Wisdom is slow

Navigating Creativity and Logic in a World Out of Balance

Look around.

We’ve lost our way.

Drowning in a flood of left-brained obsession, we chase productivity hacks and life optimization, as if sprinting on some Kardashian-inspired hamster wheel toward a perfectly curated life that’s forever out of reach.

Kids aren’t just going to school—they’re doing school after school, packed with activities that force them to eat in a car, a relentless grind to stay ahead, to hit those marks, all in service of a future that promises… what? Survival? Or just more of this?

We’ve become a society obsessed with MORE and BETTER, flipping, scrolling, liking ourselves to death, with endless ways to hack ourselves into something faster, thinner, richer—somehow ENOUGH.

But for all our striving, we’re starving. Starving for meaning. For connection. For depth.

The left brain, in its endless quest for order, control, and logic, has taken over, while the right—the birthplace of intuition, creativity, and a touch of magic—has been sidelined.

Iain McGilchrist reminds us that true wisdom isn’t linear. It’s woven from strands of knowledge, feeling, intuition, and reason. But who has time for that? We’re too busy chasing the next dopamine hit, the next post, the next fleeting validation from a digital thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, my body holds this tension, as if I’m single-handedly keeping the universe from unraveling.

I exist between two magnetic forces, and neither feels like home.

On one side, hope and confidence whisper: “You can do this.”

On the other, fear and doubt scream: “You can’t. What will people think? What if no one cares?”

It’s a tug-of-war between possibility (Do it! Live! Take the leap!) and paralysis (It won’t work, you’ll look foolish, no one will show up). And I’m the rope caught in the middle.

Neither side holds the whole truth.

My job as a creator isn’t to pick a side—it’s to stand in the tension. To hold both, and soften into the discomfort.

Because the fear of disappearing, of being swallowed by the vastness of the world, is real. What if I fade away? Would I feel relief? Maybe even peace?

Perhaps.

But it’s in this dance—between the extremes—that new ideas are born. The next innovation, the next step forward in the choreography of life.

To hold contradictions, to let them live within you, might just be the key to real understanding.

We crave balance, but we remain lopsided—caught in a societal tilt-a-whirl that throws us out of sync with ourselves.

Wisdom is slooooooooooow.

It doesn’t come in the form of a quick fix or an Instagram post promising instant transformation. Trust me. I’ve tried this.

It’s quiet. Gut-deep. And yes, it sometimes requires a leap into the unknown—a bit of magical thinking.

To sit still. To listen for that quiet, ancient voice that doesn’t follow the rules but knows the way.

The right brain speaks in myth, in poetry, in music—languages that move our souls long before our minds catch up.

The left brain makes sense of it all, packages it neatly for consumption.

But when these two forces fall out of balance, we unravel.

At least, I do. Maybe you do too.

When my world tips too far one way, the threads of my life begin to fray. Anxiety takes the wheel, steering me toward distraction after distraction, trying to quiet the restless mind.

My creative self—the intuitive healer—senses the damage and searches for balm. A poem, a song, a moment of stillness—something to bring me back to center.

Just a little space to breathe. A little room between hope and fear, between doubt and confidence, between left and right.

If we can hold both—thread them together with intuition—we might just find our way back to wisdom.