(What follows is part of my evolving map of understanding, rather than objective conclusions. I’m open to hear what resonates, what snags, what edges or gaps you notice.)
I’ve been reflecting on how people change—how I change—and how uncomfortable that can be for everyone nearby.
When someone goes through a 12-step program, a meditation retreat, a committed phase of spiritual growth, a divorce, a near-death experience, or just a really effective stretch of inner training, they come back different. In my experience, they often vibrate at a new frequency.
And for a while, that difference can be… annoying. Socially annoying. Because evolution shifts the social gravity around us.
To focus on one case I find especially interesting right now: I haven’t been through a 12-step program myself, but I’ve known people who have. Some seemed softer, humbler, clearer. Others came through burning bright with new conviction—so bright it was hard for their circles to adjust.
I’ve noticed the same with meditators, spiritual practitioners, and anyone going deep into awareness work (myself included). For me, there’s usually a phase where the ego tries to cooperate with the new awareness—where the old driver of identity wants to manage the transformation rather than trust it. It’s awkward. The rope that once saved me still hangs at my side while I try to walk freely across new ground.
Zen philosophy, so to speak, might describe this as a kind of middle-path mess. The climb continues, but the tools that once rescued us eventually need to be released.
From what I’ve lived and witnessed, the rope becomes a raft, and in time even the raft drifts away. Although, if I focus into the distance, I sometimes notice people in that same raft now—or I turn around and realize I’m in a raft again, only this time it’s bigger, steadier, filled with more people. It’s kind of cool.
And yet, from inside the experience, evolution can feel isolating. When growth unsettles a familiar system, the group often tries—consciously or not—to pull the evolving one back into balance. Contain. Correct. Sometimes even cast out. It’s painful to feel the tremor of belonging loosen, to watch faces that once mirrored comfort now reflect confusion or quiet resistance.
Sitting with that—without closing off or collapsing—is its own form of training. Perhaps the deepest one. Learning to stay present in acceptance and love while your shape is still changing.
I’m grateful for the seriously playful, playfully serious training partners in the circles I’m familiar with—people willing to practice attention, regulation, and reflection in real time, to stay kind even when our evolution annoys each other a bit.
Because every messy phase feels, in hindsight, like part of the choreography. And maybe that’s what training really is: learning how to stay connected while we evolve.
⛩️🌿
