Journey Into the Unknown | Chapter 1: Patterns and Doors | June 2025
I recently embarked on a guided journey with a licensed psychedelic therapist in San Diego. For those unfamiliar, psychedelic-assisted therapy is an emerging therapeutic approach that integrates substances like psilocybin or MDMA with professional support to address trauma, anxiety, and other emotional blocks. Research from institutions like Johns Hopkins and coverage from Michael Pollan and The New Yorker have illuminated how these journeys can open pathways to healing, reframing, and deep insight. Other organizations like Shefa have taken this approach within a Jewish framework. There’s even a recent Netflix movie.
This was my second guided experience, and I continue to learn, heal, and grow. One core lesson? The invisible yet powerful parenting patterns passed on, l’dor v’dor—from generation to generation. I was struck by how our children can mirror the many parts of our psyche. Some days, my sons seem like my id, ego, and superego personified. I see this in my brother and me, too—how we are living reflections of our parents’ complexities, and they of theirs.
In this session, imagery danced in my mind: a violin concert at Dodger Stadium, radiant gemstones of smooth and rough edges—each becoming metaphors for my family, leadership, and inner life. I wasn’t subterranean like the first time; I was floating near the topsoil, sifting through memory and metaphor.
We learn so much by observing our own parenting patterns—and by choosing to grow beyond them. This reminds me of how becoming more conscious of the legacies we carry can lead to gentler parenting, and more compassionate, #RelaxedLeadership.
Another image stayed with me: Doors. The door to our home. The door to our office. Each threshold invites a shift. Who are we on either side? What happens when we choose to enter—or not? What lies behind the doors we avoid? This metaphor reminded me of an “On Being” interview with Krista Tippett and poet David Whyte on thresholds, identity, and the courage to cross into the unknown. Similarly, Rabbi Adina Allen’s new book invites us into The Place of All Possibility, and her organization, Jewish Studio Project, calls you to journey into the unknown.
And I was reminded again: don’t rush. Be still. Small is All. One of the patterns I inherited is a need to hurry—my dad had it, and his mother before him. My older son, like me, walks and talks fast. Why? Patterns. “Life is precious,” we say. “Life moves pretty fast,” as Ferris Bueller put it. But what if the most sacred thing we can do is slow down? Even in urgent times, in this polycrisis of our own making, Bayo Akomolafe reminds us: The Times are Urgent, Let’s Slow Down.
Tricia Hersey’s work with The Nap Ministry and her book Rest is Resistance, along with R&R: Rest of Our Lives, a lab for rest and rejuvenation, comes to mind here. They teach us that stillness is not laziness—it is liberation. And sometimes, planning and productivity (as much as I love a good agenda!) must give way to presence. Resting—laying prone, horizontally—moves the blood around in our head, gives us time and space, lets us rethink what has been stuck.
Recently, my family and I watched a beautiful documentary on Calvin and Hobbes—a celebration of the quiet genius of creator Bill Watterson. He famously avoided public attention, never licensed the strip, and ended it on his own terms. Calvin’s final words? “Let’s go exploring.”
