As early as I can remember there's been this incessant, unyielding dialogue in my head. A voice, or voices, endlessly debating, reflecting, ruminating. This inner dialogue has been my constant companion. It dissects every glance, every interaction, and spins countless tales about past blunders and future dreams.

The communication in my head was often the loudest while taking a shower or laying in bed as I thought about all the things I wish I had done or should have done to create the future of my dreams. I thought about past choices, love lost, mistakes made, and worries about the future. My anxiety would peak in these moments and despite the fact that I was just laying in bed or trying to read a book my stress and depression levels almost always peaked.

But why… and how was it possible that the voice in my head could simultaneously take all sides at once. I remember when I first read the Untethered Soul, a book that helped me recognize that I was not any of the voices in my head.  Not the critic, not the cheerleader, not the sage or the fool. But with that in mind, who am I?

Here's a line from the book that struck me like a thunderbolt: “There is nothing more important to true growth than realizing that you are not the voice of the mind - you are the one who hears it. (Singer)” A profound realization that to find happiness, one must release the grip of the inner dramatist.

The hardest part about recognizing that the voice in my head was not me was not that the voice was just chattering away for no reason but that I in some ways had come to love the drama that constantly unfolded in my head. The moments of lust, anxiety, stress, joy, and excitement all fueled by the chatter. When I finally got to a point that the talking started to slow I noticed a new depression.I was left in a peculiar state of emptiness. A void where once there was a relentless narrative.

I was faced with the uncertainty of not knowing what to do with myself. What was I supposed to feel in these moments when the constant chatter in my head, which had always helped me experience a range of emotions, was no longer there? What was I supposed to do with the emptiness that remained? The truth revealed itself, highlighting one of my greatest fears - more intense than depression, more overwhelming than my anxiety or stress - the fear that I wouldn’t know who I was without the drama my brain had created. I felt empty.

In these moments, I was reminded that I had the opportunity to be grateful, to appreciate the life I had been given. I realized that I had been so absorbed in categorizing the world into segments I considered good, bad, stressful, or exciting, that I had overlooked the specialness of the present moment. The future will unfold, and the past offers lessons, but I can be grateful for what I have right now, and that is perfect.

You are perfect, and regardless of whether you believe the voice in your head is truly you, this moment remains perfect. I hope you awaken to its beauty.