Let’s break that down for a second.

If we’re lucky enough to get a full eight hours of sleep — and a lot of us aren’t, which might explain the doom-scrolling before bed — that leaves sixteen waking hours. Two hundred checks across sixteen hours is basically one every five minutes. All day. Every day.

That’s a lot. Honestly, it’s a little disgusting when you sit with it. Our brains were never built to process this much input.

Email. Texts. WhatsApp. Instagram. Facebook. LinkedIn — don’t get me started on LinkedIn, a feed that seems built for comparison and quiet self-criticism. We all know the pull. Standing in line at the grocery store, at airport security, on the train — the phone comes out before we’ve even decided to reach for it.

Think about what that does to a nervous system. Constantly jumping between inputs, never settling, always a little on edge. It affects our hormones, our mood, our ability to just sit still and be somewhere.

I”m 52 (and best shape of my life), and honestly I’m grateful for that, if only because it gives me a benchmark. I grew up having dinner at the table every night, no phones in sight. The news came from a paper on the doorstep, or maybe the 6:30 broadcast on the radio if you wanted more. Our minds had room to breathe. Soft, clear, present.

Presence. That’s where we’re supposed to live. The harder question is how we get back there when our attention is being hijacked before we’ve even had coffee.

There’s a teaching, often credited to the Dalai Lama, that we don’t like to talk about life from the vantage point of death — but life is finite, and it’s that scarcity that gives it meaning. We only get so much time here. Figuring out our purpose and moving toward it isn’t optional. It’s kind of the whole assignment.

Here’s one way I think about the mind — I picked this up from Dandapani, the monk and teacher whose work I follow closely. Picture a three-story building. First floor is the conscious mind — what we take in through our five senses. Second floor is the subconscious, running quietly in the background, shaping way more than we realize. Third floor is the superconscious — the part of us capable of real clarity, real vision, real connection to something bigger than the noise.

Most of us never leave the first floor.

It’s worth looking at Maslow’s hierarchy through this same lens. Having the resources to chase your goals is one thing, but awareness is the real currency. Awareness is free. It’s available to all of us, all day, and it’s the only thing that actually gets you closer to whatever it is you’re trying to build.

So here’s the question I keep coming back to: who’s walking the dog — you, or the dog?

Why I Go Into Nature

This is why I go into nature. It’s the only place in my experience where I actually connect back to myself — to my heart — and get the hell out of my own head.

When I started doing this years ago, the deeper the immersion, the less cell service I had, which meant I could genuinely tell my family, my friends, my clients — sorry, I’m off the grid. These days, after years of practice, I don’t even need the excuse of no service. I’ve built the discipline. I use a Garmin watch to navigate, leave the phone behind, and let myself drop into the moment.

That’s where we belong. We can’t change the past. Looking ahead does nothing for us except pull us out of the one moment we actually have. The only place life happens is right here.

Come With Me

This is why I do what I do. Follow along. Come with me.

Next up: a few weeks in Europe, a retreat deep in the rainforests of Puerto Rico this September, and a journey through India in late fall — before I ground myself in Tulum for the opening of our resort, Alumina (”from within”). More at aluminatulum.com.

If any of this is stirring something in you — if you’re curious about joining an upcoming retreat — head to www.sachinbarot.com and send me a note. I’d love to hear from you.

It started in Sun Valley, Idaho, before I ever reached Missoula. I went because I follow what pulls me — growth, freedom, passion — and Abi, a beautiful new soul in my life, who invited me to the experience. We learned about glaciers, coral reefs, and whales at a conference focused on protecting the earth. We met good people. New connections are always worth making.

Then it was back to Missoula, one day before my retreat. I won’t pretend I wasn’t in a bit of panic mode — groceries and getting the setting right. We hiked the M trail, ate at home, sat in the hot tub, took a cold plunge. Simple rituals to settle in.

The Retreat Begins

We went deep into inner work through IFS — becoming aware of our parts, building a relationship with them, and finally envisioning our futures alongside them. It was mixed with deep nature immersion, including a hike up to Mount Sentinel. Day two, Rattlesnake Creek and a concert that night.

Somewhere in there, I took the group to meet my elder self — a meditation and a place I’d first visited alone in 2023, the first time I came to Montana. This time I brought others with me. We cold-plunged in the river. We sat on three separate rocks. I shared the journey that led me there, and we did breathwork together, taking in the sun before heading back. It was a beautiful day. The concert that evening turned out to be more fun than I expected — full of energy and eye candy and laughter. All in good fun. But I reminded myself: keep your eye on the prize.

The next day brought more IFS work, easing us closer to the heart of the retreat. We went back to Rattlesnake, deeper into the woods this time, and came across a mountain lion den — a reminder of how wild and alive that land is. The whole trip had that quality: birds, rivers, wind. The quieter we got, the louder nature spoke. More cold plunge, more hot tub, an early night before ceremony.

Ceremony

And then — we arrived.

Setting up the altar felt like bringing out the gods. The stones, the memories, the years of travel and life folded into that moment. We acknowledged the land, the people, the animals, the four directions. And the land answered. A dead hawk appeared, and Abi found it. The wind carried its own kind of wisdom. The creek ran through the center of it all — the perfect setting, entirely devised by nature, not by us.

A caterpillar climbed up Abi’s back. I passed it to Stu, and it made its way around the circle. I laid on the earth with my heart wide open, held by ground that felt divine. Bittersweet Symphony played, and I cried — happy tears, the kind that come from helping people heal, from watching them begin to thrive.

The sun stayed with us. Dinner was served. Prayers were shared. We watched the sunrise and the sunset, as we always do in ceremony — an entire day devoted to simply being.

Pavan hugged me in a way no one has in years — full of intention, full of love. I held his heart in that moment. He was free. He is free. I am free.

That night, Erik led us through a conversation on astrology and energy — a fascinating mind, lit only by candlelight. Afterward, I sat alone upstairs, listening to music in stillness. Freedom. Love. A rare kind of relaxed.

Between Ceremonies

We said goodbye to Stu at the Clark Fork River and turned toward the next part of the journey — the anniversary of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Pavan chose to head home instead, and in hindsight, it was the right call for him.

It was a long drive, rewarded by a stunning sunset over tipis and the land of the Crow Nation. I woke the next morning to the sound of an indigenous song carrying across the camp. A quick cup of coffee, and we were off to the ceremony.

I got to hear tribal leaders speak about what their people endured a hundred and fifty years ago — and how, today, they celebrate that same anniversary with pride and hope, holding fiercely to their traditions. Horses galloped across the hills. It felt like stepping into a different time. I left overwhelmed, having seen exactly what I needed to see.

Coming Back Down

Back in Missoula by Friday, I caught a USA World Cup match at a local bar and had a great night out. Saturday was all about settling into the cabin. Sunday, the rain arrived — a reminder that good weather never lasts forever. There will always be cold, dark, and rainy days too.

Monday brought an early morning at Clyde’s, a well-loved local coffee shop, a 9:30 yoga class at Ritual Yoga, and an afternoon that cracked something open in me — a hard collision with reality that the grey weather only deepened. Then the rivers rose, and our house flooded. There was no question of what to do — we helped.

It was a tough Monday — a full moon, the rain harder and stronger, the river roaring louder than I’d heard it all trip. I had an uneasy feeling I couldn’t quite place. By the end of the day I realized why: it was also my wedding anniversary. I’ve been divorced four years now, and it still hit me harder than I expected.

Tuesday brought me back to routine, this time with nature close beside me — a workout, a lovely yoga class online. I didn’t get as much work done as I needed to, but I gave myself grace for having just pulled off the retreat. There’s a season for making a living and living in your truth, and a season for more discipline. Both are true right now.

What I’m Carrying Forward

Somewhere in all of this, I realized I want a partner. It feels right — someone who supports the path I’m on, who partners with me, who shares in it fully. I deserve that.

And on one of the last nights, dinner with someone new — sharp, grounded, her own kind of remarkable. Worth getting to know further. We may even have found a new friendship, a future collaboration, and a retreat location out of it

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What a trip. What growth. And yes — a few old demons surfaced too. I’m grateful I met them here, and not at the next location. We come out of things stronger. The path feels clear. More expansion is coming. More new experience.

Move slower. Grow stronger. Practice patience.

Spain. Puerto Rico. India. Onward.