Quiet Clarity is a 2x/week newsletter and podcast for people who want to build a life of presence, depth, and deliberate intention.
You ever notice how the harder you hold on, the more it hurts?
That death grip on your identity.
The panic when something you love starts slipping away.
That desperate need to control everything around you.
But you keep grasping.
You keep defining yourself by what you have.
You keep attaching to things that will leave.
You keep building your life on sand.
So what happens when everything you think you are... isn't?
Where It Showed Up in My Life
I had a near-death experience that changed everything.
During it, everything I knew started dissolving.
My name began to fade. My memories turned to mist. My carefully constructed identity crumbled like ash.
I fought desperately to hold on.
"I'm an entrepreneur," I told myself, clinging to the label. "I'm a mentor. I'm young. I'm fit. I'm someone's boyfriend."
But the harder I gripped, the faster it all dissolved.
I felt like I was being ripped away from everything that made me... me.
And in that terrifying moment of complete dissolution, something happened.
When everything I thought I was fell away... Something remained.
Not my achievements. Not my relationships. Not my roles.
Just... awareness.
Just being.
For years after, I tried to make sense of what happened. I analyzed it. Overthought it. Tried to fit it into neat boxes.
But that was the problem.
What if there was nothing to figure out?
What the Wisdom Reveals
This brings me to the ancient Zen masters and their radical teaching.
They spoke of "killing the Buddha" - not literally, but symbolically. Destroying every concept, every attachment, every identity you cling to.
Even the most sacred ones.
The Zen monks understood something profound: The moment you say "I am this," you create suffering. Because everything you can name will one day be taken away.
They taught that attachment is the root of all suffering.
Not having things. Not loving people. Not pursuing goals. But attaching your identity to them.
There's an old Zen saying: "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water."
Life doesn't change. You still do what needs doing. But you stop believing you ARE what you do.
The masters would ask students: "Show me your original face before you were born."
Not your name. Not your story. Not your achievements. Your essence before any label was attached.
They believed that under all the layers of identity we pile on... There's just pure awareness. No separation. No grasping. No fear.
Just... being.
Like water in the ocean. It doesn't try to be water. It just flows.
How I'm Trying to Live Now
What if I stopped orbiting and let things orbit me?
That question haunts me daily.
I still catch myself attaching. Still find myself grasping for meaning in external things. Still panic when something I love threatens to leave.
But now I practice something different.
When I notice myself saying "I am an entrepreneur," I pause. No. I'm awareness experiencing entrepreneurship.
When relationships shift, instead of collapsing, I observe. The pain still comes. But I let it flow through like weather.
I sit in stillness and ask: "Who am I without my story?"
Not trying to answer. Just watching what remains.
And slowly, I'm unlearning:
The need to be seen
The fear of being nothing
The belief that I am my thoughts
The illusion that I need external things to be complete
It's not about becoming detached or cold. I still love. Still strive. Still feel.
But I'm learning to hold it all lightly.
Like holding water in open palms instead of clenched fists.
You know that feeling when you finally let go of something you've been gripping?
The relief in your muscles.
The blood flowing back.
The sudden ease.
The space that opens up.
That's available in every moment.
Not by gaining something new. But by releasing what was never yours to hold.
Maybe you've felt glimpses:
That moment of peace when you stop trying to control.
The freedom when you let someone be who they are.
The lightness when you drop an old story about yourself.
The stillness when thoughts finally quiet.
Those aren't accidents. They're glimpses of who you really are.
So try this:
Next time you catch yourself thinking "I am..." - pause.
Ask yourself: "What would remain if I lost what comes after those words?"
Not to scare yourself. But to find what can never be taken.
Because peace isn't something you achieve.
It's what's left when you stop grasping.
