Blade, Bow, and Shield
When someone asks me, “How are you doing?” my recent response has been, “Healed, but not done.”
This isn’t a tidy phrase meant to evoke applause or self-congratulation. It’s my reality. I’ve done the heavy lifting of healing. I’ve dug through years of trauma, stopped chasing the disorder that once defined me, and let go of the cycles of self-destruction. Yet, healing is not a finish line—it’s a checkpoint. It’s a continuous process, one where the work is never truly over.
Here’s the unexpected part: as I have healed, I realize how much lighter life feels because I’m no longer burdened by certain emotions. Paranoia? That nagging feeling that something’s always wrong or that someone’s out to get me—it’s gone. Social anxiety, which used to make simple interactions feel like walking through a battlefield, has significantly faded. And worrying about what other people think? That background noise, once so loud it drowned out my own thoughts, is now just a whisper. I’ve shed those layers of insecurity, and with them, I’ve become more present in my life.
But here’s what no one tells you: when you become more present, you start to feel things differently. I used to be swamped by destructive impulsivity, crippling anxiety, and panic attacks—so much so that regular stress didn’t even register. But now, stress feels different. It’s not overwhelming or suffocating. Instead, it feels like a sign that I’m awake, alive, and engaged with the world. It’s a reminder that I’m in the thick of it, moving forward, making decisions. It’s an odd sensation to welcome, but stress is a marker of progress in my healing journey.
And with this newfound awareness, I’ve realized something crucial: I need to simplify. Not the world around me, which is beyond my control, but my inner world—my behaviors, my focus, my choices. The more I simplify, the more I feel a surge of intense emotions—gratitude, awe, anger, and weariness. They exist simultaneously, swirling inside me in a complex blend.
Gratitude and awe because, truly, I have an incredible life. But then, anger follows close behind—at abusers of power, at exploiters, at willful ignorance. And weariness—the kind that comes from living in a system that grinds people down, exhausts them, and leaves them yearning for something better. I’m grateful to be here, but this version of capitalism we live in is soul-crushing. The upcoming election only heightens the tension, turning gratitude into a bittersweet mix of emotions that often leaves me oscillating between anger and exhaustion.
In navigating all of this, I’ve tapped into something deep within—a primal energy that I have previously described as my inner Viking. But not the reckless, drama-driven, impulsively aggressive Viking of my past life. This is the focused warrior, intentional and precise with his tools. For me, those tools are my blade, my bow, and my shield. These aren’t just metaphors—they represent the way I move through the world now.
I used to chase danger for the rush, for the hit of dopamine that came with chaos and recklessness. The more unstable things were, the more alive I felt, always craving that edge. But now, I’ve shifted. I no longer seek danger for myself; I seek to be dangerous—to those who perpetuate injustice, those who dehumanize and demonize in the name of politics, religion, or business. My thrill now comes from confronting the systems and individuals who exploit fear and division, from being a relentless force against manipulation and oppression. The rush isn’t about self-destruction anymore—it’s about wielding truth as a weapon, being a threat to those who thrive on cruelty and lies.
The Blade
My blade is my pen. Writing has always been my weapon, but now it’s sharper than ever. With this blade, I slice through the lies, illusions, and deception that surround us. And make no mistake: the main target of this blade is Trump and the ideology he’s built on lies. His entire platform is a toxic construct of falsehoods, designed to exploit fear and manipulate the truth. His brand of politics isn’t just personal failure—it’s a disease, and I’m committed to cutting it out.
I use my blade to call out the bullshit, to dissect the myths that keep people numb and complacent. But this isn’t just about attacking for the sake of it. The blade isn’t here to change minds gently. I’m not trying to play nice or convince anyone through soft persuasion. The blade is about provoking discomfort, forcing people to confront the uncomfortable truths they’d rather ignore. Whether I’m writing on Substack, Facebook, or anywhere else, my goal isn’t to engage in traditional political debate. I’m not interested in winning arguments—I’m here to pierce through the bubbles of ignorance and self-deception we surround ourselves with.
And this isn’t just about cutting for the sake of destruction. The blade is guided by my values and intuition. Every word I write, every piece of content I produce, aligns with my core beliefs. I don’t wield the blade indiscriminately. I use it to strike where it matters most, to expose the lies and reveal the truth. I’m not here to burn everything down, but I’m also not afraid to sever ties with what’s false and harmful.
The Bow
If the blade is about immediate, decisive action, the bow is about long-range precision. The bow represents my work—my calling. With the bow, I aim for something distant yet vital: the transformation of business. Specifically, I believe in Namaste capitalism—a form of business that is grounded in compassion, collaboration, and humanity, rather than exploitation and greed.
This bow is for hunting relationships, and I’m focused on finding the right ones. I’m not interested in superficial networking or transactional exchanges. I’m hunting relationships with business leaders who, like me, feel disillusioned by the current system. These are the leaders who know something is missing but don’t yet know how to integrate their souls into their business and brand. I’m seeking those who want to build something deeper, something more aligned with their values but need a guide to help them navigate that path. (If that’s you, let’s talk!)
With the bow, I’m patient. I’m not chasing anyone or anything. I’m inviting others into a conversation—a conversation about what it means to lead with integrity, to build a brand that reflects who you are at your core. And with the bow, unlike the blade, I do care about changing minds. I want to challenge the norms of business and leadership. I want to show these leaders that it’s possible to succeed without sacrificing their values or their souls. But it takes precision, strategy, and a relentless focus on the target.
The Shield
And then there’s the shield. This is my boundary—my protection against the constant intrusion of the world. The shield is where I simplify, where I guard my energy and my peace. It’s how I make sure that the people I love and care for, and even myself, are protected from the constant demands of the world. The shield is about saying no to what doesn’t serve me, and yes to what aligns with my values and intuition.
This shield has become essential to my self-care. It’s not just about avoiding burnout—it’s about living a life that feels sustainable, where I can protect my energy and focus it where it matters most. It’s about setting clear boundaries and making sure that my time and energy are spent on the people and projects that align with who I am and where I’m headed.
I’m calling the shield Simplify
At the heart of it is the need to strip away distractions and focus on what truly matters. Simplification doesn’t mean retreating; it means making space for clarity and aligning my life with my core values. By doing so, I can be more present in my work, relationships, and overall well-being. Here’s what that looks like:
Physical Health: My body is my shield. If it’s weak, everything else cracks. Staying physically strong is an act of rebellion against a world that wants us tired and numb. Clean eating, daily movement, and quality sleep aren’t self-care trends—they’re weapons of vitality.
Spiritual Health: My spirit is the core of my shield. If I’m disconnected from myself and the universe, the shield fractures. Prayer, meditation, and time in nature aren’t luxuries; they’re the rituals that keep me centered, grounded, and ready to face anything.
Mental Health: Mental clarity is the edge of my shield—it keeps me sharp and protects me from the chaos. Meditation and journaling aren’t just practices; they are a line of defense that simplifies the mess in my head and keeps harmful emotional patterns from taking root.
Financial Health: Money is energy, and financial clarity sharpens my shield. If I’m distracted by debt or inconsistency, I’m exposed. I prioritize consistent revenue and reduce debt not just for comfort, but as a strategy of resilience that keeps me aligned with my intuition and long-term goals.
Defiance
I refuse to be hard-hearted. I refuse to go numb. In a world that encourages us to either shut down or be consumed by outrage, I choose a different path. I refuse to turn off my ability to feel deeply—especially when it comes to awe, anger, and weariness. These emotions are not weaknesses; they are signs that I’m alive, that I’m engaged with the world around me. Feeling awe at the beauty that still exists, anger at the injustices we witness, and weariness at the constant struggle—these are acts of defiance. They’re also acts of simplification. In choosing to feel, I am stripping away the false comforts of numbness and denial.
This choice to remain open and receptive is the third way—the space between comfortable denial and crippling despair. It’s easy to shut down, to wrap ourselves in denial and pretend the world isn’t crumbling around us. It’s equally easy to fall into despair, to let the weight of the world crush us. But choosing to stay soft, to stay present, to feel it all—that’s the harder path. It’s the path of clarity, of simplification, and ultimately, of freedom.
The clarity I’ve found through the metaphor of blade, bow, and sword has brought with it a new kind of resolve. It’s not the desperate, survival-based resolve I once knew. This resolve is calm, clear, and bright. It’s the resolve to challenge injustice, to live simply and with purpose, and to love myself fiercely.
I’m no longer searching for what’s missing. I have everything I need. But I do want more—not more things, but more of what’s right, what’s aligned, what feels righteous. And with my blade, my bow, and my shield, I’m ready to go after it.
Healed, but not done.