Many of us know the expression “hiding your light under a bushel,” yet we’re often unaware when we’re doing it ourselves. Even if you don’t realize you’re keeping yourself small, deep down you know when you’re not really happy. Maybe you’re feeling depleted or detached around your loved ones. Perhaps you’re bored or overextended at work. Maybe you’ve never felt settled where you live, or you generally feel that something’s not quite right. Chances are, if you’re picking up a book called The Road to Shine, some part of you knows there’s more to life than what you’ve been living.
How do we define happiness anyway? For me, it’s not a temporary state, like when we drink a glass of wine or win a prize and feel good in the moment but then go back to a crappy life. True happiness is the deep, existential contentment that arises when our outer world matches who we are internally; in other words, when what we’re doing, who we’re with, and how we’re being in the world reflects who we really are. When the two worlds match, happiness can sometimes be experienced as elation and euphoria, at other times as a grounded sense of peace. The key is that it lasts; it’s on our soul level, not just a passing mood or feeling.
When our inner and outer worlds match, we’re maximizing our authentic selves, “being all we can be.” In the words of humanist psychologist Abraham Maslow, we’re fully “self-actualizing.”
But how can we stop settling for less and start making the most of our lives?
This was my burning question as I sat high on a desert cliff one blistering summer seven years ago. While fasting alone on a vision quest for four days, a book came pouring out into my leather journal, outlining three steps to living more fully:
1. Uncover and heal your lack of self-love.
2. Discover or remember your passion and purpose.
3. Find the courage to shine.
As I looked back at my own life, I realized that these steps must be gone through in order. You can’t jump right to living your passion if you haven’t first cleaned up the deeper stuff that’s holding you back.
I understood that these words not only represented the stages of my own path, but that they could also guide others. As my desert download continued, I expanded the steps into a three-part road map, adding landmarks and practical tips to move through each stage. The message was straightforward: If you follow this, you’ll be much happier. If you don’t, your life will continue to feel flat.
Shortly after returning from my vision quest, a major New York publisher expressed interest in what I’d written and urged me to share my personal journey through the three steps. Part of me wanted to respond (in my best Monty Python accent), “I’m not dead yet!” Weren’t memoirs written by people who had lived long lives and were practically dead? Either that, or by people who had done something pretty amazing to write about themselves at such a young age. But after my editor’s suggestion sunk in a little deeper, I decided that if writing a memoir could potentially help others, it was certainly worth a try.
So it is with great humility and tremendous gratitude that I offer this story of my own road to shine. I picked lessons and experiences that almost all of us go through in one form or another, sharing them with the hope that some pieces will resonate in just the right way to inspire others to find more fulfillment in their own lives. If, after reading this book, even one person concludes, “Well, if she could do it, so can I,” I will have accomplished my goal.
A word of caution: The road to shine is not for the faint of heart. The journey is fraught with brutal self-honesty leading to exhilarating transformation. It’s important to be patient with yourself; you’ll progress at whatever pace your unique expedition is meant to unfold. In the end, I don’t know of a single person who has regretted the trip.
Journey well, bright lights.
Burning sage smells like marijuana.
That’s not a very reverent thought to have during a sacred ceremony as you’re being purified with a plant that’s holy to Native Americans. I can’t help it, though; the scent is exactly the same as the back of my old school bus.
“I’d like each of you to share why you’ve decided to go on a vision quest,” says Sparrow, our group leader. Two people in the circle cross and uncross their legs nervously. Others stare thoughtfully up at the sky.
Why did I want to go on a vision quest? What in God’s name possessed me to sign up for two weeks in the desert in the heat of summer, including fasting alone in the wilderness for four days and four nights? I can barely make it to dinner when I skip lunch; how am I going to stop eating for almost a week?
I don’t even really know what a vision quest is. Neither does anyone else in my immediate circle of friends and family, though they have some interesting ideas.
“Don’t hurt yourself while doing those psychedelic drugs.”
“Careful about sunburn while you wander around naked.”
“Aren’t you nervous about being isolated in the wilderness with criminal kids?”
My mom mailed me a newspaper clipping of a corporate group visioning out its goals in an executive boardroom, with a sticky note saying, “Have fun!”
So far, my vision quest is nothing like anyone’s expectations. Ben, a jovial man with an easy grin and warm handshake, introduces himself first. “I’m here as part of my twelve-step program, to overcome my addiction to overeating.”
Susan has a dimpled smile but sad eyes. Wiping away tears, she recounts the recent death of her partner and says, “I’m hoping to find a way to move on.”
Ted is an eager, new college graduate who looks about sixteen years old. He tells us, “There are so many different choices in the world! I want to figure out what to do with my life.”
Bill, a successful but life-weary artist, exhales heavily and says, “I hope this vision quest helps me find a renewed sense of purpose.”
When it’s Faith’s turn, she begins passionately, “I just adore my beautiful children and love raising them!” Then her voice becomes soft. “But I’ve lost my identity outside of being a mother. I came here to remember who I am.”
The woman next to her looks like she’s on the verge of sprinting out of the circle and as far away from the group as possible. “My name is Julie. I’ve recently stopped doing drugs, but I still hate myself.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, grateful when the next person chimes in.
Karen is a young doctoral student in her twenties. “I’m way too much in my head,” she tells us. “I want to get back in touch with my emotions.”
Across the circle, Annie is making little piles of dirt all around her like miniature sand castles, quietly delighting in her own creations. When it’s her turn, she says, “I think I’ve been in my computer programming job for too long; I’ve forgotten how to play.”
“And you, Laurie?” Sparrow prompts me.
Wow, what can I say? The thing is, I don’t have one big issue I want to overcome, like a death or addiction, or just one uplifting goal, like learning to play. My reason for being here is messier than that. My life has been a cycle of ups and downs, of outward success and inward pain, a complex brew of near unbearable sadness