This week’s theme in my own practice — and in my work — has been awareness. Not the lofty, enlightened kind. The everyday, slightly embarrassing kind.

In a recent group conversation about detachment and non-identification, I surprised myself by sharing this:

“While I may look calm and grounded on the outside, inside I’m an attacher.”

I picture myself as an octopus — graceful, fluid, intelligent…and also equipped with suction cups on every arm, quietly scanning the environment for anything that might require my attention.

When life is calm? That’s when the suction cups really get to work.
Example: A loved one is doing well. Too well, perhaps? What aren’t they telling me? What’s the hidden problem I should be anticipating… or fixing?

This is one of my longstanding habits: a subtle vigilance that tells me my job is to detect danger, prevent crisis, or intervene before something goes wrong. It’s not loud anxiety — it’s quieter than that. More socially acceptable. Almost noble.

And here’s where awareness has been helpful.

Instead of judging this habit or trying to pry those suction cups loose, I’ve been getting curious about what it’s protecting. Beneath it, I find care. Love. A genuine desire to help people suffer less and live more freely. Like sunshine and shadows: