Emotions Speak First

I have learned so many stellar lessons recently, and one of the biggest is this: there is no rush. Taking my time, moving at my own personal pace, is not just important—it’s critical for the most graceful unfolding of my life. When I slow down, everything becomes clearer. I picture myself following a trail through the woods, much like the one in the image below. Sometimes, the path is obvious and well-marked. Other times, it vanishes altogether. That’s my cue to pause, to be still, to hang out and take in the breathtaking beauty around me. The trail will reveal itself again when it’s ready. The pause is never a failure —it’s a required part of the journey. And patience is not just advisable; it’s essential.

When I drill down into specific lessons, they don’t present themselves in a neat, linear fashion. In fact, nothing in nature is truly linear. I learned this firsthand on a 10-day vision quest near Moab, Utah in the 1990s. The experience was guided by a group trained by the Native American teacher Sun Bear, and it completely altered how I experience nature, time, progress, and movement through life.

One of the biggest revelations came after the quest. Returning to “civilization,” I struggled to do something as simple as "phone home" which required dialing a long-distance access code + the home number. Before the trip, I could have done it without hesitation. But after days "questing", of deep immersion in nature, my brain resisted that mechanical, structured task. The mental gymnastics it took to recall that number shocked me. I was also awestruck by the physical feelings and sensation of moving in a car at 40MPH after spending so long on foot in the desert.

That experience cemented something I still believe today—our paths, our learning, our growth, are not linear. Not mine. Not yours. Not anyone’s. So how do I select which topics or antidotes or epiphanies to share? Pure intuition. A gut reaction (in case you were wondering). I am endlessly amazed by the feedback I receive on my writing. What moves people, what inspires them, what resonates—it’s never predictable. I don’t pretend to know what is universal wisdom and what is just my own experience, but I do know that sharing my journey is valuable. Even if only one person finds something useful, that’s enough.

Writing helps me assess my own clarity, motives, and next steps. But journalling isn’t for everyone. Neither is meditation, music, or sports. What works for me may not work for everyone, and that’s okay. The goal isn’t to find a universal path—it’s to honor our own unique one.

I recently read something in David Hawkins’ book Letting Go that completely flipped my understanding of emotions and thoughts. I had always assumed thoughts created emotions. But Hawkins suggests it’s the other way around—that our feelings generate thought patterns. That means if I can release a trapped emotion, I’m also letting go of the hundreds of thoughts that orbit around it—an idea that feels both liberating and wildly appealing

As a meditator and witness to the insane number of hamster-wheel thought loops in my head, I am willing to do just about anything to shift from a chaotic mind to something more intentional, more peaceful. So, I created a simple acronym—because the world clearly doesn’t have enough of them—OHR: Observe, Honor, Release.
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Instead of getting lost in my thoughts, I practice this:

1. Observe – Identify what I am feeling. Not the thoughts about it, but the actual emotion behind the thoughts.
2. Honor – Acknowledge the emotion without judgment. No pushing it away. No trying to fix it. Just let it be felt.
3. Release – Let go of the need to hold onto it. Let it dissolve, let it shift, let it move through me instead of getting stuck.

When I created the OHR (Observe, Honor, Release) acronym, I thought I had everything I needed—a simple, intuitive way to work through emotions. But I quickly realized I was missing something essential: I had no real language for what I was experiencing. Noticing a feeling was one thing, but without labels, definitions, and distinctions, the process was too vague. It was like trying to navigate with a blurry map. How could I release something I couldn’t even properly identify?
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Since my emotional intelligence was a bit thwarted at a young age, this is all fresh, curious, heart-pumping, and adventurous for me. I have been working with The Emotion Code flashcards and recently discovered Brené Brown’s Atlas of the Heart. Both have been unexpectedly helpful tools, giving me language and structure for emotions I may have felt but never quite defined.

That’s where both the flash cards and Brown’s work became fascinating. She differentiates between things like envy and jealousy, stealthy expectations vs. mindful expectations—distinctions I had never considered before. I haven’t finished reading the book yet, but I’m especially looking forward to the section on positive emotions. What does she say about awe, amusement, love, trust, wonder, curiosity, and surprise?

I’m approaching all of this in a judgment-free way—not trying to force myself to feel differently, but letting myself explore and understand without urgency. And in that process, sometimes just naming what I’m feeling—even if the label shifts later—makes all the difference.

Maybe these are the real keys: I’m not in a hurry. I’m not expecting this journey to be linear. I trust that labels are just stepping stones—not limitations. I trust that this work unfolds exactly as it’s meant to. And best of all? I’m actually having a blast. Stay tuned!

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