Life Isn’t About Finding a Better Flashlight: It’s About Getting Comfortable With the Dark

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I’ve spent the past decade trying to become a better person. It’s kind of worked. I’m a little less arrogant, a little more caring. But life didn’t become easier until I discovered something more powerful than psychedelics, meditation, journaling, or therapy.

Life became easier when I discovered that I wasn’t broken at all, and that my life story was written by someone else and I’m just living it. Life is an experience, not a journey, because a journey implies a destination.

There’s more to this worldview and I’ve been playing around with using parables to help convey these recently discovered truths. That we live in a simulation. That the Voice in my head isn’t me. That life is a lot easier than we tend to make it.

This particular parable is about the myths of systems and self-improvement. An Xin is a fictional ancient Chinese scholar, because nothing says “wisdom” like a robe and centuries of cultural reductionism.

The Parable of Illumination

Conor stumbled along a crooked path as darkness fell.

This wasn’t metaphorical darkness. It was full, humid, ankle-twisting, can’t-see-your-hand darkness.

Naturally, he needed light.

A Voice in his head, cheerful, persistent, slightly judgmental, had plenty to say on the matter:

“We just need a bit more clarity. Maybe a brighter lamp. Maybe a different one. There’s got to be a solution.”

He had been given a flashlight labeled “Faith.” It came with a manual, strict rules, and stern warnings about dropping it or being envious of other Characters with better lights or a more industrious donkey. The beam was narrow, but warm and promising. He walked a while, quoting the manual when frightened.

The Voice in his head was pleased:

“Good start. Reliable beam. Doesn’t require much thought.”

But eventually, he noticed the light only showed what he was already looking for.

Next he came across a lamppost with the sign “Success” hanging from it. It emitted a bright beacon of light, which made Conor happy, until he realized it didn’t seem to penetrate very far into the darkness.

Then, he found a shallow cave with a lantern. On the wall was carved the word “Trauma.” The lantern glowed weakly, like a therapist who didn’t take insurance. He sat in the cave and remembered things. Felt things. Journaled. It was… illuminating. Until he tried walking away.

“You should stay longer,” said the Voice in his head. “Your inner child wants to meet you.”

But Conor walked on, coming upon a candle labeled “Meditation”, which pulsated like a sleepy heartbeat. The candle looked like it would burn for a long time, but he grew bored and wandered on.

He spent some time under a shimmering chandelier labeled “Internal Family Systems”, which came with sub-personalities and a filing system. It was fun, but the shadows eventually became confusing.

There were more lights: a wall sconce labeled “Yoga”, a lava lamp with the name “Astrology”, a strobe with the label “Exercise”, even a headlamp stamped with the letters “Crypto”.

Each light source shone in its own way. Each made promises. But the illumination never lasted more than a few steps past their own base.

So Conor began layering up. Flashlight in one hand. Lantern in the other. Headlamp. Foot-lights. At one point, he strapped a reading lamp to his chest and wired a disco ball to a car battery in his backpack.

“Now we’re talking!” said the Voice in his head. “Maximum visibility. Minimum vulnerability.”

Still he tripped. Still he panicked when shadows moved. Still he kept walking.

Then, just beyond a broken sign labeled “Life Purpose,” he saw a woman sitting alone on a mossy stone.

No flashlight. No gear. No glow. Just her. Sipping from a small ceramic mug.

“Are you lost?” he asked, more accusation than question.

“No,” she said. “I turned my lights off.”

He blinked. “That’s… reckless.”

She smiled faintly. “Is it?”

He squinted. “What’s your name?”

“An Xin,” she said.

Conor misheard her, saying “Unseen?”

She didn’t correct him, smiling and saying “Sure.”

He gestured at his arsenal. “I’ve been searching for the right light for years.”

“I can tell,” she said kindly.

“And you’re just sitting here?”

“I am.”

The Voice stirred, irritated:

“Ask her what her secret is. There’s probably a hidden torch stashed behind that bonsai.”

Conor asked. An Xin shook her head.

“I tried them all,” she said. “They helped. A little. Then I realized something.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t the darkness that blinded me. It was the light.”

He frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Light can help you see,” she said. “But it also creates shadows. And it blinds you to everything outside its beam. Especially when you carry it like a weapon.”

Conor instinctively gripped his flashlight more tightly.

“You’re not seeing Reality,” she said. “You’re seeing your interpretation of it. Filtered through whichever beam you’ve chosen today. That’s not illumination. That’s distortion with marketing.”

The Voice in his head resisted:

“Dangerous talk. Probably anti-illumination propaganda. She’s a nihilist. Or worse: an influencer.”

She spread her arms. “Turn it all off. Just for a moment.”

He hesitated. “Then how will I find my way?”

“You won’t,” she said gently. “That’s the point.”

The Voice in his head practically screamed:

“This is surrender. This is regression. You’ll fail. This might be a cult of darkness. You could die.”

But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he began unstrapping.

One by one, he powered down his lights. Flashlight. Lantern. Headlamp. Glow-in-the-dark wristbands. Each click a tiny funeral for another solution.

Darkness swallowed everything.

And for a long moment, he was terrified. Nothing to control. Nothing to fix. No commentary. No plan.

But then, slowly… his eyes adjusted.

Shapes emerged. Depth returned. The dark was not empty, it was alive. Breathing. Whole. And astonishingly beautiful. The moss glowed faintly with dew. The trees stood like ancient statues. The path was no longer obvious, but it was no longer needed.

He remembered what it felt like to be a child, unafraid, exploring.

The Voice in his head had gone oddly quiet. Possibly sulking.

He turned to speak to An Xin.

She was gone. Or maybe she had never been there.

He stood alone — no light, no map, no unreliable narrator in his head.

And saw.

The stars were not above him, but within the path. The stillness was not empty, but dense with meaning too wide for words. Every sound, every scent, every breath was actual.

He had never walked a truer path than this one, not because it led somewhere, but because it finally didn’t.

In the end, the truth wasn’t hidden.

It was just obscured by the glow of all the things meant to help him find it.

My discoveries have come because a friend told me to read a book.

1. Read my article about the book. It’s the most popular thing I’ve ever written.
   
   After reading the book, I spoke to the author, and he told me there was a lot more to the story.
   

2. Buy the full 30 hour video course. This is what I did. Not an affiliate link.
   
   I got so excited that I convinced Robert Scheinfeld to come out of retirement to do a live workshop about his worldview, for me in Toronto Sept 13–17, 2025.
   

3. Click here if you’re interested in the live experience.

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