Travel Light

Travel Light Plot Summary

Introduction

The electricity was out in my Mexico City Airbnb when I returned from leading a meditation retreat. As darkness fell, I realized I couldn't charge my devices, use Wi-Fi, or even wash my clothes. For many travelers, this unexpected change would derail their evening or even their trip. But through my journey into what I call "Spiritual Minimalism," I had been preparing for moments exactly like this. Since May 31, 2018, when I turned in the keys to my Venice Beach apartment, sold my possessions, and began living out of a single carry-on bag, I've discovered that minimalism isn't simply about owning less stuff. It's about cultivating inner fulfillment first and letting everything else flow from that foundation. Rather than frantically purging closets in search of happiness, Spiritual Minimalism invites us to listen to our heart voice through practices like meditation, then allow that inner guidance to show us which possessions, relationships, and experiences truly serve our purpose. When we create this inner connection, we naturally let go of what no longer serves us and become more present, adaptable, and at peace with whatever life brings our way—even something as simple as an apartment without electricity.

Chapter 1: Finding Inner Guidance: The Meditation Path

A lonely wave had grown exhausted from maintaining its wave-survival behaviors. Constantly working to coexist among bigger, more powerful waves had left it depleted and isolated. Seeking advice, the lonely wave approached a fearless wave who offered an unexpected suggestion: "You should try de-exciting." "Why would I want to do that?" asked the lonely wave. "Shouldn't I be figuring out how to get bigger so I can be as intimidating and powerful as those bigger waves?" "Perhaps. But try de-exciting first," answered the fearless wave with a knowing smile. Reluctantly, the lonely wave began to de-excite. It wasn't used to intentionally getting smaller, but all it had to do was try less, and it naturally began to shrink. Gradually, it lost its boundaries. Without realizing it, the lonely wave became one with the ocean. After a while, it reemerged with glee. "Wow, that was very interesting," it reported back. "I've never felt so connected before. It was like I was a part of something bigger than myself." The lonely wave repeated this practice of de-exciting daily. With time, it developed an inner trust and security it had never experienced, simply by doing less. When not intentionally de-exciting, it became more relaxed when things didn't go its way. It ceased making fear-based choices and felt a familiar connection to all other waves—even the bigger ones—making them seem less intimidating. From the Spiritual Minimalist perspective, you are Spirit (the ocean) being expressed as a human (a wave). When you make time to lose awareness of your individuality through de-exciting regularly—through meditation—you gain awareness of your true spiritual nature. This connection with Spirit makes it easier to embody other principles like making heart-led decisions, treating every moment as valuable, giving what you want to receive, following your curiosity, embracing discomfort, and finding freedom in having fewer choices. With consistent meditation, you'll realize that who you are at your core is already perfect, whole, and complete, like the ocean itself.

Chapter 2: Heart-Led Decisions: Leaps of Faith

Back in 2007, hipsters would congregate outside my West Hollywood apartment to receive personalized mantras from me. I had recently started teaching Vedic meditation and had become the neighborhood mantra dealer. My journey into teaching required bold leaps of faith, but I genuinely felt I had found my calling. I was making more money than ever before, doing something I loved, while helping people in a meaningful way. Life improved further when I met a beautiful woman and we moved into a charming beach cottage in Venice. Then, inexplicably, my teaching business began drying up. People stopped coming to learn meditation just as our rent expenses had increased. Shortly after, my girlfriend broke up with me and moved out, essentially doubling my rent overnight. Bills piled up, and I grew desperate to teach—which potential students could sense, causing even fewer to sign up. I questioned everything. Wasn't I meant to teach meditation? Should I move elsewhere? How would I pay my bills? Late one night, I searched online for part-time jobs, trying to figure out how to combine one with my sporadic meditation teaching opportunities. Then something occurred to me—now I recognize it as my heart voice. I thought, "I'm putting all this creative energy into figuring out how to add value to someone else's business. What if I invested that same energy into my calling?" My heart voice suggested getting my camera and filming videos answering meditation FAQs, then posting them on the relatively new platform YouTube. I turned my living room into a video set and began creating content. The videos garnered modest views, and slowly my teaching started picking up again. Then my heart planted the idea of organizing a meditation teaching trip to New York. This was scary—I had less than $1,000 to my name with bills totaling $3,000-$4,000. If I flew to New York and no one showed up, I'd be in serious trouble. While my fear voice warned against spending my remaining money on this risky venture, my heart voice encouraged taking the leap. I reluctantly followed my heart. I spent half my remaining money on a plane ticket and the rest on renting a teaching space. At my orientation, none of my friends who had requested I come to New York showed up. Just six people attended out of fifteen who had RSVP'd. Hiding my disappointment, I delivered my talk as if speaking to a hundred people. Four signed up for my paid training, bringing in about $6,000—more than enough to cover the trip and my bills. One student, a physical therapist, invited me to return to teach his affluent clients from his studio. This collaboration revived my business. I went from struggling to pay rent to teaching hundreds of students, becoming one of the top meditation teachers on both coasts. The key takeaways from this experience include: when your heart guides you toward your purpose, the thing that helps you start isn't necessarily what helps you sustain it; leaps of faith must become a lifestyle, not isolated acts; and when you're authentic in your approach, you align with the abundance of life.

Chapter 3: No Throwaway Moments: The Gift of Presence

"It's the best yoga class I've ever been to, and you have to come take it with me," my girlfriend April enthusiastically proclaimed. The year was 1998, long before yoga became mainstream. We lived on opposite sides of Manhattan's Central Park, and this amazing class started during rush hour on a weekday. The thought of traveling across the park felt like a waste of time, but after much insistence, I finally agreed. Arriving five minutes late to a darkened room packed with yogis, I found the one empty mat in the middle of deep-breathing silhouettes. As my eyes adjusted, I was guided by a teacher with an accent to sync my breath with the class. His hypnotic voice had a slight lisp as he slowly commanded, "Inhale, exhale for one... inhale, exhale for two..." The class took me to my physical and mental edge multiple times. Afterward, I thanked the teacher, whose name was Will, and left, never to return due to the inconvenient time and location. Four years later, my heart nudged me to relocate from New York to Los Angeles and possibly become a yoga teacher. At a local gym, I discovered a class taught by someone named Will. Incredibly, it was the same teacher from New York! He remembered me as "April's boyfriend" and mentioned he'd had a crush on her. We bonded over both having recently relocated after breakups. Will became my yoga mentor, running partner, and meditation friend. Before any activity, he would ask the dreaded question: "Have you meditated yet?" I dreaded it because I found meditation difficult and boring without formal instruction. Months later, Will invited me to meet his meditation teacher, who was visiting from Arizona. That evening, when the teacher appeared and began speaking about meditation being originally intended for "householders" not monks, my heart told me he was meant to be my teacher. I also knew I was destined to become a meditation teacher—a revelation I never would have imagined before attending. Four years later, when my teacher asked if I wanted to travel to India to learn how to teach meditation, I jumped at the opportunity despite managing real estate properties and teaching yoga. In retrospect, every seemingly random moment was guiding me toward my purpose. My chance encounter with April's yoga teacher, whom I'd only met once in New York, our breakups that led us both to Los Angeles, meeting his meditation teacher who had recently come out of retirement—all these "coincidences" formed the non-linear path to my purpose. As a Spiritual Minimalist, you learn to trust that there are no throwaway moments. Everything you experience will play a role at some point, and by saying "yes" to your heart voice, you'll always end up exactly where you're meant to be, even when it doesn't feel that way in the moment.

Chapter 4: The Art of Giving: Abundance Through Exchange

Ever wonder why complimentary bar snacks like nuts, pretzels, and popcorn are generally salty? This tradition began in the late nineteenth century when American saloon owners with low foot traffic devised a clever ploy to entice customers: they advertised a "free" lunch of salty snacks that induced thirst. After patrons consumed these offerings, they became parched and ordered beers—at premium prices compared to neighboring establishments. This scheme worked until customers realized they were paying more for drinks than they would elsewhere, and thus the saying was born: "There's no such thing as a free lunch." This truism has transcended bar snacks and now applies to any too-good-to-be-true offer. From a Spiritual Minimalist perspective, nothing of true value comes without a direct or indirect cost. You get back in direct proportion to what you give. As a Spiritual Minimalist, you engage in all relationships with full awareness that there is always an exchange, whether obvious or not. If you can't clearly see the exchange, you create one yourself. It might be your attention, recognition, gratitude, or a good deed for karmic exchange. The key is thinking in terms of exchange and remembering that "free" often means expensive on the back end—through unwanted conversations, favors, sales pitches, or unexpected costs. This principle extends to all areas of life. There's a cost to taking red-eye flights beyond the ticket price. There's a cost to being frugal instead of spending for quality. There's even a cost to not speaking your truth, not exercising, taking shortcuts, breaking promises, and not following through on habits. Everything has a cost, and understanding these costs helps you make cleaner exchanges that feel like win-wins. Perhaps most importantly, as a Spiritual Minimalist, you realize you're never just making an exchange with an individual—your tab is ultimately managed by the Universe. You are the actual beneficiary of your generosity. Being cheap with someone is really being cheap with yourself. Every relationship is an exchange between you and you, which helps you avoid the costly free-lunch trap and lead with generosity in all aspects of life.

Chapter 5: Following Curiosity to Purpose

When I went nomadic in 2018, it wasn't the first time. My first nomadic adventure came after college, when I quit my job at a Chicago advertising agency to pursue modeling. I'd done a few small fashion shows in college where I heard about South Beach becoming an emerging fashion scene, planting a seed in my heart to relocate there. After being rejected by all Chicago agencies except one, I spent a summer building my portfolio. During this time, I met a Parisian agent named Paul who casually mentioned I "would do well in Paris." I interpreted this as an invitation, though in reality it was merely a pleasantry. That October, I moved to South Beach but found little success. After being rejected by New York agencies too, I decided to try Paris. With my last money, I booked a one-way flight. Remarkably, my Newark connection to Paris was oversold three days in a row. I volunteered to give up my seat twice, collecting $1,000 in flight vouchers before finally departing. Arriving in Paris, I discovered Paul wasn't in town, and his agency rejected me. As I sat contemplating my next move, a Chicago photographer named Ernest recognized me from an agency there. He introduced me to an adjacent modeling agency called Crystal, where I encountered Lauriel, who had been in one of my college fashion shows! Her friend Jeffery offered me his mother's apartment at a minimal cost while she was traveling. Ernest's agent friend offered to send me on castings. After two delayed flights, a rejection from Paul's agency, and nowhere to stay, within hours of landing I had accommodations, connections, and opportunities—all from following my curiosity. I stayed six months, eventually signed with a top Paris agency, and later met a New York agent who brought me there, where I was first introduced to meditation. The moral is that when a seed is planted in your heart, as a Spiritual Minimalist you must take it seriously. You never have to know your purpose upfront—just keep following your curiosity, and your purpose will find you. What appears to others as a dramatic leap of faith is actually a series of small hops of curiosity. Before my current nomadic adventure, I experimented with packing fewer items on work trips, gradually building confidence until I was ready for the full lifestyle change. Whatever changes you want to make, start with baby hops. When you finally go all in, everyone else will see it as a scary leap of faith, but for you, it's just the next logical step in a progression of many. And with each hop, you get closer and closer to your purpose.

Chapter 6: Embracing Discomfort: Growing Through Challenge

I moved to Los Angeles in 2002 with a vision of teaching Vinyasa flow yoga. The only problem was my secret: I had bridge cables for hamstrings, severely limiting my range of motion. I was easily the stiffest yogi in most classes I attended. How could I teach yoga when I couldn't even touch my toes? Despite this insecurity, I enrolled in a 200-hour teacher training. During demonstrations, I grew nervous and sweaty, praying the moment would pass quickly or that my body would miraculously become flexible. Surprisingly, no one mentioned my stiffness during training. After graduation, what I lacked in flexibility, I made up for in hustle. I would drive anywhere to teach anyone at any time, paid or free. But I rarely demonstrated poses out of fear of being exposed as a fraud. Instead, I quickly became expert at giving verbal cues, managing time, and creating great playlists—skills that can take years to master. I would offer encouragement like, "Yoga is not about the poses. It's about connecting to a deeper place of acceptance." Did I really believe that, or was I more like a dentist with missing front teeth afraid to smile? It depended on the day. Despite my neuroses, my classes grew from a few people to ten, then fifteen, then twenty. Either people knew my secret and didn't care, or I'd mastered the art of misdirection. Through conversations with students, I realized my carefully guarded secret was a far bigger deal to me than to anyone else. What they appreciated was my ability to relate to yogis of all levels, especially beginners. Newbies felt safe because I encouraged them to take it slow and always supported the stiff people. Experienced students appreciated how I spoke about yoga as a metaphor for life's challenges. Others came for my carefully curated music playlists. As it turned out, not being flexible was more asset than liability. "It's not about wishing you had something you don't," I would preach, "but asking yourself, 'How can I do the most with what I have right now?'" This became my mantra—words I desperately needed to hear myself. The pivotal moment came about four years after I started teaching, during a sunset hike with my yoga mentor Will. He asked half-jokingly, "So how does it feel to be one of the most popular yoga teachers in Los Angeles who can't even touch his own toes?" My heart tightened and I was speechless. After an awkward silence, he answered his own question: "You know, a wise man once told me, you don't have to beat Michael Jordan in a game of basketball in order to coach him to a championship." That was the moment I found comfort in my discomfort. What if your greatest secret is actually your biggest asset? The Spiritual Minimalist embraces discomfort as a sign of moving toward potential.

Chapter 7: The Freedom of Choicelessness: Living by Values

After work on Thursday, December 1, 1955, forty-two-year-old Rosa Parks boarded the Cleveland Avenue bus in downtown Montgomery, Alabama. During that time, Black people were banned from riding in the front rows of city buses. Mrs. Parks paid her fare and sat in the first row of the section designated for "colored" riders. As the "whites only" section filled up, the driver noticed white men standing and demanded that four Black passengers give up their seats. Three complied, but Mrs. Parks did not. She later said she felt a determination cover her body like a warm quilt on a winter night. When the driver asked why she wouldn't stand, she replied she shouldn't have to give up her seat. The police were called, and she was arrested. Rosa Parks had no way of knowing her act of defiance would initiate one of the largest and most successful mass movements in U.S. history: a 381-day citywide bus boycott that would launch Martin Luther King, Jr. to international acclaim, resulting in a march on Washington, the passage of a voting rights act, a Nobel Peace Prize, a national holiday, and much more. "People always say that I didn't give up my seat because I was tired," recalled Mrs. Parks. "But that isn't true. I was no more tired than I usually was at the end of a working day. No, the only tired I was, was tired of giving in." We sometimes mistake our job for our purpose. Rosa Parks worked as a seamstress, not as an entrepreneur or celebrity. Yet her act of defiance initiated the modern civil rights movement, becoming the purpose she didn't know she had until that moment on the bus when she was tired of giving in. Many people contemplate their purpose, wondering when they'll find it—as if it's a cosmic Easter egg hunt. But a Spiritual Minimalist takes a different approach. First, get crystal clear about your core principles and values. Then, start living by them to the best of your ability. As long as you're loyal to your values while following your curiosity, you'll end up right where you're supposed to be. If a decision feels aligned with your values, you act—no matter how scary or inconvenient. If it doesn't align, you pass—no matter how glittery or profitable. While living by your core values may feel restrictive at first, it's actually liberating. You no longer wonder if you'll do the right thing; you've pre-determined that you will, as dictated by your values. This provides the freedom of choicelessness. No matter what happens, your values have already decided your course of action.

Summary

The journey of Spiritual Minimalism isn't about frantically decluttering your closets or living out of a backpack. It's about turning up the volume on your heart voice through practices like meditation, so you can more easily discern what truly matters. When you begin to cultivate inner happiness first, your external world naturally realigns. You'll find yourself making decisions from your heart rather than your head, treating every moment as sacred, giving what you most want to receive, following your curiosity without judgment, embracing discomfort as a pathway to growth, and finding freedom in having fewer but more meaningful choices. The most powerful insight throughout this exploration is that your path to purpose doesn't require dramatic overnight transformation. It unfolds through a series of small "hops of faith" as you follow your heart's guidance. Like the lonely wave discovering its oceanic nature through de-exciting, or the stiff yoga teacher finding his unique gift in his limitation, your perceived weaknesses often contain your greatest strengths. By practicing these principles daily—meditating, hand-washing a few clothes, taking walks without destination, sitting in a resting squat, leaving spaces better than you found them—you gradually embody the Spiritual Minimalist mindset. As Rosa Parks demonstrated, sometimes the most significant purpose-revealing moments come not from grandiose plans, but from simply being true to your values when it matters most.

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