Not everyone knows this, but I’ve discovered a surprisingly effective cure for obsessive negative thoughts. Ready?
Think about the thing you’ve been stuck on… really bring it up.
(Single, sharp clap.)
Notice how your attention jumped? That’s a pattern interrupt.
Why does that matter? Because the stories we tell ourselves are often the source of our suffering. Interrupting the pattern gives us a way out—and I’m going to show you how: by becoming the observer of your thoughts, acting with intention, and grounding yourself in the present moment.
The French philosopher Blaise Pascal once wrote, “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”
My response? If you had to sit with my thoughts, you might have a problem, too.
What Pascal was implying is that the reason we struggle to sit quietly in a room—and, hence, much of the suffering that ensues—is because of our thoughts and the stories we tell ourselves. Stories full of insufficiency and lack.
When our identity is closely connected to the story, it’s never quite enough. There always needs to be a little bit more to add to me to be more fully me. I haven’t fully arrived yet. I need to wait for tomorrow to become the best version of myself.
Stories are powerful. They shape culture, relationships, choices—our reality.
In 2006, Rhonda Byrne released a film called The Secret. The message was simple: your external life is impacted by your internal thoughts. Change your internal thoughts, and you can change your external life. It was the law of attraction—we draw to us the things we think about.
I remember all the vision boards that popped up: pictures of money, yachts, beautiful women, handsome men—all these external things we wanted to draw to ourselves by thinking positively about them.
What was on yours? Mine had six-pack abs. I’m still thinking positively about that one.
But here’s the real point: belief can shape reality. And if that’s the case, what happens when our beliefs—our stories—turn negative? Not a picture of a beautiful house… but something more complicated.
When my first child was born, my life was transformed. There wasn’t anything about this tiny human being I would have changed. He was perfect in every way. My love was immediate, unconditional, and deeper than anything I had known.
Years later, when my son was 23, he asked me to go for a walk. It was a hot, muggy August night, and I remember getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. We sat on a park bench not far from my house where, with fear in his eyes and his voice trembling, he said, “Dad, I think I’ve reached the point where, moving forward, my life would be much better if I were to live it as a woman.”
I didn’t hesitate. “My sweet child,” I said, “there isn’t anything you could tell me that would ever change my love for you.” And we held each other.
From that day forward, my daughter and I began learning a new language together—of identity, courage, and trust.
But afterward, the stories came.
Did I miss something?
Did I fail as a father?
Did I not see the signs when she needed me to be there for her?
Was I too late?
Then more stories followed. In a family photo calendar, my daughter was left out. Instantly, my mind raced to motives of judgment, rejection, and lack of love.
And isn’t that what stories do? They rush in and pretend to be truth. If I’m not aware, I don’t just have a story—I become it.
And it’s never just one story, is it? It’s hundreds.
“I didn’t get the promotion.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
“They didn’t call me back.”
Over and over. When we’re identified with the story, millions—and billions—of neurons fire again and again, forming grooves in our minds—patterns of thought—with one overwhelming, compelling message: I’m not good enough.
Left unchecked, stories turn into an identity.
Can you feel the weight of it? The burden of Me… Me + My Story. It’s so heavy.
What… what would happen… if we… let go of the story?
This is the first step to a life of inner peace: letting go of the story.
Become the observer of your thoughts. Then choose intention. And when the mind gets loud, ground yourself—feet on the floor, feel your hands, one slow breath.
From that place, you can respond instead of react.
I’ll leave you with this: many people live their whole lives never realizing there is a difference between the voice in their head and who they are. The greatest gift you can give yourself is to recognize that difference—to detach from the story and realize there’s more to you than meets the mind.
The next time you face a difficult moment:
pause.
observe.
choose.
ground.
And if you need a reset…
(Single, sharp clap.)
Come back to now.
Because you are not your story.
Thank goodness.