About a year and a half ago, my old friend Scott Britton invited me to join the Founder Satsang, a community he started for founders and practitioners working at the intersection of spirituality, consciousness, and technology. Many of my close friends were involved, so without hesitation, I said, “I’m in.”
I was so excited to dive in to this community. I thought I had found my people.
But almost immediately, something strange happened. Instead of feeling aligned with those in the community, I felt constriction and resistance. Despite my love for consciousness and spirituality, I started pulling away.
Whenever I opened the messaging app, I felt a tightening in my chest and stomach. It seemed like a space full of high achievers trying to prove how smart or enlightened they were. It felt performative, as though the spiritual conversations were just another way for people to show off. I told myself it was spiritual materialism—using spirituality to climb another ladder. So, I quietly detached.
Six months went by, and I kept my distance from the group. Then, while catching up with my close friend and colleague David Spinks, he mentioned a retreat that was coming together for the community. As it turned out, it was only a 20-minute drive from my house in upstate New York.
I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me still resisted the community, but another part longed for connection. The idea of sitting in a circle with others walking the same path, in real life, was tempting. Despite my hesitation—or maybe because of it—I signed up for the retreat.
As the retreat date grew closer, I felt the weight of my lingering resistance. Part of me still wasn’t sure if this was the right fit. There was a sense of tension—an internal tug-of-war between my desire for connection and the walls I had built around this group.
But deep down, I knew I had to voice what I had been experiencing. I opened up to the group about the discomfort I’d been carrying, admitting that I was struggling with judgments and resistance. I expected silence and defensiveness, but what followed was an unexpectedly open conversation. And it turned out I wasn’t alone in feeling this way.
Even with that insight, I still felt some resistance leading up to the retreat and almost bailed, but I listened to my longing for connection and attended.
Now, having just returned yesterday, I can honestly say it was one of the most transformational and memorable weekends I’ve had in a long time.
The retreat took place in a magical setting in the Catskills, with 36 beautiful humans gathering from all over—including San Francisco, Hawaii, and Madrid. It was a diverse group of founders, coaches, and investors, all committed to helping humanity wake up and heal.
Each participant led what's called a "wisdom share," where we guided practices or led discussions on topics like spirituality and capitalism, conscious parenting, AI and consciousness, and so much more. Outside of these sessions, we gathered in small and large groups, swapping stories and experiences, sharing where we were on our paths, and simply being present with one another. We ate, danced, sang, laughed, cried, and even cuddled.
What made these connections even more special was that the focus wasn’t on business or work. Instead, we connected purely as human beings, talking about life, spirituality, the future, and everything in between. It was refreshing how little anyone spoke about their careers or accomplishments—it was all about deeper connection and shared experience.
What I learned from this experience was an important reminder: we often project our own stories and insecurities onto others, and those projections keep us from seeing the truth and the full humanity of others.
In my case, I had projected my own feelings of inadequacy, comparison, and envy onto this group, turning it into something it wasn’t. I felt like I wasn’t “spiritual enough” or didn’t belong, which led me to view them as spiritually materialistic. In reality, I was comparing myself to them, assuming they possessed something I lacked—whether it was wisdom, success, or deeper enlightenment. By doing so, I judged them unfairly, using my own sense of not-enoughness as a shield to protect myself from vulnerability.
I also realized how easy it is, especially in digital spaces, to reduce people to 2D avatars, names, or messages in a feed. We lose sight of the fact that behind each name is a fully realized human being—someone with dreams, struggles, hopes, insecurities, and a heart. People are so much more than their digital presence; they are entire worlds unto themselves, filled with depth and complexity.
Throughout the weekend, the walls I had built up began to melt away, and I could see these people not as high achievers or spiritual materialists, but as deeply caring, insightful human beings. They weren’t trying to prove anything. They were simply showing up, just as I was, with their own fears, hopes, and wisdom to share.
In digital spaces, we often focus on ideas, intellect, and achievements, but that can make it harder to connect on a deeper level. It's like we close ourselves off emotionally, leaving little room for real connection. When we meet in person, though, things change. We open up, slow down, and connect in a more genuine and human way. It’s a reminder of how important it is to take a break from screens and be with each other face-to-face—that’s when real connection happens.
And now, I’m excited to get to know these people—not from a place of judgment or envy, but from a place of love and openness. I can’t wait to continue this journey with them, fully present and with my heart wide open.
I’ve finally found my people.