When Life Stops Making Sense

Elderly man in a suit and red tie wearing headphones, smiling with eyes closed, dancing with one arm raised against a plain background.

There are times in life when the ground beneath us shifts, and the things that once felt steady or certain suddenly stop making sense. When the certainties we once trusted in no longer apply, and the familiar meanings we’ve built our lives around begin to unravel, we find ourselves in a space that can feel both empty and full of possibility.

This is what I think of as a crisis of meaning—the crossroads where I so often meet the people I have the privilege to walk with in therapy.

Crises of meaning test the strength of the frameworks that help us understand who we are and why we’re here. They ask: What can you still hold onto when everything else feels uncertain? Sometimes, the answer is: nothing. Sometimes, bouncing back and rejoining life as usual is no longer an option.  

At their most useful, crises of meaning are portals. They break us open so we can grow into new, more expansive versions of ourselves. At their most damaging, they can cause us to collapse inward, disengaging from others, losing interest in what once mattered, or losing trust in life itself.

These crises don’t only emerge from catastrophe. They often arise through life’s natural turning points: aging, parenthood, loss, illness, or major decisions that alter our path. They can also appear quietly, when the life we’ve built no longer feels like our own.

I’ve lived through one myself. When I battled cancer a decade ago, while first building my practice, the meaning I’d built my life around began to crumble. I realized that I was being pressed to reexamine what I valued, how I worked, and what I gave my energy to. That experience reshaped the foundation of how I live and work today. Because of that crisis of meaning, I envisioned and then designed a more grounded, spacious, and integrated life. 

Over the years, I’ve gotten to walk with many people through their own similar transformations. There was the new mom who realized her high-paying executive job, once a marker of success, had begun to feel completely soulless. Her crisis of meaning pushed her to walk away from her career and build a life centered on what she found truly nourishing: her creative passions and her family.
There was also the middle-aged man, haunted for decades by his fear of dying, who had a near-death experience and emerged from it with a newfound peace. His crisis led him to get certified as a death doula, accompanying others at the end of life with compassion and grace.

Creating meaning is one of our most defining human capacities. We can’t help but interpret our experiences, weaving stories that help us understand who we are and what our lives are about. When the meaning that once steadied us no longer fits, we’re given a chance to look again—to revise the story with greater honesty and intention. That’s what makes these moments so profoundly transformative.

A crisis of meaning can be a rupture, yes; but it can also be a rebirth. It can serve as a reminder that meaning isn’t something we find out there; it’s something we continually create. We can learn to meet life’s unexpected turns with curiosity rather than resistance. And we can  recognize that when things stop making sense, it may be life’s way of calling us closer to what’s real.

The Practice is the Purpose

a woman doing yoga on the beach in front of the ocean.

In an effort to invite more consistency and discipline into my routine, I’ve recently developed a morning ritual to propel me into the day. Now I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve never been one to consistently follow rituals or routines. I tend to start out strong—swearing to myself that I’ll stick to it no matter what—only to flake off when things start to feel redundant. But this time, I’m approaching things a little differently, guided by the wisdom of something I learned from one of my meditation teachers several years ago.

When I first attempted meditation, I was a self-proclaimed “stress ball.” It was hard for me to sit still for even a few minutes, and my mind felt like it was always racing a mile a minute. No matter how much I tried to slow down or calm down, it never seemed possible. Yoga, which I had been practicing for many years by the time I found my way to sitting meditation, was the closest I could get to stillness—and even that felt like a fairly excruciating challenge. During my initial conversations with the meditation teacher I mentioned, we’d talk about the fundamentals of meditation and address my curiosities and reservations. I explained to him that as much as I wanted to develop a practice of meditation, I just wasn’t the Zen type. “My mind is too busy,” I told him. “Plus, I’m prone to anxiety, so it’s really hard for me to slow down my thoughts and just breathe in the moment.” Part of me wanted him to teach me how to overcome these apparent obstacles; but if I’m being honest, the bigger part of me hoped he’d buy my excuses and exempt me from the difficult practice altogether. He did neither of these. All he did was flash his playful, patient smile and insist, in one way or another, that I keep coming back to my cushion each day. “Just keep sitting,” he’d say. “And remember, the practice is the purpose.”

These words confounded me every time I heard them. They struck me like some sort of complex riddle that I couldn’t quite solve. At once simple and profound, the phrase was clearly supposed to be encouraging; but at that time in my life, all it did was make my head spin. Nonetheless, I heeded his advice and kept returning to my cushion every day, eager to get to the other side of my struggle and reach some sort of clearing, where my mind would become silent, and enlightenment would be mine.

When I look back at these times and remember the thinking that guided me through them, I can’t help but smile. I had no idea what my teacher was talking about, but boy, is it clear to me now. You see, it’s been years since I started meditating, and I can tell you without the slightest bit of hesitation that I’m nowhere near enlightenment. And there hasn’t been a single meditation session that’s led me to a completely silent mind. But I can also tell you that meditation has profoundly and radically transformed my life. No matter what I feel, how resistant I might be, or how much my sessions challenge me, I return to my cushion—over, and over, and over again. And each time I do, I learn and I grow. Each time I do, I realize how right my teacher was: the purpose has always been the practice.

Neuroscience research supports that we can change our brains—and, thus, change our lives—through committed and consistent practice. But we don’t need science to tell us that; it’s evident everywhere we look. How do professional athletes get so good at their game? Practice. How do long-term, successful couples quickly resolve issues in their relationship and reestablish harmony? Practice. How does anyone who’s exceptional at anything get to that point? Yep, you guessed it: they practice, with purpose, repeatedly and consistently. They keep coming back, no matter how difficult or mundane the task may be. And it’s important for us to remember that we all have that capacity. Over time, our brains and bodies reward our practice, yielding positive results that, if we let them, can reinforce our efforts.

Now that I understand what it means for the practice to be the purpose, I challenge people not to count themselves out of meditation because their minds are too busy. And I talk back to my own narratives about not being consistent enough to stick to a morning ritual. There’s beauty in devotion and discipline. Even when it seems like nothing is happening, practice works some pretty brilliant magic—the kind that can change our lives and evolve us into the best versions of ourselves.

So, what practice can you commit to? And who might you become through your purposeful dedication to it?

Meditation and Mental Health—Part 5

a man sitting in a field watching the sunset.

It’s time for the fifth and final installment of this series on meditation’s role in mental health—and I’m honored to share it with you. I’ve talked so far about the many ways in which meditation can support and expand our lives in terms of our thoughts, our emotions, our relationships, and our physical health; but the benefits don’t stop there. The last domain of mental health supported by meditation and mindfulness is one of the most significant. In this way, perhaps, you might say I’ve saved the best for last.

It’s no secret that people who feel good about themselves, live with integrity, and see their values reflected in their choices tend to be pretty healthy when it comes to their mental and emotional experience. This way of living allows them to develop a strong sense of purpose and conviction about the lives they lead, which is all but guaranteed to improve their quality of life. It’s also not much of a secret that many people who maintain a regular meditation and mindfulness practice live in precisely this way.

That’s because the process of witnessing what’s unfolding inside us and what’s happening around us—which meditation and mindfulness are all about—makes us more familiar with who we are, what we value, and what we desire. We grow tremendously when we realize that we are responsible for creating our lives through the choices we make and the stories we tell ourselves. By paying attention to what’s happening in our lives, from moment to moment, we improve our ability to interpret and respond in ways that align with our core values and support our mental health. We learn to step into the power we possess to choose our own way, no matter what circumstances might befall us.

Self-esteem, integrity, and purpose are important aspects of mental health that we can cultivate by learning what we want. But this is one of those things that’s much easier said than done. The question, “What do you want?” is one that most people have no idea how to answer. And the reason it tends to be so elusive is that we aren’t practiced in asking the question and then going inside to wait for the answer. Instead of determining what we really want, we go with what we’ve been told we should want or what other people seem to want. We don’t do the work of finding and owning our authentic, legitimate answers. To do this takes courage; it requires practice. But the more we do it, the more familiar we become with ourselves. We grow to learn what makes us tick, what inspires us, what opens our hearts. We learn to access and honor our internal reservoir of yeses and nos.

Becoming familiar with who we are and what we want fortifies our self-esteem and enables us to feel confident about what we have to offer and what mark we want to leave on the world. It allows us to deliberately and intentionally create lives of integrity; it helps us align our actions with our values. All of this can generate a profound sense of fulfillment—the kind that boosts our mental health and dramatically improves our quality of life. And meditation is one of the foundational practices that can support us in generating these kinds of outcomes and this kind of purpose-driven life.

It’s astonishing to think that sitting in silence and connecting with ourselves in the moment can hold such potent, transformative potential. But this is what meditation has to offer—if only we’re willing to commit ourselves to it. The more we practice, the more purposeful our lives become. We transform our relationship with our thoughts and emotions. We create deeper and more meaningful relationships with other people. We experience greater vitality in our physical bodies. We get closer to living a life of integrity that brings contentment and makes us proud.

It’s been an honor to write this series, and I’d like to conclude it with an offering of the hopes I guard in my heart for all of you. I hope you come away from reading this with new ways to think about the ancient practices of meditation and mindfulness. I hope their many benefits are apparent to you. I hope the information I shared will inspire you to adopt a practice of your own. And finally, I hope you feel confident and excited about the contributions your practice will make to your mental health, your life, your future, your relationships, and the world in general.

Be Careful What You Wish For

a dandelion with drops of water on it.

I recently visited a primary school and noticed an array of student assignments lining the school’s main hallway. Attracted by the bright colors and creative handwriting, I decided to take a closer look. What I saw was a collection of students’ answers to the question: What do you want to be when you grow up? I smiled as I read some of the kids’ responses—predictable ones, like doctor and astronaut, along with some surprises, like aeronautical engineer and toothpaste inventor. As much as I enjoyed seeing the fun stuff these kids came up with, I couldn’t help but feel a bit troubled by the whole thing. Of course, getting kids to think about what they want to be sparks creativity and imagination. It plants seeds of inspiration, inviting them to think about the future and consider what’s possible. But as a therapist who’s spent a lot of time working with disillusioned, distressed, and disappointed adults, I can’t help but see the other side of this well-intentioned thought exercise: It sets the tone for a life spent wishing and wanting.

Now, before you deem me cynical and stop reading, hear me out. As I mentioned before, I appreciate the value in thinking about what we want for the future. If we don’t give it any thought whatsoever, we end up aimless, with no clear direction for our lives. But at a certain point, the act of wanting can become damaging. Research in the field of Positive Psychology has demonstrated that the more we want, the more dissatisfied and unhappy we tend to be. And we don’t really need a bunch of fancy studies to tell us this is the case. If you’ve ever invested time or energy into wanting a bigger house, a better job, or a more compassionate spouse, you’ve felt the sting of not having those things now. Thinking about what we want naturally invites thoughts about what’s lacking—and this, of course, is an obvious downer. Furthermore, since wishing and wanting tend to be future-focused, they pull us out of the present moment, robbing us of our ability to be satisfied with what is. If you’ve read any of my previous blog posts, you already know how vital present-moment awareness and satisfaction are to our overall wellbeing; so while wanting is natural and somewhat necessary for our lives, we have to be aware of this particular pitfall.

Another issue that occurs when we focus on what we want is that we fail to consider the many implications associated with getting it. The expression Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it applies perfectly here. There’s a reason many lottery winners wind up depressed, broke, or suicidal. We might have a clear idea of what we want, but if we don’t consider how our lives will change when we get it, we could end up less happy than when we started. I once worked with a client who spent most of her professional life focused on retirement. She wanted to get there so badly, for so long, that it shaped her life and influenced many of her choices. When we started working together, it had been eight months since she retired, and she was completely miserable. She explained to me that in all the years of rushing toward retirement, she never considered what her life would be like once she got there. With tears flowing, she said this about her experience: “It never occurred to me that once I got to this point in my life, my parents would be dead, I’d be too tired to do the traveling I’d put off until now, and I wouldn’t have any hobbies to keep my busy mind quiet. This is nothing at all like I thought it would be.” We can learn a great deal from the examples of people like my client, who suffer as a result of getting what they once wanted. If we aren’t careful, getting what we want could be a recipe for disaster.

Above all else, the biggest reason to be mindful of what we wish for is that we’re prone to believe we’ll be happier once we acquire what we desire. Social science research has proven that thinking this way is a setup, because the more we get, the more we want. We believe that getting what we wish for will be the answer to all of our problems, granting us lifelong joy and satisfaction. But happiness happens to be an inside job; without knowing how to cultivate it internally for ourselves, no amount of money or external rewards will allow us to experience or maintain it. Considering this and the other points of caution I mentioned earlier, it’s easy to wonder whether wishing and wanting is worth the risk. But let me assure you, there’s some good news here for those willing to take heed.

Despite the potential dangers associated with wanting, there is a way to utilize it in order to enrich our lives without suffering from all the unintended, messy side effects. First, and most importantly, we have to be clear that getting what we want is not a guaranteed solution to our problems. We aren’t going to reach some utopian state of bliss once our desires manifest; life just simply doesn’t work that way. Optimal wanting starts with generating this important awareness. If happiness is what we’re after—and most of the time, it is—we’re wise to focus on how we can cultivate it right here and now, before we’ve bought the yacht, backpacked through Europe, or married our one true love. Life is always happening in the present moment, so it’s important for us to realize that while we wish, want, dream, and fantasize, our real lives are taking place. For me, there’s nothing more terrifying than the prospect of reaching the end of my life and realizing I missed out on all of it, because I was too busy thinking about what I wanted instead of appreciating what I had. Don’t let this happen to you. Set goals for your life and, by all means, get intentional about going after them. But know that everything you hope to feel when you get what you wish for is available to you right here, right now.