Sometimes I ask for help—and I mean that quite literally.
At the end of last year, I was invited to speak to a group of college students at Glen Oaks. Before heading out the door that morning, I did what I often do when I’m about to stand in front of a group of young, tired humans who would rather be anywhere else: I checked in with The Help.
I can’t fully explain what The Help is. Inner wisdom? Guides? Intuition? My higher Self? A council of bored philosophers channeling Ram Dass and Alan Watts? I’m not sure, and maybe it doesn’t matter. What I know is that when I slow down enough to listen, I often get handed exactly what I need.
That morning, I asked The Help what I should say. Here’s part of what they offered:
“You’ll show up in Self-energy and meet them human to human. Just remember—you’re the vessel. Stay in your peaceful mind. Don’t get caught up in little-mind energy. We’ve got you.”
I exhaled. Okay. Peaceful mind. Human to human. Got it.
And then came this: “You’re here to remind people they have agency.”
That word stuck in my head like a melody—agency. The ability to choose. The reminder that just because something happens to us doesn’t mean we don’t still get to decide how we respond.
I shared that message with the students: that how much agency we perceive ourselves to have can shape whether an experience feels traumatic or manageable. That when we’re caught in the spin of “I’m stuck, I can’t, I have no control,” our nervous systems begin to shut down. But when we feel even a little sense of agency, something begins to shift. We lift our heads. We breathe deeper. We re-enter the present moment.
And the truth is: you do have agency—especially over one very specific thing.
Your attention.
That’s what The Help reminded me next. Where you direct your attention is where you direct your energy. If your attention is constantly bouncing between past regrets and future catastrophes, your body will feel like a war zone. You’ll feel depleted, anxious, powerless—and not because life is actually dangerous in that moment, but because your mind is convinced it is.
They gave me this example—something simple: try to place all your attention on the feeling of your butt in the chair. Stay there. Really notice it.
Okay, now notice how quickly your mind goes elsewhere.
Feet on the floor. Back against the chair. Did it just rain outside? What’s for lunch? Did I reply to that email? And oh my god I have that test tomorrow…
And then—“Wait, what was I supposed to be focused on again?”
Oh yeah. The butt.
This is what it’s like to live in 2025 with a human brain. Bombarded by distractions. Pulled in fifty directions. Losing the ability to maintain focused attention unless we practice. Without that practice, our attention becomes a passive victim of whatever shiny object, urgent thought, or emotional ping shows up next.
And here’s the kicker: without focused attention, you lose agency. You become a passenger in your own mind, careening through unconscious reactions. But with practice, you start to steer. You begin to choose where to look, how to think, how to respond. That’s Self-mastery in its beginning stages—not perfection, just presence.
But focused attention is only part of it. There’s another layer, and that’s what The Help reminded me is “open monitoring.”
This is where you sit with what is—without needing it to change.
Open monitoring is noticing the itch without scratching it. The anxiety without fixing it. The chaos in the room without bolting. It’s the moment you feel discomfort rise up in your chest, and instead of distracting yourself or reaching for an old coping strategy, you say, “Okay. I can stay.”
This practice—being with what’s here, exactly as it is—isn’t easy. But it’s revolutionary. It builds tolerance. It teaches your nervous system that discomfort doesn’t mean danger. It teaches your mind that every weird, intrusive, or dark thought doesn’t require a panic response.
Because let’s be honest: sometimes your brain will say some wild stuff. And if you believe every thought you have is gospel truth, you’ll constantly be at the mercy of your worst fears and wildest projections.
But if you’ve trained your focus, if you’ve strengthened your presence, you can say, “Oh, there’s that thought again. No big deal.” And gently turn your attention toward something more grounded, more useful, more you.
You don’t need to become a monk. You don’t need to meditate for two hours a day (though if you do, bless you). You just need to start noticing where your attention goes—and practice gently bringing it back.
To your breath.
To your body.
To this moment.
To your power.
Because in every moment, you still have agency. You can always choose what you focus on next.
And maybe that’s where it starts—not with a dramatic life overhaul, but with a small, quiet shift in awareness.
Just notice. That’s all.
Notice where your attention is. Is it on your breath? The tension in your jaw? The ache of a thought you’ve been carrying around since last night? Is it a spiral of “what ifs” or a single thread of hope?
No judgment. Just notice.
Then bring it back—gently, like coaxing a skittish animal back into safety. Bring it back to something solid. The ground beneath you. Your body in the chair. The truth that you’re still here, still breathing, still choosing.
That small return? That’s where the power is. That’s where agency lives.
And listen—it’s not lost on me that right about now, when I say “just focus on where your attention is,” some of you might want to throat-punch me. Because for many people, especially those dealing with anxiety, depression, or trauma, the very act of focusing on your thoughts can feel like wandering into enemy territory. Your thoughts might be the battlefield.
If focused attention is bringing up more pain than peace, then your work—at least for now—might be less about zeroing in and more about widening out. Practicing open monitoring. Just being with what’s here, without needing it to be different. Watching your experience unfold like weather—thoughts, emotions, sensations—without clinging, without pushing, without fixing. Just being.
And maybe all of this still feels like too much. Maybe it sounds exhausting. Maybe it feels impossible to do alone.
If so, that’s okay too.
Because here’s the truth: without the loving support and guidance of well-skilled therapists, coaches, and teachers, I wouldn’t be where I am today either. I’ve had help. A lot of it.
Sometimes the bravest, most life-changing thing you can do is stop battling your mind alone and ask for help. Real help. The kind that sits with you without trying to fix you. The kind that reminds you—you’re not crazy, you’re not broken, and you’re definitely not alone.
We’re all in this together, stumbling through the same mystery, trying to make sense of the noise inside our heads and the world outside our windows. And if we can help each other come back—even just for a moment—to this breath, this body, this moment… then maybe we’re already doing the work that matters most.
So today, if you can, take a breath.
Notice where your attention is.
Bring it back, gently.
And if it feels too heavy, ask someone to help you carry it.
You don’t have to do this alone.
Peace my friends,
~Travis
PS. If you need help or support, you can reach out privately and send me a message directly to my email through Illume Wellness Group.
