I’m preparing to head out of the country with Caitlyn this week to go to a place I haven’t been.
And this got me thinking about the fact that as much as I love going to new places, it’s easy to feel disconnected—a stranger in a foreign land.
And then I realize how many of us live as strangers in our own lives.
If you’ve been following along, we’ve named something important.
We’ve named The Connection Crisis — not as a personal failure, but as a lived reality many of us are navigating every day.
We’ve named the two forces driving it:
And we’ve looked honestly at what happens when those two forces collide.
When we feel alone and broken, we don’t sit still.
We reach.
This issue is about what we’re reaching for — why it isn’t working the way we hope — and what actually does.
Before we go any further, this matters:
Reaching isn’t the problem.
Reaching is human.
When our nervous system is overwhelmed, when connection feels unavailable, when we don’t know how to be with what we’re feeling — of course we reach for relief.
The issue isn’t that we’re reaching.
The issue is what we’ve been taught to reach for.
Over time, two dominant strategies have emerged as the default responses to emotional discomfort, loneliness, and internal instability.
They’re not evil.
They’re not stupid.
They’re understandable.
But they are non-solutions.
Not because they never help — but because they don’t build capacity.
The first non-solution is state management through the screen.
Phones.
Social media.
Endless content.
Streaming.
Algorithms.
AI.
On the surface, this looks harmless — even helpful.
We scroll to relax.
We watch to unwind.
We search for answers.
We ask questions.
We look for reassurance.
And in the moment, it often works.
We feel calmer.
Less alone.
More oriented.
But here’s the key distinction most conversations miss:
Something can regulate you without training you.
Screens are very good at managing our state.
They distract us from discomfort.
They soothe us through stimulation.
They offer explanation without vulnerability.
But they don’t teach us how to stay present with ourselves.
And over time, that matters.
When we spend a large portion of our waking hours responding to external stimulus, a few subtle things begin to happen:
We become less practiced at feeling sensations in our body.
We lose fluency with our emotional signals.
We rely on interpretation instead of perception.
Instead of noticing:
“Something feels off in me right now…”
We ask:
“What does this mean?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“What should I do?”
The screen becomes a mediator between us and our inner world.
And mediation always creates distance.
This becomes especially problematic when screens begin to replace:
When that happens, something essential weakens.
Inner authority.
We don’t lose it overnight.
We outsource it gradually.
And the more we outsource it, the harder it becomes to feel grounded without something external telling us how to feel.
The second non-solution is state management through substance.
This includes:
This needs to be said clearly:
This is not about demonizing substances.
In specific contexts, under professional guidance, substances can be useful tools.
But tools become problems when they’re used as replacements for skill.
Substances work by changing our internal state for us.
They calm.
They elevate.
They numb.
They open.
And for someone in pain, that can feel like relief — sometimes profound relief.
But here’s the question most people never ask:
What happens when the substance is gone?
If we haven’t learned how to regulate ourselves without it, the relief doesn’t translate into capacity.
It simply resets the cycle.
We feel better — temporarily.
Then life happens.
The nervous system gets activated again.
And we reach… again.
This is where the Plant Medicine Panacea shows up.
Not because the medicine is inherently wrong — but because it’s being asked to do something it can’t do:
Teach us how to live.
One of the most seductive aspects of substance-based work is insight.
We see things clearly.
We understand our patterns.
We feel connected.
But insight alone doesn’t create change.
Integration does.
And integration requires skills:
Without those, insight becomes information — not transformation.
And information, without training, fades.
On the surface, screens and substances look very different.
But underneath, they’re doing the same thing.
They manage our inner state from the outside.
They stabilize us temporarily.
They reduce discomfort.
They help us cope.
But they don’t build the internal capacity required to:
They help us survive moments.
They don’t teach us how to relate.
And that’s why, despite all our tools, content, medicine, and information, the Connection Crisis keeps deepening.
If the answer isn’t:
Then what does work?
There is a third path.
I call it state management through self.
Not in a vague way.
Not in a motivational way.
In a trainable way.
State management through self means developing the ability to:
This isn’t about “being calm all the time.”
It’s about capacity.
The capacity to stay connected to yourself — especially when it’s hardest.
And here’s the part most people don’t realize:
This is not a personality trait.
It’s not talent.
It’s not willpower.
It’s training.
At the core of my methodology is a simple but often overlooked truth:
Emotion drives and directs the mind.
The mind fuels and amplifies emotion.
Together, emotion and mind inspire action.
And repeated actions create outcomes over time.
Every outcome in our lives — relational, professional, physical — can be traced back to an emotional driver.
If we don’t name that driver, we can’t train it.
And if we don’t train it, we keep recreating the same outcomes — no matter how much we “understand” ourselves.
This is why trying to think our way out of emotional patterns rarely works.
When emotion is dysregulated, the mind doesn’t get a vote.
You can know exactly what you should think — and still not be able to access it when it matters.
That’s why so many people say:
“I understand this… I just can’t get myself to do it in the moment.”
The issue isn’t intelligence.
It isn’t insight.
It’s regulation.
Emotion isn’t the enemy of clarity.
It’s the gateway to it.
Emotion is the operating system underneath thought.
When emotion is trained, the mind becomes an ally instead of an amplifier of fear, reactivity, or avoidance.
When emotion isn’t trained, the mind spins — analyzes, justifies, and escalates.
This is why my work doesn’t start with mindset.
It starts with training emotional drivers.
Because when the emotional driver changes, behavior changes naturally.
And when behavior changes consistently, outcomes change.
This isn’t theoretical for me.
I found myself deeply disconnected, in real and profound pain, searching for something that would finally fix me.
I tried substances.
I tried spiritual experiences.
I tried insight.
And while some of it helped temporarily, nothing changed my baseline.
What changed everything was learning how to work with what was happening inside me — in real time — without bypassing it.
Learning how to:
That training didn’t just change how I felt.
It changed how I showed up:
It took me from choking under pressure to becoming a three-time world champion.
At the center of my work is this:
Connection is a function of regulation.
When we’re regulated, connection is natural.
When we’re dysregulated, connection is difficult — even with people we love.
So the work isn’t about fixing ourselves.
It’s about training ourselves.
Training emotion.
Training focus.
Training nervous-system response.
So we don’t have to outsource stability, clarity, or connection.
When you can manage your state through yourself:
Not because life gets easier — but because you get steadier.
This is how we resolve the Connection Crisis.
Not by numbing it.
Not by bypassing it.
But by rebuilding relationship with ourselves — from the inside out.
In the next issue, I’ll share something more personal.
I’ll walk you through my own journey — how I ended up here, what I tried that didn’t work, and how this methodology actually emerged.
Not as a business plan.
Not as a brand strategy.
But because clients kept asking for something that didn’t exist yet — and the demand for this work grew organically, one person at a time.
I’ll share:
Issue 004 is about how this work was forged — through lived experience, failure, pressure, and service — and why that matters.
But for now, I want to leave you with this:
If the things you’ve been reaching for haven’t worked the way you hoped, it doesn’t mean you failed.
It means you were never taught the missing skill.
And skills can be learned.
Thanks for all your feedback on Issue 001 and 002, and your comments on the last couple Episodes. I’ve gained some important insights about what’s present and living for you. I’ll make sure to address the themes in future issues.
In the meantime, if you’re willing to continue to share, send me an email, and tell me this:
When things feel hard, which do you find yourself reaching for more?
And what do you notice happens after the relief wears off?
Anything you want to share with me, I’m here for it. Even just the word ‘Screens’ or the word ‘Substances’—more, if you’d like.
I sincerely appreciate your taking the time to let me know where you are.
And with that, I’ve got more packing to do so I’ll sign off for now.
Enjoy the rest of your day, and I’ll look forward to connecting again next week.
Joey