I get off the plane…
Immediately feel there’s something powerfully healing about Ubud, Bali.
Most cities run on masculine, hustle energy—if I grind harder, I’ll succeed. But it leaves its residents burnt out and out of sync. Feeling lost in the sauce. Hopeless. Helpless. A lot like me last week.
The aftermath of hustle culture is burnout, overthinking, forcing things into existence. All of which drains sustainable creative energy. It glorifies doing rather than being. And unfortunately, burnout is inevitable. The problem is man-made, and truthfully, I actually like hustling when there’s purpose behind it.
But Ubud is rare. A city governed by wild feminine energy. Mama Bali begs her visitors to just flow, not force. She gently bubbles up life lessons long buried in the shadows, hidden and avoided. Bali acts as a safe container to be tested. I was curious to see what would rise to the surface. What lessons I’d finally be ready to receive.
NYC : coffee = hustle culture
Ubud : cacao = connection culture
Cities can be medicine too, if navigated with care.
I wanted to discover how we actively heal from burnout, beyond the cliché of sipping cocktails poolside. That’s not rest. It’s numbing. True restoration requires something else.
Even when you’re living your purpose, hustling can still be draining. So this week, I set out to explore how we can recover, reset, and revitalize our souls... so we can keep hustling.
Surrendering to Flow
At the beginning of the week, I was stiff with my steel reinforced guard firmly standing—against everyone, even myself.
Then I was met with love. Soft, open love. The kind that’s jarring when you’ve been self-protecting. It shook me like an earthquake. Made me question what was underneath my foundation—quicksand? garbage? jagged toe-stubbing rocks? It didn’t feel resilient.
Why is it that places full of love and openness can be so confronting? Clearly, I’m not as receptive as I thought. My mind spiraled: Do they want something from me? Is this transactional?
In an effort to shake this cynicism and open myself to flow—a necessary state for creativity—I went to an ecstatic dance night. No speaking. No touching. Just dancing however your body wants to move. Completely sober. Completely free. Letting go of the discomfort of being seen, or moving differently.
We danced to a global mix of beats, each rhythm activating different parts of the body. It was music as a universal language—spoken through movement.
By the end of the hour, I was soaked in sweat. My guard loosened. My mind quieted. I felt free and liberated, even if just for a moment.
Something that I learned: surrender isn’t passive. It’s radical acceptance of the present moment. It’s choosing to dance with life instead of trying to force it into submission.
Breaking My Shell
A friend invited me to a retreat. I was skeptical, but curious. So I said yes.
The first exercise immediately triggered my anxiety. We sat in a circle, instructed to share our name and something we love—then repeat the names and loves of everyone who spoke before us. And somehow… I was last. Thirty people. No notes. No pressure, right?
As someone who’s dyslexic, my auditory memory is patchy at best. Add pressure, and it’s a meltdown waiting to happen. With every name added, the panic mounted. It felt like reliving a pop quiz I didn’t study for—my absolute nightmare. I wanted to cheat, to write the names down, but that was discouraged by a neighbor. I froze. I panicked. I cried large silent tears, overwhelmed and ashamed.
And then… it was my turn.
I spoke softly into the mic, voice trembling:“I’m dyslexic, this is my worst nightmare. I’m Alex, and I love shells. I promise I’ll get to know each of you individually throughout the weekend.” Then I hid in embarrassment.
What came next surprised me. Everyone responded with warmth. Kindness. Understanding. Speaking my truth cracked something open in me. I was probably carrying emotional baggage that needed to burst. But that moment showed me the importance of grace—for myself. Forgiveness. Speaking up.
Within an hour, my hardened shell broke open to a soft snail. Open to whatever rawness might come next.
Feel a Feeling For 90s
The next activity felt like an emotional carwash. Periods of wild chaotic motion leading into pure air. Cleansing in both ways.
We listened to music and fully embodied different emotions for 90 seconds each. First the emotion—then its opposite.
Fear → Love.
Anger → Peace.
Sadness → Joy.
Stress → Inspiration.
Fear felt like a tight, collapsing anxiety. Jittery. Restless. But when we moved into the lighter emotions, my body opened. I felt radiant. Blissful. Alive.
For the first time, I wasn’t intellectualizing my emotions. I wasn’t shoving them away. I was feeling them. Through movement. Breath. Screams. Laughter. Tears. Collapse.
And I learned something wild: I often walk around carrying 20% fear all day. Suppressing it. Letting it linger. But all I really need is 90 seconds to feel it fully, then release it.
“Emotional fluidity is a prerequisite for health and vitality.” - Amandeep
True non-attachment isn’t avoidance. It’s feeling and letting go. Letting emotions move through me, without becoming me. I felt lighter. As if I’d offloaded an entire truck-bed of emotional baggage.
Dynamic Meditation Into Stillness
After the emotional purge, we collapsed into silence. And for the first time in a long time, my mind felt... clear.
Stillness is easier to sink into after intensity.
When the body is emptied, silence feels earned.
This was one of the most transformative practices I’ve experienced. A reframe of meditation I never expected. Not the cross-legged, spine-straight, eyes-closed, perfectly-zenned-out image I’d clung to.
This was dynamic. Alive. Cathartic.
dynamic Sound, active breath, ecstatic movement—all working together to clear emotional blockages.
Stillness didn’t feel like a goal anymore.
It felt like a landing place.
I kept going—twice-daily yoga, chanting, breathwork, mudras, visualization. Chanting worked best for me. Feeling my vocal vibrations move through my body gave me a strange sense of power and grounding. Warm chills down the spine. Energy moving up, down, and out.
I can proudly say I meditated more this week than in my entire life. My overthinking slowed. My nervous system softened. I was finally here—not gripping reality, but flowing with it.
And for once, I had hope. That there are ways I can meet myself with more compassion. That trying something new is enough.
Day of Silence
For the third day post-retreat, I woke up naturally at 6:30 AM. No alarm. No stressors. Just… up.
Is this what being high on life feels like? It wasn’t the kind of high that makes you impulsive or sloth like. It was peace.
It was Neypi: the Balinese Day of Silence. No power. No food. No lights. No internet. No distractions. Just 24 hours of reflection. A clearing of the old. A reset for the new. A island wide digital detox in spiritual form.
This should be a global holiday. An intentional do-nothing day.
I sat by my pool to write my morning pages (thank you The Artist's Way). Staring out at rice fields, open air, and paradise. And yet, the silence wasn’t empty.
I heard crickets chirp, birds sing, owls coo, water lap, and trees rustle.
It wasn’t silence. It was stillness.
I’m not new to romanticizing my life—but this felt different. This felt real. Like my soul was here. Like I wasn’t being triggered by life, but moving with it.
I looked over at my friend Free, a soulful violinist and composer. He said he’s not convinced silence even exists.
And honestly? Same.
Intimate Friendships
Though I’d planned to hibernate, I invited a few new friends over for Neypi.
I observed how my creative friends absorbed the world:
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In the ears of a musician, silence is layered.
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In the eyes of a photographer, candlelight on caramel skin is art.
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In the hands of a healer, emotional pain becomes something you can magically trace and release with your fingertips.
My tarot card had warned me not to be a hermit. Good call. If I’d been alone, I would’ve either worked… or couch-rotted. Both ways of avoiding myself.
But this—this was different. We made food for each other. Played Soul Friends. Sat in silence. Listened to the wind, shared our visions, and let each other be.
It reminded me how healing connection can be. How it confronts our darkness with grace. How it reflects our beauty. How it invites us to keep going.
Intimate friendships are rare. Especially those where you explore consciousness together. From moving unconsciously through life… to dancing with it. These are the kind of relationships I want to build my life on. The kind that fuel evolution.
Like my friend always tells me... “Healing isn’t always hard. Sometimes it’s just letting yourself be seen.”
And I felt so seen this week. By others. By myself. By the land.
I came to Ubud thinking I needed to fix something. That I needed to rest. Reset. Recover.
But what I really needed… was to remember.
To remember who I am without the noise.
To remember that softness isn’t weakness.
That surrender is a strength.
That stillness is a state I can return to—over and over again.
That I am not my burnout.
I am the being that rises from it.
And maybe… you are too.
Play Soul Friends with your friends.
