When Order is Out of Order
Returning from my first real vacation in years, I made a promise to myself—one that I’m sure millions of Americans have made before me: I vowed not to let stress run my life. It’s a familiar refrain, that post-vacation conviction to reclaim balance, to protect the serenity we glimpsed while away. But, like many strong convictions paired with vague plans, it didn’t take long for reality to set in. Soon enough, I was doing what so many of us do: letting stress take the wheel, once again allowing it to dictate the pace and direction of my days.
The crushing pressure of American life is a reality that many of us carry silently, like an invisible weight pressing down on our shoulders. It’s woven into the fabric of our daily existence, a relentless force that drives us to achieve, to produce, to accumulate. It’s easy to point fingers, to blame the system, the culture, the economy—those faceless forces that seem to push us ever forward. And it’s tempting to wait for a hero, some savior who will sweep in and lift the burden, freeing us from this relentless pace. But the truth is, this pressure isn’t imposed by some distant villain; it’s a collective creation, a reflection of our shared values and desires. We all contribute to it, and in doing so, we keep it alive.
Human-made systems—those built on the currencies of money, time, and power—are inherently static, and resistant to change unless we actively intervene. Unlike natural systems that evolve and adapt, these structures are designed to perpetuate themselves, locked in patterns that serve their own perpetuation. They do not follow the laws of evolution; they remain fixed unless we consciously choose to transform them. Change doesn’t happen on its own. It starts with us—with our decisions about where we invest our energy, attention, and commitment. It’s up to us to decide what we give ourselves to, how we shift the course of these systems, and what we prioritize in our lives. Only through our choices can we influence and reshape the structures that govern our world.
In recent days, as I got sucked back into the vortex of these systems, I realized I needed to make a change. So, I made another vow, but this time, it was quieter, and more immediately pragmatic. I committed to spending quality time with myself and returned to the long-neglected practice of contemplative journaling. Yesterday, in a cozy coffee shop in downtown Austin, I let the thoughts and feelings that had been building up inside me spill onto the page. What you’re reading now is an edited and refined version of what poured out that day—a reflection on the paradoxes we live with and the delicate balance we strive to maintain.
I find myself once again entangled in the state of “too.” Too much stress. Too much overwhelm. Too much fatigue. Too much worry. And yet, beneath this heavy layering of excess, there is a foundation of deep gratitude for my life. This paradox is disorienting, unsettling even. I’ve never been so content with my life, yet simultaneously, I’ve never felt so maxed out.
This tension, I believe, stems from spending too much time within the confines of human-made systems—systems driven by time, money, and power. These structures, while necessary for navigating the world, tend to trigger a familiar, almost primal, response in me: a scarcity mindset. It’s a relentless narrative that whispers the only way out of this suffocating feeling is to acquire more of what I think I need. But “more” is a dangerous illusion, a mirage that pulls me further from what truly sustains me.
When I’m caught in this mindset, something shifts within me. The heart, the true compass of my being, is overshadowed by intellect. Overthinking masquerades as philosophy, as if thinking more deeply could lead me to a solution. In this place, the soul is reduced to a vague sense of conviction, expressed in clichés that offer no real comfort. Ironically, I’ve been highly productive in this state—more productive and efficient than I’ve ever been. Deadlines are met, tasks are completed, and achievements are checked off the list. But none of these accomplishments feed my soul.
The best parts of me—the wisdom, compassion, warriorship, creativity, mentoring, humility, and playfulness—are nurtured in the heart and soul. Yet, within these systems, they are either minimized or co-opted, stripped of their vitality. But they are not secondary qualities; they are not meant to play second fiddle to any system. They are the essence of who I am.
I often tell myself to “trust the timing,” but how can I trust the timing when I’m constantly trying to control it? It’s like telling myself to trust the process while secretly believing I am the master of that process. But matters of the soul are not processes I can engineer or control. Divine timing and divine process are beyond my grasp. Yes, I have systems, practices, and resources that I am responsible for, but the spiritual realm operates on its own schedule, independent of my intentions or plans.
When I achieve results in the material world at the expense of the spiritual, those results become hollow. They lose their regenerative power and become consumptive instead, draining rather than replenishing. I’ve noticed that I’ve been so caught up in my head that I’ve neglected my body. That’s not right either.
There is a natural order to things, a proper sequence that I’ve lost sight of:
Soul
Heart
Body
Mind
In the ideal state, these elements are in harmony, intertwined in practices like contemplative meditation, mindful movement, and physical challenges that ground me. But when the mind takes precedence, the order isn’t just disrupted—it becomes disjointed. The soul, heart, and body are neglected, left to languish while the mind spins its wheels.
In their proper order, the soul thrives on simplicity, the heart on kindness, and the body on consistency. It’s from this alignment that a sacred partnership with the Divine emerges. When the priorities are in order and the effort is rightly placed, something powerful yet elusive comes into being. It’s difficult to name, but without it, joy is impossible. Perhaps we could call it purpose.
The mind, at its best, is orderly, philosophical, ethical, and clear. But the soul, heart, and body don’t need these qualities to fulfill their roles. The soul is here to create, the heart to love, and the body to be alive.
There is no perfect way to achieve this balance, no flawless method to ensure the right order is always maintained. But when the order is right, the day flows as it should. My task is to steer the canoe, not to be the canoe or the water. In this role, my mantra shifts to “What can I do, and where can I go, with what I have to work with?” It’s a cosmic dance of acceptance and action, softening and steadiness bonded.
As I sit with these reflections, I can’t help but wonder if this resonates with you. Have you found yourself caught in the paradox of feeling both overwhelmed and deeply grateful? Do you ever feel like you’re operating at maximum efficiency yet somehow losing touch with what truly matters? If so, you’re not alone. This tension between the productive and the meaningful, the mind and the soul, is something many of us grapple with in a world that often prioritizes doing over being.
I invite you to pause and consider your own experience. What have you done when faced with this kind of disorientation? How do you navigate the delicate balance between the demands of human-made systems and the deeper, often quieter, call of your soul? Perhaps you’ve found ways to realign, or maybe you’re still searching for that elusive harmony. Whatever your path, your insights and reflections are valuable, not just for yourself but for all of us who walk a similar journey.
To support your contemplation, here are three questions to consider:
What does a proper order of soul, heart, body, and mind look like for you, and where do you feel most out of alignment?
How closely is your work or career connected to your soul? Is it a source of nourishment, or does it feel like there’s a vast distance between the two?
When you find yourself overwhelmed, what practices or reminders help you return to a state of flow and purpose?
These questions aren’t meant to be easy, but they may guide you toward greater clarity and alignment. I feel prompted to offer you an invitation to have a conversation with me about them. No strings attached. Just a gesture from my soul to yours. Feel free to book a chat with me here.
that paragraph about trusting divine timing, yet trying to control. . . I so relate. I am learning that my personal cycles have pretty big swells of ebb and flow, and I'm still learning to be in the trusting of the ebb. I have decades of evidence that divine timing in my life is real. Thanks, Justin.