Smorgasbord
The Smorgasbord Is Closed
.
I hit a wall this morning, and it brought me to tears.
During meditation, I recognized something about my life that knocked the breath out of me.
A few days earlier, a question arose: Where is my tribe?
I revisited the friendships of the past seven years, remembering the time we spent together and how I felt afterward. Most shared a disturbing pattern, captured by an image that was grotesquely accurate.
Imagine arriving at someone’s home, delighted to spend time together, only to discover you’re the main course. Everyone settles in for a wonderful feast, enjoying all you have to offer. By the time you leave, they’re stuffed and satisfied, and you’re nothing more than a picked-clean Thanksgiving turkey.
That was me.
And I’d been calling these arrangements friendships.
“When you’re in the area, come see me.”
And I have. I’ve traveled across states and countries to visit friends because seeing them mattered to me.
In seven years living in Wisconsin, precisely three friends have visited me, despite numerous invitations.
The imbalance extends beyond traveling. I’m generally the one initiating contact and keeping relationships alive. When I stop reaching out, I often don’t hear from people.
This morning, I estimated that I’ve been doing most of the work to sustain ninety percent of my friendships.
And then I recognized what I’ve been doing: filling the gap.
Sing, pretty bird. Sing for your supper.
I’ve traveled to visit friends, looking forward to enjoying their company, only to become the entertainment, the organizer, the chef, and the maid.
Other visits have turned into unpaid therapy sessions. I’ve listened to deeply personal problems, sometimes from both members of a couple, while receiving only a few minutes to talk about my own life before the conversation returns to theirs.
Where is my tribe?
For all those connections, I hadn’t found the tribe I thought I’d been building.
And I had played a part in creating this.
I’d been accepting scraps.
Scraps aren’t about quantity; they’re about valuation. A small gesture can carry profound love and appreciation, while hours spent together can leave someone feeling barely acknowledged.
Since 2014, I’ve been dishing up a decadent, multidimensional smorgasbord.
A lavish feast of adventures, films, stories, and discoveries from around the world, with a tiny tip jar near the entrance.
Some diners return for seconds, thirds, and fourths. The bingers settle in for weeks, devouring my creations and sometimes bringing friends along. I love having them at the table.
Some have also offered wonderful kindness, encouragement, and support, which I deeply appreciate.
And a few have feasted on the entire banquet, only to insult the chef on their way out.
My first Camino de Santiago began with a call to adventure. I arrived in Spain unprepared for the forty-day pilgrimage ahead.
Walking long distances each day, I was also running a full-time, one-woman media production, creating essays, livestreams, photographs, and professionally edited films.
And for four of those weeks, I was facilitating a six-week online workshop.
By my second Camino, people were eagerly anticipating my next production.
One evening, I finally sat down to dinner, thrilled to be relishing a cheeseburger.
My phone started blowing up with people wanting the next video.
I was still living the adventure they were waiting to watch.
On day five of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, in the rain, I managed to catch a sliver of cell reception. My first instinct was to livestream and bring my audience onto the mountain with me.
I love capturing my adventures on film while the memories are still vibrant, preserving the details so I can revisit and relive those experiences for years to come.
Over eight Caminos, I produced countless films. On my seventh, I met a fellow pilgrim who was documenting his entire journey with a dedicated production assistant. I wondered what that would be like.
By my final two Caminos, I was still producing films and livestreaming, but I was beginning to dread the constant pressure to produce the next one.
During my trek through the Himalayas to Everest Base Camp, I captured extensive footage and continued livestreaming.
Between the climbing, altitude, freezing temperatures, and unreliable internet, I chose to experience the journey rather than spend my time editing films.
Yet some viewers were expecting professionally edited travel films in real time, while I was still trekking through the Himalayas.
These days, the smorgasbord has grown considerably. I’m developing seven books and films alongside a global humanitarian vision that includes guardian villages for orphaned and vulnerable children.
My days are long and full, devoted to bringing these projects to life. Until I have a team in place, I’m wearing all the hats.
My direct messages across multiple platforms have become another serving station at the smorgasbord.
People routinely come to me with relationship and personal problems, seeking advice and professional mentorship. They expect my time and expertise for free.
Recently, I posted a convincing maternity portrait with the announcement, “I’m Expecting.”
At forty-nine.
Some people who’ve known me for years congratulated me on my pregnancy.
The announcement was about the seven books I’m bringing into the world, along with films and my global humanitarian vision.
I’ve deliberately chosen not to have biological children, yet I’m creating guardian villages where I’ll love and nurture thousands of orphaned and vulnerable children.
The reactions were amusing, yet they also brought a much larger question into focus: How well do people who’ve known me for years actually know me?
I’ve been giving myself scraps, too.
For decades, I’ve given myself scraps of rest, solitude, and time to fully experience the adventures I’ve worked so hard to create. I’ve poured enormous energy into nurturing friendships, accommodating others, and producing creative work, repeatedly shortchanging myself.
And the thing is, I’ve become incredibly resourceful.
Give me an ambitious undertaking, limited resources, and a mountain of obstacles, and I’ll find a way. My resourcefulness has served me exceptionally well while allowing me to keep compensating for what’s missing, at my own expense.
My creative and global humanitarian vision often feels like sprinting up Everest, marathon distances, every day, without an expedition team, wearing a bikini.
I welcome genuine generosity, kindness, and support. Yet I’ve continued giving my time, energy, and expertise where little was offered in return.
My own freedom has been part of the price. Does it work for me?
I allowed it.
My generosity was never the problem. The problem was how much of my own life I was willing to sacrifice to keep giving.
I’ve traveled the world in pursuit of freedom, only to discover how much of it I’ve been surrendering myself.
The smorgasbord is closed.
Read The Next One: THE DANGEROUS CHIP ON MY SHOULDER →
PLAY IN THE LIVING LAB →
ENJOY THE FULL LIBRARY:
The Dangerous Chip On My Shoulder
Why Do Smart People Stay Stuck?
I Threw Away Every Medal I Ever Earned
Instead Of A Promotion, I Got Fired
I Ran An Experiment With The Universe
People MisJudge High Performers
The Cost Of Other People’s Opinions Of You
Some books are discovered after they’re published.
This one can be experienced while it’s still unfolding.
What began with deep self-inquiry became the Courageous Heart Expedition—and now my first book. Stories, films, photographs, reflections and discoveries are coming together as the work continues to unfold. You’re invited to explore what I’m creating and find your way in.
My Latest…
The Living Lab
Life is a lab. It’s always open.
How much of your life did you actually choose?
Most of us inherit far more than we realize—beliefs, identities, fears, and subconscious programming that control how we see ourselves.
The Living Lab is an ongoing exploration of what we discover when we question what we’ve been taught, challenge the ego, examine our conditioning, and experiment with different ways of being.
Because once you see what you didn’t choose, you get to decide what comes next.
SUPPORT THE WORK
Independent work like this exists because people choose to help make it possible. You can help me keep creating it.