Echos of Insight

Someone recently told my daughter that her biggest insecurity is having her social awkwardness misconstrued as standoffishness. It stuck with me—because I see her, and I see how others might not.

She doesn’t want to be standoffish. That’s not who she is. So instead, she masks her social awkwardness. It’s her comfort zone, a buffer, a well-rehearsed defense mechanism. And it works, mostly. She would rather be seen as awkward than unapproachable. She would rather fumble through an interaction than have people think she doesn’t care.

But I can see how others might misinterpret her. The way she rushes out of spaces. The way she keeps to herself unless she’s with an already-established friend. She’s conscious of it, of course. She knows that when she bolts out the door, it’s not about avoidance—it’s about movement, escape, control.

She has sat long enough. Through class, through practice, through somewhere she didn’t want to be. And when she finally gets up, it’s like shaking off a weight she didn’t realize she was carrying. Her body just wants to move. To remind itself that it’s still in charge.

What she doesn’t realize is that, in those moments, she’s not actually the one driving.

Who’s Driving?

The mind is clever. It’s an opportunist. It loves control. It will convince you that you are making the decisions, but if you’re not careful, it will push you out of the driver’s seat and take over completely.

Her mind does this often. It tells her how to react, how to protect herself, how to navigate social spaces without getting hurt. And at the very last moment—before she does or says anything—it filters everything through the question: “How will this make me look?”

The mind tries so hard to get it right. It scans for danger. It overanalyzes every potential misstep. It tries to account for every lesson learned, every past embarrassment, every rule ever absorbed.

But the mind is not the professional driver here.

It is the imposter. The backseat driver who doesn’t actually know how to read the road signs, but insists on giving directions anyway.

And when the mind is in control, it attaches itself to feelings to reinforce its position. The body reacts. For her, it stiffens. It closes off. It does exactly what she never wanted it to do—it makes her seem standoffish.

The Discipline of Letting Go

This is where the real work begins. Not in forcing herself to be more social, not in trying to prove to others that she’s friendly—but in catching the mind the moment it tries to take the wheel.

At first, it will feel impossible. She will catch herself after every decision, every interaction.

“I don’t like this game anymore.”

She may feel like it’s getting worse. She may wonder why she’s even trying.

Always questioning, analyzing—see, that’s still the mind. As soon as the mind makes a decision, it’s right there questioning if it made the right choice, searching for what it could have missed. But that’s how it works. That’s the process.

Every time she notices, every time she puts the mind back into the passenger seat, she is making progress. Every time she chooses to feel her feelings without letting the mind attach to them, she is reclaiming her place behind the wheel.

I can’t wait for her to share the moments she surprises herself—the aha moments when she outshines even her own expectations.

For the moments she catches that split-second switch—when the mind lunges for control, but she chooses herself instead. When she gives her determination to her higher self, not her fear. When she trusts in the professional driver that she inherently is; when she puts the mind back where it was meant to be all along:

Watching the movie from the passenger seat.

Because the mind is not the creator of the story. She is.

And as her mother, I get the rare and breathtaking privilege of witnessing this unfold in real time. To see her stepping fully into herself, shedding old narratives, rewriting the ones that never fit. It’s exhilarating, watching someone you love realize—slowly, but surely—that they were never lost.

She was always the driver.

And isn’t that the beauty of it? We all get to do this. To take back the wheel, to move from autopilot to intention, from fear to trust.

In this space, the mind can recollect the movie, because that’s all it’s been used for—to store our movie. The professional driver—her intuition, her true self—just drives. It knows what to do and what not to do. It is in the moment; it is not concerned with backseat drivers.

Creativity is fostered in this space, because the mind has no control over the analysis of the past or the future. There is no room for depression or anxiety; it simply does not get a role in the movie.

Don’t give the mind the opportunity to attach to your feelings, to twist them into insecurity, hesitation, or self-doubt. Let your body feel the feelings. It’s trying—desperately—to kick the mind out of the driver’s seat.

Your Turn

Who’s been driving your vehicle?

And if you took the wheel back—if you let yourself be in it, fully, without the mind dictating the road ahead—where would you go?

🍿