Zach Gilkey

There are many ways to understand this journey of life—spiritualities, religions, philosophies, even cults.
Of them all, the two that have always resonated most with me are Buddhism and Stoicism, especially the shared idea of the self-story.

The self-story is the tale we tell ourselves about who we are, what we’ve done, and what has shaped us. Every success, heartbreak, joy, and fear becomes part of it. The chances we didn’t take, the choices we wish we had made, and the moments we still regret—all of it lives in this inner narrative, quietly guiding how we see ourselves and the world.

Seeing Through the Story

In Buddhism, as I understand it, the goal is to see through the story—to recognize that the “self” we cling to isn’t fixed at all. In that state of no-self, emotions can wash over us without pulling us under. We feel them fully, understand their causes, and accept them as they are—not good or bad, simply human.

One of Buddhism’s most powerful lessons is to accept all things as they are.
Invite every moment and feeling as a mentor—not to drag us down, but to remind us that each experience belongs to being alive.

Rewriting the Story

Stoicism offers a sibling truth but leans toward authorship. The same insight appears here: we cannot choose everything that happens to us, yet we can choose how we interpret it. In doing so, we shape our story consciously. Living without awareness allows emotion and circumstance to write the narrative; living with intention reclaims the pen.

We choose—consciously or not—to use pain as an excuse to remain, or as fuel to grow.

The Science Beneath the Spirit

Modern science complements these philosophies.
Signals from our nervous system pass through the brain stem to the amygdala—our emotional center—before reaching the prefrontal cortex, the seat of logic and reasoning. Because the amygdala reacts faster, we’re easily swept into emotion before thought catches up. Without awareness we become passengers in our own stories; mindfulness is the pause that lets us respond instead of react.

In a world of instant gratification, reaction videos, click-bait, and bite-sized content, it’s easy to forget the power in a pause—the strength in silence—the authority in authorship.
Now more than ever, it’s time to bring that back.

Writing as Healing

If you’re wondering what that process looks like, you’re already in it.
In my own season of grief I rediscovered writing—the one thing that had always grounded me.
Caught in an old self-story of being underpaid, overworked, and emotionally exhausted, I had abandoned my own thoughts for those around me—convinced I could quiet the chaos if I just worked harder than I currently was. Through emotional journaling I began to hear my own voice again, and with it came healing.

I also saw truths I had long ignored about myself. Facing those shadows has become my practice. Healing the wounds and growing my inner toolkit is my priority. I hope to share the things I’ve found, the struggles I’ve faced, and maybe the tears I’ve shed along the way. They are all part of the walk, and none should feel shamed for being.

It all started with a simple prompt, done two or three times a day:

“Today I feel _____ because ______.”

The Invitation

What you’ll find here is a reflection of a journey in healing.
I’m not perfect, and perfection isn’t the goal. The goal is simply to show what it looks like when someone, like you, meets a choice each day: move forward or stay stuck.

Life. Emotion. Motion—if you wish.
Each day I take another step—sometimes slow, sometimes certain.
Sometimes it feels like I took the wrong turn, but I’m always moving forward.
I hope that whatever path you’re on, you choose to move forward too—
and even if you don’t, consider this a friendly wave from a passerby.