endless chatter of the mind.
“Sometimes the doorway begins with a free fall—just asking for help.”
I have whispered to myself more than once: “Laura Jane, you don’t see clearly, and you don’t hear clearly.” What I called “taking care of myself” was often just living with my attachments, clinging to a rigid identity of being right. I see how I keep myself in a bubble of my own making, craving sustained comfort.
In recent years, I’ve had to face that I isolated myself from the differences in our political landscape. My anger at those with whom I disagreed hardened into judgment, and my opinions became walls that excluded rather than embraced. I thought I was protecting myself, but those invisible borders were squeezing the life out of me. The pain of judgment leads to resentment, and resentment constricts the heart.
“The pain of judgment leads to resentment, and resentment constricts the heart.”
Patajali, in the Yoga Sutra, reminds us: practice and non-attachment help us step out of the push and pull of likes and dislikes. We can remain captives, or we can choose to open. This takes practice—and the deep desire to love more freely, letting go of what I think I know, and remembering that everyone sees through their own lens.
Just weeks ago, I was humbled again. A dear friend was recovering from an injury, and I thought my job was to help—lining up rehab, arranging care, trying to make her better. But my “help” was not what she wanted. In my zeal, I became the bully. I wasn’t sitting with her fear, only with my own fear of watching her decline with age. What I thought was compassion was really my ego, needing to feel useful. And when I wasn’t heard, I got angry. It was not my best moment.
And so I return, again, to my breath. To remember that even these stumbles are teachers. To surrendering—gently, imperfectly—into growth.
I ask for help to stay steady and calm in the face of change, whether in myself, in my relationships, or in the world. My practice prepares me for the next right action: knowing when to speak, when to act, and when to rest. Every experience gives me a chance: to be entangled in reactivity, or to pause, listen, and choose compassion.
We are all human. Life is all learning.
As my dear friend and teacher Deborah Adele says:
“It is not a weakness to see our attachments and resistance; if these are the cause of our bondage, then it seems like a gift to see the things that stand between ourselves and our freedom.”
