A Coast to Coast Journey to Finding Inner Peace

Three years ago my life was supposed to be perfect. On the professional front I was a success story: a veteran of an elite technology unit in the Israeli army, recruited by the world’s largest private research lab, then turned hi-tech startup entrepreneur. On the personal front: happily married, three great kids, and a house in the suburbs. On the surface, I was living both the American dream and all that I have personally wished for.

Life was supposed to be perfect, but it wasn’t.

Under the surface, daily life was comprised of a cautious walk between raindrops of emails, calls, meetings, and carpools. An attempt to stay dry in a torrent of enslaving, often meaningless obligations. The past accomplishments had come at the cost of invisible strings that tied me down. Decisions, big or small, were now dictated by the needs of my career and my family: work on the weekend, wake up for Sunday school, buy a house in a good school district, drive a minivan. Life was an infinite conveyer belt of tasks and constraints.

But as hard as it was to be busy, it was scarier to be free. In the rare times I could decide where to go or what to do, I had no idea what I wanted. Yes, I wanted to spend time with my kids and with my wife, but beyond my identity as a husband and father I didn’t really know who I was anymore. Underneath the layers of being a scientist, a musician, engineer, or businessman my soul was hiding from me in a silent void.

Like all stories of personal transformation, it all began with a faint nagging ache that gradually grew into a pain. The inevitable feeling that something was seriously missing and had to be retrieved. Nights of reflection turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and at some point things came to a boil. When they did, a suppressed childhood dream surfaced from the emotional chaos: I want to be a biker. I want to be on the open road, gripping chromed, raised handlebars and stretching forward leather biker boots. I want to ride from coast to coast, through the back roads, with no plans, no reservations, and no schedules. The motorcycle will be my channel to inner peace.

At that time I had not even sat on a motorcycle before, so some work had to be done. In the summer of 2009 I slowly started pursuing my goal, one tiny step at a time. I took the motorcycle safety course, fell, injured myself, and failed it. Then I went back, passed, got a tiny 250, joined a local riding club, and traded to a bigger bike. By late spring of 2010, I was ready to go all the way: ride solo from New York to California, and mark a big checkmark on my bucket list. My wife, who in the meantime had seen her husband transform from a groggy chimp into a smiling human supported the endeavor, and the project turned from a dream into a plan. I allocated a modest budget and started preparing to go on the road in the fall.

The plan was to ride alone, from New York to California, and spend all days and nights in solitary contemplation, gathering inspiration from the road and from the people I may meet along the way. It was a simple plan, but it was also a little risky: being away from my family for weeks, without an opportunity to process and discuss my thoughts could possibly be boring, perhaps even depressing. It could be great to have the opportunity to stop along the way and discuss the thoughts that emerge, and process them. Luckily for me, I actually worked with some of the most famous experts one would consult on a soul-searching journey: authors like Deepak Chopra and Stephen Covey, and prominent psychology researchers like Phil Zimbardo, James Pennebaker, and Sonja Lyubomirsky. I called them and asked if I can stop along the way to chat with them. They all agreed. Ride of Your Life turned from a personal journey into an opportunity to find some broader answers to the questions that people ask as their lives evolve. To join the wisdom of the road with the professional take of experts to form a guide to inner peace. I got some video equipment and scheduled approximate dates to meet with the experts in Maryland, North Carolina, Texas, and California.

On Sunday, September 19 2010 I headed west shocked and anxious to leave my family without knowing exactly where I’ll be spending the night. In the five weeks that followed I rode through mountains and valleys, forests and deserts, towns, cities, and oil rigs, in rain and in sunshine. 6,000 miles later I got back with answers, and had regained my inner peace.

The Ride changed the lens through which I see the world, and affected my life in a profound way: prior to leaving I met in New York with the founders of a company called bLife. When I reached Los Angeles I met with them again, ended up selling my company and became bLife’s Chief Scientist.  I also went on to study life-coaching and now coach and teach life-coaching courses. Two years later, I decided to move with my family to Israel, and since then I divide my time between the West Coast, the East Coast, and the Middle East.  I found not just inner peace, but dare I say – enlightenment. Today I’m a better husband, better dad, better professional, and just a better human all around, and I experience daily life in a very different way.

This book accompanies my coast-to-coast journey. It describes the meditative experience of riding daily for hours, and the insights that slowly emerged from riding experience and the professional angles of the experts I interviewed. It is also a book about dreams. Sometimes a small change in perspective demolishes the barriers, turns life around, and makes dreams come true. Today my mission as a scientist, coach, and author, is to help people make that shift and accomplish their dreams.  This is what the book is really about.

I hope this guide helps you go on the ride of your own life. Ride safe and ride on!

Pre-Order Ride of Your Life – the book!

In September, When my son turned ten, he asked for a bird; a yellow Cockatiel that he saw in a local pet shop. The bird had cute orange circles on her cheeks, and whistled happily at each person walking by her cage. My son had fallen in love with her. Each time we went by the store he asked to walk in and would gaze at the little parrot, mesmerized and fascinated. We didn’t really want another pet in the house, but there was no choice. We had to get Tweetie before someone else did. On a sunny Monday morning we all went to the pet shop, and returned home with Tweeite standing proud in a beautiful golden cage. My son’s joy was limitless. We placed the cage in the living room and gave the bird a warm welcome to her new home.

In the weeks that followed, we discovered Tweeite’s unique character. She learned to identify the members of the family, and assigned a different whistle to call each one of us. When a car would pull in the driveway, Tweetie would whistle relentlessly in excitement, greeting the visitor before they had a chance to knock on the door. She used another special whistle when someone left the living room and a different one when someone entered it, a whistle to let us know she is hungry, and a whistle to ask the dog to keep off. Her whistles became the soundtrack of our home.

Tweetie’s wing feathers were trimmed, so she couldn’t fly. When you’d put your finger in front of her she would stand on it, and let you carry her around. We did not like the sight of her trimmed wings, but we liked having her safe and close to us.

One morning, a few weeks after she moved in, we cleaned Tweetie’s cage and left the back door open. We did not realize that in the meantime her feathers grew a little and she was now able to fly a short distance. After sneaking out in tiny steps, the she opened her wings wide, and flew to the roof. My wife and I started calling her, and the kids, who heard the screams, got out of the house and joined the rally. Tweetie must have gotten startled by the yelling. she  flew away and disappeared in the park behind our yard. I eventually found her on one of the low branches of a park tree. All I had to do is hold up my hand, and she climbed onto my finger. I went back to the house as the triumphant dad and the bird’s savior.

From that day on, we made sure that all the doors and windows are shut when Tweeite was out of the cage. We decided not to trim her wings. The weeks went by, and her feathers grew. It became harder to get her back in the cage. She loved to fly around the house, and when I would put up my hand for her to climb onto my finger, she would let out a cry, avoid it, and fly away. She could not longer be be fooled by the old finger trick. Tweetie wanted to be free and loved practicing her flight moves, enjoying her newly-grown feathers.

Then yesterday afternoon, the back door was accidentally left crack-open, and tweetie slowly walked out. Everyone froze and started whispering orders at each other: “don’t move”, “walk slowly this way”, “I will try to catch her, you stand behind me…”. Just then, our dog saw her walking out and jumped on her. She immediately flew up to escape the attack. First she flew to the neighbor’s roof, then she flew in circles around the house, listening to us scream and beg her to come back, then finally, surprised by the strength of her muscles and her fully-grown feathers, she flew up into the sky and vanished. For a few moments we could still hear her famous whistles fading, and then she was gone.

We left Tweetie’s cage open on the patio table along with some water and food. We hope for her return, but we know she’s not coming back. The children are sad, but they are happy for Tweetie, and understand her choice to leave them and be free. Taking care of the Tweetie was a great experience, but we now realize tat she was never ours to own. We all miss her, and wonder: If we end up getting another bird – would we do the same thing and let its wings grow?

After spending a great week in Santa Monica I flew back today on a connecting flight through Philadelphia. I was a little late to leave my hotel, but the cab driver assured me with a big smile that I will get to the airport on time. He took a special shortcut and stepped on it as if his life depended on it. Sure enough, we got there early. And with the same big smile he helped me get my stuff out of the trunk and wished me a safe journey.

Inside the terminal, the lady at the check-in desk greets me with a fake frown: why am I paying for an extra bag? “Next time”, she tells me, “bring a big carry-on. Your bags are light. You can save some money.” I tell her about the presents I bought for my kids. We laugh and joke about it. She gets me a good seat and sends me off with a smile as big as Texas.

I get on the plane, and it’s the “happy plane”. People are smiling at each other, joking. It feels like a school trip. The couple sitting next to me are Arlene and John, retired educators from Philadelphia. Ten minutes after take-off Arlene and I are engaged in flowing conversation. I learn about her kids, her marriage, her lifestyle, her family. Her brother recently of passed away after battling cancer. Her daughter travels around the world. She recently became a vegetarian, but John, her husband, is a meat lover. He and I talk about Jerusalem, the wailing wall, and its history. Probably the first time someone discovers I’m from Israel and talks about something other than the conflict in the Middle East. The spirits are high and the vibes a good. Almost in an unnatural way.

I get up to get some coffee, and a guy in the exit row literally pulls me over by the sleeve. He has three empty tiny bottles of Jack Daniels on his tray, and a white pair of earbuds in his ears. He asks me about the AC/DC T-shirt I’m wearing. I tell him about the concert I went to. We hug (?!!) and he hands me his earbuds and says “you gotta listen to this”. I put one in my ear and hear Neil Young going full steam. He commands “both ears!” I put both earbuds in and listen to Neil go as my friend plays air guitar in his seat. We talk for a few more minutes about music all wired up with teenage excitement. And then I remember the original reason I got up from my seat. I go get that coffee.

I continue down the aisle, and I’m completely baffled. W h a t – i s – h a p p e n n i n g?? Did someone slip something in my drink? Is this some kind of twisted dream? I look back at The aisle. People are standing and talking with each other, smiling and occasionally joking with each other. This is not normal, I think to myself.

When I get to the end of the aisle I see John. He pulls me closer so I can hear him better through the noise of the engines at the back of the plane. He says “you have very special smile. When you walked in the plane I immediately noticed it. You have a happy soul”.

And then I get it. Yes, this is possibly an airplane that’s happier than average, but that’s not really what’s going on. It’s me – I’m the Happy plane. I woke up in a good mood this morning after spending a great week of work in LA, and I’m happy about seeing my wife and my kids tonight. I’m smiling, and the world is smiling back. Big time. The Buddha said “I am not in the world – the world is in me”. And it’s true. The world lives in our minds. We create it. And when you create a world of happiness inside of you, the world outside of you catches on it, and universes of happiness are born in the people around you. Any plane can be the happy plane, if you smile.

One of the top determinants of well-being is autonomy: the perception that one can govern oneself and not have decisions dictated externally by someone else. Understanding what autonomy is could be tricky. Many people mistake it to mean the same as independence, but it’s not. Being autonomous does not mean you do not depend on others to help accomplish tasks, reach your goals, and provide you with the many benefits of having company. Having autonomy is not about being able to do stuff all by yourself. It’s about having the power to decide what happens next in your life. Autonomy is about having the authority to make decisions, not the independence to execute on them. Even more specifically, it’s about having the *perceived* power to do so.

Carol Ryff’s groundbreaking research on the determinants of well-being places autonomy as the most important factor that affects our psychological wellness. The modern science of motivation, namely Self Determination Theory, establishes the desire to be autonomous as the most important factor in providing intrinsic motivation for the pursuit of one’s goals. In my view it is the single most important contributor to one’s well-being and inner peace.

Changes in one’s mindset and outlook can change their own perceived autonomy. Take for example this guy in the supermarket standing right in front of you in line. You are already late for dinner and sweating yourself off, while he insists on paying in cash, picking his pockets for the exact change and holding up the line for long valuable moments. He is hijacking your time, deciding what happens next for you (your spouse will surely be mad), and denying you of your rightful entitlement to be the master of your own destiny. This guy is taking your autonomy away. Or at least it seems so. If you really enumerate your options you may realize that you actually have alternatives to choose from. You can give up shopping and just head straight home, you can move to a different cash register, or you can simply pay for the guy with your credit card and put an end to his search for change. When you become aware of your alternatives your perceived level of autonomy increases, your anger quiets, and your well-being gets a nice boost.

In addition to people and situations that may attempt to deny you of your autonomy, there is another potential autonomy thief that lies within. One that accompanies you everywhere you go. And unlike the supermarket guy he is much faster than you.

Think about the moment in the grocery store when you realize that you are going do be delayed more than you had thought. It doesn’t take long for your skin to sweat and your fists to clench at that moment. You are well ticked-off before you get a chance to consciously think about the possibility of being late or make any real assessment of the situation. The reason is that the stress response initiated in your limbic parts of your brain (also known as the “lizard brain”) are much faster than the thinking and planning that happens in the more evolved parts of your brain. When you get stressed or angry it feels like someone else has pushed a button and is pulling on your strings to make you behave a certain way. This fast mechanism simply *bypasses you*. It goes straight from the limbic brain to your sweat glands and to the muscles that clench your fists. It’s controlling what happens next, denying you of your autonomy. And in doing that it adds unnecessary misery to the small misfortune of being late for dinner.

Heaps of words have been written about the “fight or flight” stress response and about how irrational and inadequate it could be to the safe modern environments in which most of us live today. The one important factor that is often overlooked is that these responses are faster than any conscious thoughts over which you have control. To nurture your well-being and reclaim your autonomy from your limbic brain you have to allow more time for the slower neural processing of conscious thoughts to kick in. And to do that you may need to utilize the oldest intervention in the toolbox of the science of psychology:

Count to ten.

Last year I went on a coast-to-coast solo motorcycle trip. A project I call “Ride Of Your Life” – a journey to inner peace. I embarked on this 6,000 mile ride only a year after obtaining my motorcycle license and along the way interviewed scholars and scientists like Deepak Chopra, James Pennebaker, Sonja Lyubomirsky and Byron Katie. I also spoke with dozens of people I met on the road at gas stations, parking lots, restaurants, rest areas, and inns. When they heard that I was carrying out my longtime dream of riding coast to coast, people responded by opening up and sharing their dreams, aspirations, and regrets. A nameless biker, who lives 4000 miles away is a great confidante.

Here’s what I found.

People dream about things that are within their reach. No one I met wanted to be famous, go to the moon, or climb Mt. Everest. It’s not that people’s dreams are trivial or uninspiring. In fact, it was amazing to hear what diverse futures people dream for themselves: becoming a teacher, writing a short book, getting back in touch with a relative, seeing Japan or New York, opening a car shop, speaking a second language. These are all things that a lot of people get up every morning and do, but could seem unattainable to the people who dream about them. To get back in touch with her sister, Sally only needed to pick up the phone and call, but the fear of the response at the other end of the line kept her from doing it. To see Japan, Steve only needed to buy an airline ticket, but he was not sure that he could handle the long flight. My own experience was the same. A lot of people ride motorcycles, yet at first it seemed unattainable to get a bike and learn how to ride it.

One’s dreams can seem as high and illusive as a rainbow, but it’s all a matter of perspective.

The lens through which you see the world determines your reality. On the fifth week of my ride I met with author and spiritual leader Deepak Chopra in Carlsbad, CA. One of the things we talked about was a shift in perspective he experienced while he was ordained as a Buddhist monk in 2010. That year Chopra went to Thailand to experience living the life of a monk, disconnected from the external world for three weeks. At night he slept alone on the floor (with the exception of the company of a few mosquitoes), and in the days he went on an “alms round” carrying a begging bowl, dependant on the villagers nearby for food. Chopra was not used to walking barefoot on pebbles and rocks, and when he came back the first night his feet were sore and he was in pain. The abbot noticed this and suggested a solution: when walking, focus the attention on the foot that you lift (and the sensation of relief) instead of focusing on the foot that you put down (and the sensation of pain). The next day Chopra followed this advice and his pain was gone. “The world is open to interpretation” Chopra says “and you have full control on where you decide to put your attention”. Pain or relief is just a conscious choice of perspective.

Phil Zimbardo is one of the people who shaped the face of modern psychology as we know it. We met upon my arrival in San Francisco on the third week of my ride and talked about the power of perspective. His seminal Stanford Prison Experiment demonstrated the power of perspective to an extent that seems almost impossible. In the experiment, Stanford students were randomly divided into “prisoners” and “guards” in a makeshift prison established in the university’s basement. Within hours, the guards adopted their role and started getting rough with their fellow students who were given the role of prisoners. These in turn, adopted a mindset of helplessness, and accepted a reality where they are imprisoned and at the mercy of the guards. As a contrary example, Zimbardo describes the case of Vaclav Havel, who spent years in a real prison but viewed himself as a free person and eventually became the president of Czechoslovakia.

Looking at the world through a different lens can make pain appear and disappear, and prison walls materialize and dissolve. Could it be that your wildest dreams are in fact within reach if you only look from a different angle?

Two weeks into my cross country motorcycle ride I arrived in the Grand Canyon. The day started with rain and fog, and cleared up with sunny skies later in the day, creating an amazing display beautiful, perfect rainbows. As I was standing there gazing at the captivating site it occurred to me that something in my perspective feels warped. I was not looking up at the rainbow. In fact, I was looking down. The multiple rainbows above the Grand Canyon were underneath me, shining above the Canyon’s mile-deep chasm. Sometimes you don’t even have to jump to touch the rainbow.

At the dawn of the new year many of us take the time to examine our lives and crate a design for the year to come. This year resolve to touch the rainbow. You don’t necessarily have to aim high. Change your perspective and you may discover that the rainbow is right at your eye level, waiting to be touched.

PS: The photo of the sign asking not to touch the rainbow is real, but not meant to discourage anyone from dreaming big. It was stationed at the New York Hall of Science in Queens, next to a “rainbow machine” comprised of electric lights and motors.

While running errands this morning, I stopped at a local bank to meet with the branch’s investment manager. The sun was shining bright in the sky, and since I had no work meetings scheduled I allowed myself to dress (very) casually. I walked into his office wearing short pants and a t-shirt and couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious. The banker was at least twenty years older than I am, mummified in a suit and tie, and really looked like, well…, an investment banker. He welcomed me in a serious face and suggested that we spend a little time discussing my finances. “This may be useful”, I thought to myself, “but it’s not going to be fun”.

Then, something unexpected happened. The conversation about my “numbers” quickly turned into a broader conversation about the economy, and how both of our families are dealing with it. In less than ten minutes we were leaning back in our chairs, ignoring the computer and the paperwork, and talking like old friends who met in a pub. While talking we also realized that we are both bikers and the banker shared some great riding roads up north that he knows, curving around lakes and forests (who knew bankers ride motorcycles?). We also discovered that we share a military background. He served in the Army during the Vietnam War, and we talked about how we both value our military experience as a milestone in shaping our values and thoughts. At some point we even talked about the guilt that people in the service feel when they survive combat. I don’t really remember how we got there… Finally, after thirty minutes of great conversation (which probably would have been much longer had banks provided beer) I left and went on with my day.

Getting into my car, I thought about this unusual positive experience. This guy seems really cool, and we may end up riding together on weekends. But if it weren’t for our shared financial concerns we would have never really talked to each other. The barrier of age, professional context, and dress code, would have simply been too high. The past few years have been bad for some and worse for others. Homes and jobs were lost, families fell apart, and once-buzzing Main Streets are now scarred with vacant stores. And while no one would choose to face the adversity of a stumbling economy, the psychological value of coming together is tremendous. Let’s hope that we manage to maintain this sense of togetherness when things finally bounce back. And let’s hope that happens real soon.

I recently gave a talk at the Leading to Well-Being conference at George Mason University. The event included a great mixture of speakers, including Dr. Barbara Fredrickson who spoke about the emerging science of love (!). The topic of my talk was “Positive Computing” – new technologies that use research in psychology to drive and foster no less than human flourishing. We started developing Positive Computing software at Signal Patterns and now continuing in full force with bLife Inc.

When the science of happiness is used to create new technology some fascinating things happen. In fact, the Ride Of Your Life started back in 2009 when I was using the Live Happy iPhone app. The app has a section where one can enter goals they are contemplating, and assess how likely these goals are to bring them lasting happiness. I entered different goals, one of which was going cross country on a motorcycle, just for the fun if it. At that time I did not yet have a motorcycle license and had no riding experience. In the months that followed the iPhone app took me through small baby steps, one thing led to another, and a year later I found myself on my second bike, riding from coast to coast.

During the conference a video crew was walking around and interviewing the speakers. We talked about happiness, and how geek-developed technology could possibly change the world.

Here it is:

A few weeks ago a nagging pain at the side of my left leg appeared out of nowhere. At first, it was muffled and intermittent, then gradually turned sharper and more prominent, until eventually it was impossible to bear. It was time to see the doctor. My primary physician, who knows me for many years, listened to me for less than 20 seconds before interrupting me with a textbook diagnosis: “L3 herniated disk in your spine, impinging on the Sciatic nerve. It’s very common. You need some physical therapy and you’ll probably be fine”.

Like anyone faced with an unexpected medical issue I was pretty bummed out. I had stuff to do, and all of a sudden had to be subject to a regimen of PT appointments, pain killers, and stretching exercises. Plus, I was told that it would be weeks before I’d be able to walk without experiencing pain so I should expect to limp my way around in the meantime. Physically unable to move fast, and spending a couple of hours each day stretching, there was no sense of fighting it. I simply had to slow down and take it easy.

I was preparing myself for a few miserable weeks leading to recovery, but then something surprising happened.

Apparently, when you move more slowly through the world, you discover new details in it. Things emerge and unfold in front of you in a different way: scents, colors, textures, and sounds that were not there before suddenly stand out. I kid you not. This may sound a little bit like unicorns and rainbows, but I genuinely started noticing the lush green of the grass, the bright yellow dandelions, the distant buzzing of insects, and the sweet scents of spring. It was almost as if someone had changed the colors of the TV to “movie” mode, and switched on the 5:1 surround sound. True, vivid HD.

The merits of mindfulness are well-known to us today. The philosophy of being immersed in the present moment dates back thousands of years and spans many cultures. It has also been studied extensively by behavioral scientists over the past few decades. But just like other things that are good for you, mindfulness isn’t easy to practice. Stopping to smell the roses is hard In a world where your attention is constantly divided between emails, tweets, alerts, push-notifications, and the car’s navigation system. But it came naturally when I was injured. I guess that sometimes you do have to break your back to be happy. Literally.

In the fall of 2010 I embarked on “Ride Of Your Life” – a 6000 mile solo motorcycle trip from New York to California, and a journey to finding inner peace. On My ride I met with researchers, practitioners, and authors like Barbara Fredrickson, Sonja Lyubomirsky, Caroline Miller, Phil Zimbardo, and Byram Karasu. Each of them provided me with a different perspective on the topic of comfort, surfacing some common insights that have led me to the following conclusion: “comfort kills”.

Let me try to explain.

Phil Zimbardo, one of the main figures who have shaped psychology over the past few decades, grew up in the South Bronx, an environment that ignited his fascination with human psychology. He believes that in a sad way, being privileged denies you access to some of the more interesting aspects of life. If you are born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you never have to learn about hustlers, wheeler dealers, and influence agents. Zimbardo thinks that poor people, immigrants, and minority people in general are situationists, because it’s the only thing that makes sense. Hunger (whether physical or mental) motivates you to attribute your poor fortune to your situation, and motivates you to change it. On the other hand, if you are enjoying good fortune and so does your family, you may tend to attribute this success to yourself, and possibly even to your genes.

Conclusion 1: The hungry become social psychologists and the well-fed become personality psychologists.

Sonja Lyubomirsky, a leading positive psychologist and the author of the book The How Of Happiness, told me a funny story about her parents. They emigrated from Russia when she was a child and often go back to visit. When they come back they always say: Oh, America is so boring!  Everything is so easy: you drive to the supermarket, park, get beautiful and fresh groceries for a reasonable price, put them in your car, and drive home. In Russia the same shopping trip is a huge challenge. Not only do you have to go to ten different stores to get what you need (and half of them are probably out of stock) but you also might get mugged on the way there. There’s mafia everywhere. They say it’s a “high” to be there.

Conclusion 2: Lack of comfort brings excitement, comfort brings boredom.

Caroline Miller, a leading positive psychology coach and best-selling author asks her clients: “looking back on life would you regret not taking this risk”, and clients instantly say “yes – I have to do this”. There is an important issue of time perspective here: In the short term people regret (or fear) the risk and prefer to be comfortable, but in the long run (from an entire life perspective) they regret not taking the risk.

Conclusion 3: Comfort is short sighted.

Getting “outside your comfort zone” is not a means to an end, but rather a goal in itself. As soon as you choose to leave your comfort zone, you form a direct friction with life, go towards the pursuit of your dreams, and in short – really start living. In my five weeks on the road, I was surprised to discover that the best days of my trip were the ones I rode in pouring rain.

We live in a society where comfort has become a value and a life goal. But comfort reduces our motivation for introducing important transformations in our lives. Sadly, being comfortable often prohibits us from chasing our dreams. Many of us are like lions in the zoo: well-fed but sit around passively stuck in a reactive rut. Comfort equals boring shortsightedness, and a belief that things cannot change. Your comfort zone is your home base, a safe place not to stay in, but to return to, after each exhausting and exhilarating expedition through the wilderness of life. Take a look at your life today, if you are enjoying a shelter of comfort, break through it and go outside where life awaits.

A “positive intervention” is a “happiness activity” – a term coined by positive psychologists to describe an action one can take to improve their psychological well-being. For example: maintaining a gratitude journal and writing at bedtime three good things you are grateful for, writing about your “best possible self” to cultivate optimism, conducting one random act of kindness a day. The interventions are like gym exercises for the mind, training it to engage in thoughts, feelings, and types of behavior that will make you happier. Performing one random act of kindness is like going through one repetition of lifting weights. In itself it only has residual value, but performing it continuously over time builds the mental muscle mass of kindness and generosity. With time it becomes a skill, a habit, and a part of who you are. When you read books about positive psychology you may think that these interventions are special things that need to be taken on, a deviation from daily routine, something that you would not normally do every day. But opportunities to work out those muscles lie everywhere on the path of your day. They just need to be given the right attention and experienced in full.

Five years ago, when I started Signal Patterns, I conducted an ethnography study to learn the way empty nesters go about rebuilding their social life after their children grow up and leave home. One of the participants in the study was a computer architect who lived in the Lower East Side in Manhattan. When his kids left home he moved from a brownstone in New Jersey to a tiny New York City apartment with one small window, where he lined the walls with vinyl records. He was a happy man. When we asked him about the source of his happiness, he said he had many friends. This is not surprising, as social connections are known to be a key source of one’s well-being, but interestingly his friends were not work colleagues or school and neighborhood friends. His friends were the merchants and vendors in the neighborhood surrounding his apartment. Every day he would go to the mom and pop shops at the Lower East Side:  a cheese store, an old record store, and of course, a local Deli. Over time the owners of the store knew him, and he knew them, and he would stay at a store and chat with the owner about sports, music, and politics. In some instances the friendship went outside the boundaries of the neighborhood (he went to see a Killers concert with one of the store owners), but most of the time the relationship remained confined to the boundaries of shopping and chatting. These casual relationships that seemed shallow on the surface were a significant pillar of his social life.

This morning I stopped by the local Deli (which I do often) and took a minute to examine my experience. The TV is on and people stand while waiting for their sandwiches, pouring coffee into their cups, and talking about the news or the game that is on. These short cuts of conversations add up to an interesting experience potentially combining two important aspects of positive psychology and well-being: fostering social relationships and being immersed in the present moment. I paid, lingered a little to watch TV, and exchanged goodbyes with the Deli owner. Byram Karasu writes about living an extraordinary existence in an ordinary life. I believe the New York Deli is a great example of that idea, turning millions of groggy pre-coffee creatures each morning into smiling human beings. The New York Deli is with no doubt a positive intervention. At least for me.

Matt Green has a Masters degree in Civil Engineering. He graduated a few years ago and started working in New York City. Things were looking up: he was well-educated, making good money, enjoying the lifestyle of New York, and was well on his way to a safe and worry-free corporate career. But as a young man embarking on the journey of life, he could not help but ask himself: “is that it?” This cubicle for a few years, followed by a bigger cubicle, and eventually the corner office? He realized that the safety of his corporate job also meant a death warrant for his sense of adventure, discovery, and exploration. So two years ago he decided to “stop playing it safe”,  quit his job, and took time off to think. Free from attachment to any predetermined ideas about his future, he discovered that he loves to walk. He started leading walking groups around New York and found great joy in the walks: the discovery of new places, the great outdoors, and the physical exercise were a winning combination. So he decided to take it to the next level and take a 3000 mile walk from New York City to the West Coast. Just like that.

Matt and I met last week and spoke about our experiences crossing the country. It was fascinating to “compare notes” and talk about our experience. My trip took 5 weeks, his took 5 months. I rode 6000 miles, he walked 3000. That’s an average of 20 miles per day. I wish I was in shape like he is. Sitting back on the cruiser was much easier. Interestingly our main insights and realizations are very similar:

1) People are good. When you go out on long trip by yourself friends will tell you that you have to watch for crime, and be suspicious of the strangers you meet on the road. Matt walked for 5 months and was never the target of any attempted robbery or violence and never felt unsafe. In fact, at some point he stopped locking his stuff when he left it unattended. Who would still from boxes in a makeshift stroller/shopping-cart? Moreover, each night he would knock on the door of a random house and ask if he can set his tent on the lawn. Three of four families had no problem hosting his one-night camp, and some of them even offered to let him in to sleep in the house. For the most part people are generous, compassionate, and friendly.

2) Fears are exaggerated. When walking though rough neighborhoods, through pouring rain, or when meeting people who say some bothersome things, it is mostly your behavior that determines the end result. If you are not fearful and open up, you realize that the risks are not as prominent as you had initially thought, and – you also realize that you would miss out on some great experiences if you surrender to these fears.

One big difference between our journeys was the type of relationships we formed with folks we met on the road. Matt would sometimes spend a whole day with someone, so there was more time to talk and grow the seeds of a real relationship. I was passing through quickly, and conversations only went as far as one hour. Interestingly, the result seems to be that people actually confided in me and told me deeper, more personal things. The fact that there was no relationship made it easier for people to share things that they would not share with others.

If you have not checked it out yet, go to Matt’s blog at http://www.ImJustWalkin.com. His journey is a true inspiration and there are some amazing pictures there that words fail to describe.

Ever since my oldest kid was about two, I find myself saying this all the time: “Did you remember to say thank you?”. If you have young kids you must know the drill. We train our young ones form infancy to express their gratitude when they receive something. But beyond compliance with the social code of saying thanks, are we teaching them to be grateful? Well, it’s not a simple thing to do. We live in a society of material abundance. When I was a kid I had one teddy bear, one box of toys, and a handful of books. Thirty years later, my kids expect a “gift” from every single store they set foot on. They come back form from their birthday parties with two huge bags full of presents, and get a little thing for Holidays, for getting a good grade, for being good… In short they get a little thing all of the time, and once in a while they also get a not-so-little thing as well. Our house gets overloaded with toys and games and clothes and every few months we donate bags upon bags of practically new stuff. Can one remain truly grateful and appreciative when their good fortune seems to be a given fact of life?

The virtues and benefits of gratitude have been known for generations, but more recently they have also been studied empirically by positive psychologists. People have a natural inclination to focus their attention on the negative things in their lives, even the most trivial and insignificant ones. We could ruminate for hours over the driver who cut us off on the way to work, or the rude hotel receptionist, but we may not even give a single thought to our good health, the support of our family, great weather, or the beauty of nature around us. Every October when I ride with my kids in the car I talk about the majestic colors of the leaves on the trees, and my kids say: “we grew up here dad, we don’t think it’s a big deal”. But that’s the thing. It should be.

Drawing your attention to the positive things in your life and expressing gratitude could have a massive effect  on your well-being. Activities like conducting a gratitude journal (“counting your blessings”) or writing a gratitude letter to another person (even without sending it) have been shown by researchers like Sonja Lyubomirsky to have a sustainable, lasting effect on one’s happiness. When I met with Phil Zimbardo in San Francisco, he told me a story of a student who approached him years after graduation to thank him for the profound effect he had on her as a teacher. Knowing that Zimbardo is a world-renowned scientist she never thought that he “needs” her appreciation. But of course – everyone does. We are all students of life, and like any student we want to know how we are doing.

Simply put, gratitude is good for you. This Thanksgiving take a moment to think about the things you appreciate in your life. You may not realize how much you have. And, think about people you always wanted to thank and write that long overdue email to thank them. Research evidence says that you will never regret it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Krishna is one of the most important deities in many Hindu traditions. He is the divine speaker of the Bhagavad Gita – a sacred Hindu script considered to be one of the most important texts in literature and philosophy. In the Gita, Krishna speaks with Arjuna, a warrior who is debating about going to war. Helping Arjuna with his deliberations, Krishna lays out Vedic and Yogic principles that go well beyond the context of Arjuna’s specific debate: The Bhagavad Gita is an overall philosophy for life. Here is what Krishna tells Arjuna (2.47-2.48) based on Stephen Mitchell’s wonderful translation:

You have a right to your actions,

but never to your actions’ fruits.

Act for the action’s sake.

And do not be attached to inaction.

Self-possessed, resolute, act

without any thought of results,

open to success or failure.

This equanimity is yoga.

It’s hard to find text that encapsulates so much wisdom in so few words. Inner peace comes when you are focused on the rewards of simply being proactive, liberated from preoccupation with results that will come in the future, immersed only in the preset moment.  You just go on the road and enjoy the ride, leaving the safety of passivity and inaction to face the challenges of being out there. And, when you do that, results follow. As Lao Tzu, the father of Taoism wrote in the Tao Te Ching:

the more we don’t desire something,

the greater the chance of getting it,

and all the more exciting.

The 18^th Century American philosopher and poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson said that “life is a journey, not a destination”. I would rephrase that and say that if your life is not a journey then you are not living. Emerson’s quote was adopted by Steven Tyler of Aerosmith in their song “Amazing”. Stephen rides a motorcycle (and even designed one). I wonder if Krishna would ride one too.

Get on the road and don’t miss out on the ride of your life.

Technology makes it easy on us to find the shortest, quickest route anywhere we go. We carry in our pockets little devices that receive signals from satellites in the sky, determine exactly where we are, and with the maps of the world loaded onto them tell us where we need to go. But navigation technology is focused on reaching a destination, assuming that the way towards it is a nuisance, neglecting to realize that sometimes it’s good to turn to an unknown road and take the long way home.

On Monday I had a lunch meeting in midtown Manhattan. After the meeting I got in my car and started heading north to the burbs. I was about to turn left on 59th street towards the my usual route home when just ahead of me I saw the road going straight through Central Park. It is a 25 mph road and it ends in West Harlem, where I would have to go through some stoplights and perhaps heavy traffic. In my 10 years of living in New York I’ve never taken this route. I had to rush home to take a call in an hour, and time was a little tight, but I decided to take it.

And it was about time I did. Right off the craziness of midtown Manhattan, a peaceful 20 minute ride between bicycle riders, couples jogging together, and horse carriages. The trees were dressed in their fall costumes of red, orange, and purple, and the tall buildings surrounding the park watched over the entire scene high up and around. Then, one little traffic light and you go straight into the hustle and bustle of Harlem in the afternoon, a quantum leap from the woods right back into the urban jungle. The energy of on the West Side around 110-13o street is captivating. Everyone’s going somewhere, and they’re going there fast. I love it. I took 125th street West and back on the highway. The little detour that has made my day only took 10 extra minutes. Was it a waste of time?

The psychological concept of mindfulness is defined as bringing one’s complete attention to the present experience. Being mindful is the most direct way of being present, and is shown to boost one’s well-being. When we maintain a routine and always take the same “best way” we are risking going through life on auto-pilot, as passengers on a conveyor belt. When we try different ways to get to the same place we notice and absorb more of the word around us and become more mindful. Who says the shortest way is the best? How about the most scenic way for the season? The most interesting way? The way with the most beautiful buildings? The one you’ve never tried?

Sometimes it’s worth taking the long way home.

The results of the recent mid-term elections bring up again the old questions about the true nature of America. What is the fabric that holds all of us together? What is it that defines us? What is America? When I was on the road, I read John Steinbeck’s book Travels with Charley – in Search Of America. Appropriately for my trip, it is a story of Steinbeck’s coast-to-coast journey from New York to California in search of the what America is. It was exciting to read about the same places I visited and to “compare notes” with Steinbeck exactly 50 years after he had taken his trip..

Unlike my children who grow up in the suburbs of New York, I grew up on the other side of the Atlantic, fantasizing about America where all buildings are skyscrapers with more than 100 stories, and where outside the cities cowboys herd cattle with their lassos and have shoot-outs outside the saloon when they have too much to drink or when someone cheats at Poker.

An America where police detectives roam the streets wearing guns under their jackets, and eat donuts and hot dogs on the street because all hot dog stands are informers. The America of Starsky and Hutch, Ironside, Colombo, Kojak, and Hawaii Five-O. The America of John Wayne and Roy Rogers. And of course – the America of Easy Rider.

This country is so great, vast, and diverse, and yet it is one thing. Riding from the east coast to the west coast you go through Indian reservations, cowboys, poverty, wealth, mountains, valleys, deserts, urban hubs, towns of population 50, and almost every kind of race, origin, and ethnicity. Perhaps the only way to understand America is to experience it.

John Steinbeck did not come back from his travels with Charley with any one clear answer that can be easily articulated. He found America, but even he could not translate his experience into words. America is the same way the Supreme Court described pornography, and Robert Pirsig described quality in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – it’s impossible to define but you know it when you see it.  I think that America is not a noun or a “thing”, it’s a verb or a process. An experience. Its true greatness is its ability to change, and there is no doubt that the latest elections brought change with them. Whether the outcome is the one of your choice or not, it’s important to accept that these results are again a manifestation of the core greatness of this process called America, its agility, and its ability to evolve.

God bless America.

Long before Albert Einstein came up with the theory of relativity, the fact that “everything in life is relative” was well understood by former generations. Take for example the famous story about the Rabbi and the goat:

A man goes to his Rabbi and complains about his house. “Dear Rabbi”, he says, “my house is way too small. It’s 500 square feet and it hosts my seven children, mother in law, and a nail salon”. The Rabbi listens attentively and says: “I have a solution to your problem. First thing tomorrow morning go to the market and buy a goat. Be sure to keep it inside the house, not outside in the yard. In less than a week things should improve dramatically for you. If they don’t, come back and we will see what else can be done”. The man freaks out inside, but tries to keep his cool. Can’t dispute the Rabbi…. He goes out the next day and gets a goat. A week from hell goes by, and after the goat has eaten all the furniture, books, and drapes, the man goes back to the Rabbi all anxious and sleep-deprived. When he walks in, he falls on his knees and begs “Dear Rabbi, you are a man of wisdom, but I’m not sure that the goat is a great idea, it’s eating everything the house and literally smells like…”. “No worries!” the Rabbi interrupts him, “I was just about to tell you to take the goat out…. come back again in a week, and tell me if things got better “. The man thanks the Rabbi, and goes home relieved and smiling. When he gets home, he gives his wife a big wet kiss and sends the goat out. The following week when he comes back to the Rabbi he’s as happy as a clam: “I don’t know what magic you worked on the house, but it feels at least twice larger!” That’s relativity theory in action…

Well, I did not get a pet goat when I came back home, but I did get my first dog. A Jack Russel Terrier puppy called Daisy (see picture), a 4 lbs biting and chewing machine. Both my wife and I grew up in a city and did not have a dog growing up, so we had no idea what we were getting into. In the four days since Daisy joined our family I’ve been waking up each morning a little after 5am (bark “ringtone”) to go out in below-freezing temperatures and wait for her majesty to go (“good pee-pee Daisy!”), then feed her, give her medicine, food supplements, and clean up after her,only to go back out again. I am exhausted, and even the memories I have from the Israeli army pale in comparison… And still – the well-known fact is that a pet brings peace to your life. And it seems very true. Dr. Marty Seligman, the founder of the Positive Psychology movement often says that “if you want to be happy – help someone”, and who needs more help than a little pup?

I came back from the Ride very different, and I expect to see many changes in my life. In the first week after being back I got a dog. I can’t wait to see what comes next. Hopefully not a goat.

In my meeting with Dr. Jamie Pennebaker at the University of Texas, we spoke about the benefits of writing. According to Jamie, the benefits come from putting mental/internal experience (feelings, thoughts, and emotions) into the structure of language. In simpler words, perhaps this may be rephrased as “talking about it makes you feel better”. In general, however, men don’t talk about it. A guy sitting on the couch watching football with his buddies and having a few cold ones, does not mention during the commercial break that recently he’s been feeling malaise and emotionally exhausted.

Men communicate using rituals of action. It’s a special sign language (often not understood by females, or by anyone at all). We tell the world how we feel by doing stuff (kind of like children, but often not as charming). In his book “Travels with Charley – in search of America”, Nobel Prize winner John Steinbeck writes about his view of the changes men experience in midlife: “For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. My wife married a man; I saw no reason she should inherit a baby.”

Being a midlife male means facing the choice that Steinbeck talks about. When men go through the challenges of midlife they are often encouraged by their spouse, family, and friends to open up. But opening up does not mean “going soft”. It involves rebuilding the strength that one used to have as a young man – and becoming a mensch again – inside and out. I was thinking about Steinbeck’s lifting, puling and chopping, and I realize that my experience during the past month on the road was a lot like that: strapping, tightening, leaning, checking, and cleaning the bike from a massacre of XXL Texas bugs.

Men are often compared to kids, and are said to “buy themselves a toy” when they reach midlife. As a parent, I bought my kids numerous toys, but I try to get them “educational toys” (i.e. made of wood, endorsed by a PhD and a leading parenting magazine and costs seven times as much). My advice for the ladies among us who’s partner is a “man of a certain age”: encourage him to get a toy that comes with a variety of activities. Polishing, fixing, and running errands is how your man shares his feelings

Last week in Kingman Arizona I met Dr. Steve Waller. This was one of those encounters that only happen when you travel. We met at the hotel lobby and a short random conversation quickly made us realize that we share a common interest. A biochemist turned archeologist, Steve discovered years ago that wall art in ancient caves is often located at places where echoes are the loudest. This initially may sound esoteric but it has substantial implications about the way ancient people perceived the spirits, or God. It turns out that in Native American tribes, as well as tribes in Africa and Australia, echoes were thought to be the voice of the spirits speaking from within the rock. Sometimes they were echoes of thunderstorms or winds, but often times they were echoes of the people themselves. What they thought to be the voice of the divine was actually their own voice speaking echoing back at them after being reflected from the surface of the rock.

It is always entertaining to look back at ancient, extinct, cultures and find comfort in how primitive and naive it all used to be. It is much harder to take that perspective on one’s own contemporary culture from the future view of years to come. For me, Steve’s research work lit a spark of thought about the metaphor it may represent – that what we perceive to be extraordinary, unexplained, and miraculous, is actually the echo of our own voice. In my conversation with Dr. Jame Pennebaker a similar notion came up several times. In his studies he has found that people have the ability to expedite the healing of physical wounds, and to improve their health significantly – by writing about the feelings and emotions they experience. The mere exercise of putting feelings into the structure of language unlocks the power within to heal. Dr. Barbara Fredrickson also touched on this topic in our conversation, and so did coach Caroline Miller: the word “coach” suggests in itself a role of guidance-only, helping an individual unlock the power within. The coach is “on the bench” the individual is “the player”. It all seems to highlight the importance of taking action as a means of unlocking one’s inner power as opposed to looking for external solutions.

I look forward to discussing this further with the scientists and authors I continue to meet, and with you. What are your thoughts?

Some more about Steve’s interesting work:

Steven J. Waller, Ph.D:

http://sites.google.com/site/rockartacoustics/

Echolocation of Rock Art: Using Sound to Search for Sacred Sites, Stephen Allan and Steven J. Waller http://www.rock-art.com/books/arara36.htm

Three weeks and almost 5000 miles have passed since I left for the Ride. I met different people from different places, and rode in mountains, deserts, forests, and lakes. Some people leave a strong impression of  insights, as do some landscapes. Nature has its own wisdom, helping one discover hidden thoughts and feelings. And sometimes, in the face of billion year old rocks and 300 mile long canyons, nature teaches a lesson in humility.

Last week I went to the City Of Rocks state park in New Mexico. The rock forms that emerge vertically from the ground are a unique phenomenon, a result of a volcanic eruption a thousand times stronger than the eruption of Mt St Helens in 1980, and of thirty million years of polish provided by rain and wind. Roaming the park gives you the feeling that you are at a great art exhibit and would love to meet the artist.

This Sunday I rode through Yosemite National Park. The envelope of snow-covered peaks on the way up on route 395 was just an intro to the depth, colors, and just sheer magnitude of the park itself. The great mountains in particular leave one with a good sense of modesty and with the realization that the world is more than what it looks like on your daily commute.

People I met on the road were different depending on the landscape they reside in. The folks in the vast deserts were quite and somewhat harsh, the people pf the mountains always friendly, and the ones in big cities simply lacking the innate realization that we people cannot control everything. It seems like living in the shadows of snow covered mountains serves as a daily reminder of our place in the universe, and in turn leads to humility and modesty, whereas in the urban hubs we feel that we are the creators of everything around us, inevitably resulting in arrogance and self-importnace.

Have you ever moved to a new place and noticed that type of change? Did it possibly change you?

Last Friday morning before meeting with Jamie Pennebaker at the University of Texas, I went to visit the Barsana Dham Hindu Temple – just outside Austin. Having never been to a Hindu temple before, I was not sure what to expect. Over the past few years I read some of the Hindu scriptures out of curiosity. Many of the principles of new  psychology disciplines of well-being (like positive psychology) draw on some elements of Hindu philosophy, so it was interesting to see how the traditional view meets the new science. In my own naive understanding of Hindu philosophy, I see three core threads that run through many of the Hindu texts:

1. Living with focus on the present
2. Recognizing that all is connected in the universe, and -
3. Focusing on one’s action and their “job”.

Of course, concluding the tradition of a billion people over the past 5000 years in 22 words is bound to be (extremely) simplistic, but these high-level principles are what personally surfaced to me from what I have read.

Armed with my rudimentary knowledge of Hindu wisdom, and a deep curiosity about the Hindu temple in Texas, I arrived at Barsana Dham late morning and was astonished to find a polished gem nestled in the back roads of Hill Country. The temple resides in a beautiful building decorated by fine replicas of artwork from India and surrounded with ponds and little gardens. a peacock welcomed me as  I was approaching the main entrance, and I was wondering how a biker in a leather vest fits within this landscape.

In the temple I had the pleasure of speaking with Vrinda, who was born and raised in New England, and is a self-defined “seeker”. Vrinda roamed the world for years looking for answers to the questions she had as a young woman. She lived in different parts of India, Europe, and Jerusalem, and learned about the cultures and philosophies of these different places. In all them though, she found a principal flaw: she saw a divergence between what people read and taught and they way they were acting. For example – people would learn about letting go of their ego, and would become self-important with that knowledge… Eventually, she found a Hindu teacher who practiced what he preached and lived by the standards and of his ideas. At that point, in her own words she “fell in love with god”.

This made me think about what Dr. Jamie Pennebaker told me when we met later in the day. When I asked him for his opinion about the different approaches and disciplines in psychology, he said “show me the money”. A person has to try different ideas and different practices and gauge what works best. No belief or philosophy are “one size fits all”. I strongly identify with this form of thinking. Like Larry David says – “Whatever works”.

Vrinda and I spoke at length, and I still need to think about our conversation. I left Barsana Dham with the basic feeling that there are no good answers to the big questions, but the search for the questions is quite a worthy ride , and Vrinda’s journey around the world places the quest as a goal in itself. And surely beyond doubt – if you are in Austin and want to see some unusual architecture, a beautiful place, and learn a new perspective from friendly and interesting people, be sure to pay the temple a visit.

People who hear about my journey often share their dreams in return. A nameless biker, who lives 4000 miles away is a great confidant. Random conversations in gas stations, restaurants, rest areas, or hotel parking lots start with the weather and end with personal fantasies, aspirations, and regrets.

In a small town in North Carolina, nestled in the Blue Ridge mountains, I met a hotel receptionist. A smart and interesting guy who is designing a Dungeons and Dragons game with a rule system that’s an order of magnitude more complex. You could see by the way he speaks that he is completely immersed in his project, radiating with excitement and joy. In Tuscaloosa Alabama I spent an hour speaking with the attendant. He works at the gas station to save for college so that he can become a teacher, a first step towards becoming an author. The list is endless: visit a close relative who lives far away, start a business, go to Japan, learn a second language.

And of course, with age the syntax changes.  ”I will” and “I am” becomes “I wanted to” and “I should have”. To me, this is the heart of the midlife challenge. Midlife is the point in time when people tend to put their dreams to rest, expecting peace and acceptance, not realizing that abandoned dreams continue to boil like lava resting under a thin surface. I think that dreams are meant to be pursued , not accomplished. To flourish and to experience life to its full capacity, one needs to be engaged in the pursuit of one’s dreams every day. The active quest matters much more than the accomplishment. It’s the journey that counts, not the destination.

In the turbulence of daily life we are sunk in deadlines, obligations, carpools, tasks, and chores. These tasks are important. Without them we would not have the things we need and value: a roof over our heads, safety, good education for our children. But dreams matter too, and in the absence of external pressure to chase them, they often get abandoned and die out. A year ago I did not have a motorcycle license and have never even sat on a bike before. Now I am in Arizona after riding 4000 miles on my second bike. One thing led to another. You never know.

Thursday night. I am in a small motel in Austin, after riding almost 300 miles in the pressing Texas sun. More than ten days have passed and over 2600 miles are behind me. At this point, the days already have a familiar rhythm of routine, starting with loading and strapping all the gear to the motorcycle and ending with finding a place to stay, unloading, doing the laundry, video-chatting with the kids, and writing. Being in the sun for over six hours each day gave me a deep dark tan, my clothes and boots are starting to wear out, and anyone who sees me now knows that I am on a long journey. I am starting to feel like a nomad, a “big log”.

The solitary experience of riding for hours in the sometimes-monotonous highways of the south is like nothing I have experienced before. Time, as indicated by the hours and minutes on the clock, has stopped being of interest, and the only important indication of the time is the position of the sun. All of my attention, focus, and energy are dedicated to figuring out how much gas I have left in my tank, when would be the best next stop to drink and eat, and finding a place to stop and spend the night. During the day, with all channels of my mind occupied with these immediate issues, there is no room to think about anything else, and therefore no room for worry.

This is a good time to contemplate the experience so far, and check the pulse for changes. The first thing I notice is that my natural pace has become much slower. I walk more slowly, speak more slowly, and probably think more slowly. I don’t know for certain, but I am pretty sure that I also breathe more slowly.  I am also surprised to discover that I am much more quiet than usual. I talk with different people during the day (everyone talks to a biker with out-of-state license plate), but when in conversation I am more concise and focused with words.

It seems like I am going through the same Five Steps to Inner Peace that I went through over the past few years in my personal life, only in an accelerated fashion. In less than two weeks I feel that I built a new reserve of inner strength and self-sufficiency, a confidence built from the leap onto the open road. Now, the abundant details of the scenery surfaces in greater detail than usual, and the general feeling is that I am experiencing things, simply put, more fully. This is the second step – Being Present.

On Friday I am visiting the Hindu Temple of Basaba Dham and speaking with Dr. Jamie Pennebaker about his decades of research on writing. Stay tuned for those posts.

For now, good night form Austin, TX.

It’s pouring this Sunday morning in the Smoky Mountain area of Tennessee. Yesterday night I was fortunate to find this beautiful little hotel built like a plantation-style house as a tribute to movie Gone with The wind. The lobby is decked with pictures of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh and when you walk in you just feel like making that Rhett Butler face and say “Frankly my dear – I don’t give a damn!”. This is Dolly Parton land. Dollywood is a few miles away and Dolly’s face is on brochures, billboards, and on the back of my room key.

In Tennessee, and later on in Alabama, I notice many older folks in restaurants and hotels together with their children and grandchildren. I also notice that unlike the New York female over 60, who is always blond, Southern women wear their grey hair proudly. I think it was Mahatma Ghandi who said that one of the most important measures of society is the way it treats the elderly, and I am impressed to find, at least as a first time visitor, that in the south it is an honor to be old.

I look through the balcony window at the falling rain and try to figure out what to do. I never rode in heavy rain before, especially not with the back-weight of bags, and I never tested the bag rain covers. The weather forecast shows constant rain all day, but I can’t afford to stay in Tennessee an entire additional day. So I go out and start suiting up for the rain: I put the rain covers on the bags, strap them extra tight, wear the rain jacket, pants, and boots, and off I go. The bike is parked in the back where many guests of the hotel are now leaving and loading their cars with their suitcases, and many of them start a conversation with me while I put on my little fashion show. They all ask about the motorcycle and where I am from, and then tell me stories about trips to New York. And they all wish me safety on my way. It seems that they are not just being polite, but really mean it.

I head out and initially start off cautiously and slowly in the mud and wet gravel around the hotel. The rain affects everything – the grip of the tires, the visibility. The boots slip when I stop, and the rain suite make it difficult to move. I get on the highway and gradually start to feel more confident. The rain continues to pour and causes a little congestion of traffic, and oddly enough I find that I am enjoying it. The rain washes off the worries, concerns, and thoughts, and I am filled with a great sense of pride for conquering the weather.

When I stop at a gas station, more folks come to me, inquire about the bike and my destination and ask me to be careful. Again, their words are more than words of courtesy, they all look me in the eye as if to make sure that their message sunk in. I still need to figure out why, but they simply seem to care about my well-being.

The rain stops for a little while and my mind frees up a little to think about this experience. When I met with Barbara Fredrickson earlier this week we came to the conclusion that challenge and risk are a cornerstone of happiness and inner peace. Today, riding a boring highway with no curves and no scenery, in a pouring rain, I feel naturally and completely at peace. Getting out of the comfort zone and confronting a challenge is a shortcut, a way to go through all Five Steps to Inner Peace at the same time:

1. Meeting challenges builds inner strength and allows one to face greater challenges in the future.
2. When on is engaged in a challenging task ,one is fully present and dedicates all of their focus, forgetting about past and future.
3. Confronting challenges makes for a smaller ego and brings the humility in realizing that there are some things that we still need to learn.
4. Taking action in the face of challenge forms a sense of self-responsibility instead of looking to others as a source of blame or help.
5. The confidence and pride of accomplishing difficult tasks free up one’s mind and spirit to be kind, thoughtful, and generous to others, letting love rule.

In our society,  comfort has become a value. We spent all of the 20th Century trying to being financial welfare to the majority of people in our countries, but we  have mistaken financial welfare for comfort and rest. Challenges bring self-esteem, satisfaction, and most importantly a sense of control over your own life (which is probably the most prominent factor of psychological well-being). To live means to sweat, push, fail, and push even harder. This effort is not a burden that we should try to relief ourselves of. It is the essence of life itself, and in its absence life simply stops.

Today, think of one thing that you want to do but afraid to try, something embarrassing or risky, and do it. Savor the challenge. It is the fuel of the ride of your life.

I pass Georgia into Alabama where a large sign tells me that I’ve now entered Central Time Zone. I rode through three states today and two time zones, in bath of rain, and enjoyed every minute.

Friday morning, I wake up in Roanoke, NC. In the breakfast room the TV is open and showing Iranian President Ahmadinejad speaking at the UN General Assembly. He claims that the 9/11 attacks were a US conspiracy. I chat with a few bikers from Kentucky that I met last night and in the meantime think about the UN Speech. In a few weeks I will be meeting with Dr. Phil Zimbardo who conducted the famous Stanford Prison Experiment. He probably understands the mechanisms that drive evil behavior more than anyone else on the planet, and I can’t wait to ask him what he thinks about that speech.

Today I will be riding the Blue Ridge Parkway. A scenic gem and a must-ride for someone on a cross country trip. Riding towards these beautiful mountains yesterday was an elevating experience. The mountains revealed themselves gradually behind curves. Majestic, epic mountains. It felt like all cars on the road are going as a single group together towards them. As the hours went by the motorcycle vanished underneath me and I just felt like I was gliding above the road with arms stretched forward (I’ve always wondered why Superman does that when he flies).

When I get to the Parkway he morning chill is still in the air, and the road is much different what I had imagined: narrow and twisty, and hard to maneuver with all the stuff in the back. After 30 minutes of experimenting with body language in the turns, the uniqueness of this magical place fully unfolds. What first looked like autumn leaves flying in the wind turns out to be butterflies. The air is filled with them. A rain of butterflies. It feels like being 0n the Planet Pandora from the movie Avatar, or riding some sort of flying vessel in a Star Wars movie. The surrounding mountains are primal, the ancient landscape of creation, and the vegetation and topography keep changing and surprises you with new colors, textures, and scents.

When I stop in one of the overlooks I notice a guy sitting in a car. We are the only ones there, and I ask him if he minds taking my picture. He is a pastor in a local church and often comes to this spot to meditate and pray. He says that he was born in the mountains and wants his ashes to be spread in the mountain wind when he passes. We talk about the spirituality of the place where we stand, and when we part ways it feels like we’ve known each other for years.

Problems and conflicts dwarf in the shadow of these majestic mountains. This is a place of peace. Suddenly, a picture surfaces in my mind. I imagine Ahmadinejad and Obama riding the Parkway together. For some reason I see Ahmadinigad on a Trike, just to play it safe (a cool custom kit, no doubt) and Omaba on touring machine – something like a Harley Road Glide,  with classic rock music pumping in full volume. They both wear short black helmets and sunglasses, and wear a manly serious expression on as the wind runs through their faces.

After riding for a few hours straight they pull over at Bluffs Restaurant, and get off their bikes exhausted but all wired up. They take a drink of water and Ahmadinejad says: “you know, I don’t even remember what I was upset about, honey. I think that I only needed a hug”. And they go inside and devour cheeseburgers with hot salty fries.  I truly think that if we force world leaders to ride together on weekends we will world peace in a matter of weeks. Perhaps the UN should come up with such a provision.

So far the weather has been great. No rain, sunny skies, no humidity, not too hot… I carry a big rain suite and rain boots in the back, waiting for the rain that is bound to come at some point on a five week trip.

Before leaving this morning I checked the weather forecast and realized that it’s going to be a very hot day, almost 95 degrees in the afternoon. Definitely no full-face helmet and no long sleeve jacket. I pulled out the black “shorty” helmet and the leather vest, put on some sunscreen, and headed down to I-95 Towards I-85. Tonight I’ll arrive at Chapel Hill, NC, where I will be interviewing Dr. Barbara Fredrickson. The ride is a little shy of 30o miles.

Sitting on the bike and cruising down the highway I am starting to feel a strange feeling of burden. The miles continue to pile and the road does not end. The knowledge that I am continuously getting farther away from my family is troubling me, and thoughts start to roam in my head. I-95 is loaded with huge trucks and each pass and lane switch is accompanied by turbulence and strong side winds. The constant attention that the highway demands, the heat, and the thoughts wear me off, and I pull over frequently to drink some water and rest.

I go back on the highway and put some music on, let Apple’s Genius mix surprise me with some classic rock. It turns out it’s eighties hour: Judas Priest, Scorpions, Ozzy… With the full-face helmet off I can hear the music rising above the roar of the engine and the sounds of the wind and the trucks. With the full jacket off, I feel the sun warm my skin, and the shorty helmet lets the the wind rush through my face. The road is long and never ending and I lose track of time. Suddenly I realize that I am singing along with the music at the top of my voice.

Time goes by and I notice that my mind is empty. All thoughts have been flushed away and the ride now synchronizes to the sound of the music, with the miles cycling in a way, as if rotating endlessly without going anywhere. I turn onto I-85 and the trucks are replaced with trees, bridges, and rivers. I turn the music off, and time now stands perfectly still, in a picturesque postcard that floods all five senses.

In his seminal work, the famous psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, (who I hope to talk to on my way) discovered a psychological state he calls “Flow”. Flow is achieved under conditions of high challenge levels, when practicing a task you are very skilled at. It’s an optimal state of intrinsic motivation, when the person is fully immersed in a task, things like hunger, ego, and time awareness disappear, and time “stands still”. Riding a motorcycle on a long haul trip is definitely a challenging task, and it may be that what I was experiencing riding down I-85 is indeed Flow.

Approaching Chapel Hill I thought about my experience on this steaming hot day. I took off the full jacket and the full helmet because of the heat. Peeling off the layers that are designed to protect me exposed my senses to the full experience of the road. I wonder if this is something we do all the time in our lives: wearing shields of protection around us that keep us safe from the hazards of the outside world, but in turn blocking and numbing our senses to the full experience. Over the years one moves to a house, buffered by land from the disturbance of neighbors. Defended from harm by airbags, and alarm systems, protected from embarrassment by social codes of conversation. These walls that keep us safe and comfortable also keep us isolated, and when protection is excessive, it could turn in to Sylvia Plath’s Bell Jar. I believe that once in a while one needs to break out of the walls of protection, let go, and get a breath of truly fresh air. Air that is available only when you leave your comfort and safety zone and allow yourself to take risk.

No doubt, I am going to use that shorty helmet and the sleeveless vest much more…

Here is today’s video again. My thought of the day: once in a while break out and let go. Good things come to those who do it.

We’ve all heard that “the clothes make the man” or that “you are what you wear”. And sometimes it is pretty astounding to see how different one looks when wearing different clothes. Check me out in the picture below. No jeans, no bandanna, no leather, no boots. I’m on my way to a wedding, wearing my best (hmmm… only) suite and a nice tie. Am I the same person as the guy next to the bike? Clothes raise a serious issue to consider, about our identity, and who we really are.

The Milgram Experiment and the Stanford Prison Experiment demonstrated (among many other things) the negative effect that  set of uniform can have on a person. Dr. Phil Zimbardo (who I will be meeting on my trip) who ran the Stanford Prison Experiment found that wearing uniform reduces one’s sense of personal responsibility and increases one’s sense of identifying with people who wear the same uniform. A person in a prisoner’s clothes behaved like a prisoner and a person wearing the prison guard clothes behaved like a guard.

We all wear different uniforms every day: to work, at home, and in social circumstances. How do these uniforms change the way we behave? when one wears a suite does one become a suite? Do nurses become more caring? Do physicians become authoritative? Do Steve Jobs’ jeans help make Apple a great company? Research suggests that at least to some degree, the answer is “yes”. If that is indeed the case, then the shallow question “what clothes do I want to wear” becomes a much deeper question: “who do I want to be?“. For me, wearing simple clothes reminds me that I am just a guy, no more or less important than anyone else. In turn, it helps lower my defenses and be more open to feedback from others.

What do you think about clothes in your own life?

When people are asked who they are, often times they respond with information pertaining to their profession and social status: “I’m an engineer living in the suburbs”. The society we live in trains us each day to feed our egos with these external tokens of success, fooling us into thinking that it will make us happy. But as recent positive psychology research shows (and some old wisdom traditions have preached for thousands of years), the ego is only a protection layer used to hide and protect one’s true identity. Being self-important only makes you unhappy and less important to others.

So how does one peel off that external mask that’s been built and nurtured for years without going through years of therapy dealing with that accumulated self-luggage? By replacing it with a new external identity that calls for no social recognition of importance. A guy on a bike is always just a guy on a bike. Like Billy Joel says “when you put a helmet on, you become anonymous-you’re just another maniac on a bike. To be honest, that’s very refreshing.”

It’s 8:30pm, Labor Day. The last day of summer has ended, and with it the entire season. Living in New York means that summer is a great event. You plan for it months ahead of time, make lists, and before you know it the event comes to its premature end. The evenings start getting chilly, kids go back to school, and you are left with the recognition that in no time you will be shoveling snow day in and day out.

People always talk about how summer went fast. It’s almost impossible to reach Labor Day without feeling that you missed out on it. Last summer we took the kids to a mega trip to Southern California. We did all the parks: Lego Land, SeaWorld, and of course Disneyland. We stayed at the Del in San Diego, saw the seals in La Jolla, and even spent a weekend in the city when we came back and did a few Broadway shows. When the unpacking was done I told my wife that I felt we missed the entire summer: no barbecues in the backyard, no town pool, no riding bicycles in the neighborhood, no lemonade stands, no lazing around the house. Whatever you do there’s always that feeling that you didn’t make the most of it. Is it really such a lose-lose situation?

This year, we decided that we are taking it one day at a time. No big plans, no to-do lists. when I had free afternoons I taught my son how to ride a bicycle. We spent a lot of time at the pool, watching movies, or sometimes just running errands together. Every now and then we checked the weather forecast and if it was good we’d go on a short trip. Instead of laying out the perfect plan for summer we tried to really experience it.

So the kids are now in their beds excited about the first day of school, and I look back on one of the best summers ever. But no point in dwelling on the past few months. Just trying to be right here and right now and write this little post

The Serenity Prayer is best known for it’s use by Alcoholics Anonymous. It’s one of the smartest pieces of text I’ve come across:

When I started riding, I was astonished to find that being on the back of a motorcycle is a true meditative experience. Of course, when you look at a guy sitting on a cruiser laying one foot on the floorboards and the other one on the highway bars, you do get the impression that it’s a relaxing experience, but it’s actually way more than that. Riding a bike on a winding back road mandates that your eyes are glued to the end of each corner and your body leans into each turn in a special rhythm that rhymes with the road and becomes one with it. At some point, you feel in-sync with your environment to a level where it’s not clear where you end and the bike starts, and it’s not clear where the bike ends and the road starts. It’s just one big entity and you are a part of it.

Carl Jung, who was an avid modern interpreter of Buddhism, referred to Collective Consciousness as the “common field of consciousness of which we all are part”. This notion is a part of different flavors of Buddhism, and even before The Buddha, the early Upanisads speak of the fact that all is connected and that the perception of the self is but an illusion: one’s self does not end at one’s skin. According to these principles of Vedanta, one connects with this collective field using meditation.

In the movie Avatar, members of the Na’vi tribe connect to this field of consciousness physically – by hooking the braid of one’s hair to animals, plants, and Eywa – represented by the tree of souls. Us humans do not have the good fortunes of having that cool braid of hair as a physical plug. Even if you have never been on a motorcycle before, you must know the liberating feeling of losing some of your sense of self and being a part of something bigger. Do you hike? bike? play in a band? volunteer?

What’s your meditation? How do you connect to Eywa?

To go through a journey you need ample energy and strength, so you are not drained and depleted when you hit the challenges of the road. And to be strong, one has  to train. And who knows more about training than The US Army?

Together with a team of scientists led by Dr. Marty Seligman from UPenn, The US Army developed the Comprehensive Soldier Fitness program: a novel set of assessments, interventions, and coaching, provided both online and in-person, an built around five pillars of soldier fitness:

• Physical
• Social
• Emotional
• Family
• Spiritual

The army has a legacy of creating strong individuals, but in the past focus has been placed on physical strength. The expansion to emotional, social, and spiritual strength of soldiers is not only a smart investment. To me it is also a token of the care and appreciation of the army for its soldiers and for their well-being. What do you think about this program?