Dear Me at 40: You’re About to Break — and Rebuild Everything

Dear Rajnish, at 40
May 20th, 2012

I know you’re not ready for what’s coming.

I see you laughing, buzzing with energy, living fast, soaking in that sun-soaked day — surrounded by friends, half a bottle of Jack deep, beers in hand, unaware that it’s about to become the day that splits your life into “before” and “after.”

You’re about to do something reckless. Stupid. And it’ll hurt badly.

You won’t see it right away, but this pain and discomfort?
It’s not punishment.
It’s permission.

Permission to stop running.
To drop the act.
To find yourself and be at peace with who you truly are.
To finally listen to what your body and soul have been whispering for years.

And then it happens.

One moment of ego. One decision to prove something to who, you’ll never quite know.
You walk to the edge of the pool, turn your back to the water, and launch yourself into what you think will be a backflip.
But instead… you hit the bottom.

In a flash, everything you thought made you strong begins to slip through your fingers — your body, your confidence, your sleep, your sense of self.

This is the beginning of the undoing.
And as painful as it is, it’s exactly what you needed.

What happens next, you won’t tell anyone — not right away.
You shake it off. Laugh it off. Go back to the hot tub like it’s nothing.

But something’s already different. You feel it in your gut — even if you won’t admit it.

A sharp jolt. A loud creak in your neck.
A tenderness blooming at the top of your forehead.
You touched the bottom — not metaphorically, not yet.
Literally.

Still, you pretend you’re fine. You’ve always been good at that.

Until a friend looks at you and says,

“Buddy, I think you did more than scrape the bottom.”

The truth starts to settle in later, at the ER, when the doctor tells you:

“You’re lucky. This could’ve gone much worse.”

But it’s not just the neck. Or the gash. Or the concussion.

It’s what comes after — the nights you can’t sleep.
The high-pitched ringing that won’t stop.
The fear that grows quietly inside you.

The confident, free-spirited version of you begins to slip away.

And in his place comes someone new — restless, anxious, unsure.

You lie awake wondering where he went.
The guy who was always smiling, always ready for the next round, the next joke. The one who never questioned himself.
Now here you are, asking questions you never imagined:

“Is this who I’m going to be now?”
“Is this my new normal?”

You visit doctors. One tells you the ringing’s just in your head.
He says, “Try yoga. Try meditation.”
You walk out thinking he’s a lunatic.

You? Yoga? Meditation?

You used to look down on people like that.
People who didn’t drink. Didn’t stay out.
“They’re missing out on life,” you used to think.

And now? You’re terrified you’re becoming one of them.

Losing Sleep, Losing Self

Sleep used to be your superpower.

No matter how wild the night, no matter how late the hour — you could crash anywhere. Close your eyes, lights out. Gone.

And then… it disappears.

You try everything.
White noise. Herbal pills. Hypnosis tracks from sketchy forums.
Nothing works.

Every doctor you see offers the same answer: pills.
But deep inside, you say no.

“I’m not going down that rabbit hole.”

Meanwhile, Monica is quietly doing something else.
She’s researching. Learning. Trying things you would’ve laughed at before. Warm milk. Crushed nuts. Sesame oil. Ayurveda.

You try some of it, but only because nothing else is working.
Until one night, she rubs sesame oil into the soles of your feet.

And for the first time in months… you sleep.
Not perfectly. But enough to remember what rest feels like.

It’s like a window opens. Just a crack.
A breeze of hope drifts in — after months of nothing but fear.

Monica keeps going. She finds a small Ayurveda center in Grass Valley.
You go. Reluctantly. Skeptically.

There, you meet Sylvia. She doesn’t just treat you — she sees you.
And what follows isn’t a miracle. It’s a reintroduction.

To your breath.
To your body.
To a quiet that’s been buried beneath decades of ego and noise.

You feel lighter — not because everything is fixed, but because you’ve finally stopped resisting what you actually need.

The Shift

Then something shifts.

Driving down the freeway, you begin to notice the signs, the trees, your own breath.
You’re present.
There’s energy inside you now — not wild, but calm and clear.
The background hum of agitation you’ve carried for years?
It’s fading.

How is this possible?

Ten days in an Ayurveda center… and suddenly, you feel in control.
Not of life — but of yourself.

This is where you learn discipline as devotion.
You start meditating. Doing yoga. Every day.
Not for performance. But for presence.
Not for recovery. But for resilience.

And that resilience?

It becomes the spine of your strength.
A foundation so strong that even a collapsed lung in 2024 couldn’t shake it.

Because when you’ve rebuilt yourself from zero —
When you’ve faced the silence, the fear, the unraveling —
You don’t just come back…

You come back stronger than ever.

You won’t know it then, but this is where your real healing begins.
Not in a hospital. Not in a pill.

But in the quiet persistence of someone who loved you enough to keep searching. In the humility of trying something you once mocked. In the stillness that followed surrender.

This isn’t the end of your suffering.
But it is the turning point.

You’ll start to sleep.
You’ll start to breathe.
And you’ll stop fighting what you feel… and start listening.

Vipassana and the Return to Self

By 2014, life looks steady again.
But inside, you’re still cautious, protecting the fragile peace you’ve found.

Then, during a trip to North Carolina, a friend mentions something called Vipassana:
10 days of silence. No talking. No phones. Just… you and your mind.

You don’t understand why, but something in you says yes.

You sign up. Quietly.
Because who would believe it?
You, the noise-loving, party-pouring Rajnish… going silent?

But you do it.
And the silence hits like a wave.

The first few days? Chaos.
Your mind is everywhere. You realize you’ve spent a lifetime running from yourself.

But slowly…
The noise fades.
The breath slows.
The presence deepens.

And in that stillness, you meet a version of yourself you’ve never known.
Not the builder. Not the achiever. Not the showman.

Just you.

You’ll leave that retreat not with answers — but with peace.
A peace you’ll carry into everything that comes next.

2024, and the Proof

You won’t believe it now, but this pain in 2012?
It’s not the last one.

In 2024, your body will collapse again. This time, not in water, but in your lungs.

But this time, you’ll be ready.

Not because it won’t hurt.
But because you won’t break.

You’ll breathe through it — not with panic, but with presence.

And you’ll know:

All of it — the silence, the oil, the discipline, the devotion —
It wasn’t just healing you.
It was preparing you.

You’ll face storms, not as the man who backflipped into ego…

But as the man who stood back up with soul.

So hold on.
Trust what’s coming.
You’re not breaking down — you’re waking up.

With love,
The version of you who finally came home.