Why I stopped listening to gurus who told me how to live

I used to begin each day with a guru’s voice in my ear. At dawn, Tony Robbins’ booming confidence would ricochet through my apartment, urging me to “live with passion” and push beyond my limits. On my commute, I’d switch to Esther Hicks channeling “Abraham,” assuring me that if I could just align my vibration with what I desired, the universe would inevitably deliver. I was an early-stage entrepreneur in my twenties, hungry for success and meaning, and these self-help luminaries offered me a blueprint. Their models for living – bold goal-setting, relentless positivity, and faith in a higher order – were like signposts on what I thought was the one true road to a fulfilling life.

In those days, I measured my growth by external milestones. I kept vision boards of the sports car I’d own and the podium I’d stand on once I “made it.” I attended motivational seminars where I high-fived strangers and shouted “yes!” to possibility. I listened raptly as Tony Robbins stalked the stage, doling out fire-walking confidence, and as Esther Hicks spoke serenely about the “law of attraction.” Their words lit a fire under me. I went from a grad student dreaming of a startup to actually launching one, fueled by the conviction that thinking big and staying upbeat were the keys to “living my best life.”

For a while, it worked. My energy was through the roof; I felt like I had an edge over my former, less-optimistic self. If I hit a snag, I’d simply double down on affirmations and visualize an even grander outcome. No challenge was too great if I could muster the “positive mindset” to blast through it – or so I thought.

Looking back, I have a gentle, ironic smile for that younger me. I was sincere, passionate, and a bit naive. The self-help gurus I idolized did give me real motivation. Their prescriptive models of success taught me the value of setting goals, maintaining discipline, and believing in possibilities bigger than my fears. That period of my life was not a mistake; it was a training ground. The problems only started when I made those external models into a sort of holy script, trying to mold every aspect of myself to fit someone else’s definition of “success.” Without realizing it, I was beginning to live for an ideal that wasn’t entirely my own.

When the formula fell short

As months and years went by, cracks began to appear in my enthusiasm. The first cracks were small: a sense of restlessness on evenings when I was “supposed” to be grinding towards my goals but felt drawn to reflect instead. Or a flicker of doubt when repeating to myself that I was “on the path to greatness,” even as I felt oddly disconnected from the very dreams I was chasing. I brushed those feelings aside – after all, doubt was just a “negative vibration” to be overcome, right? I kept soldiering on, determined to think my way to happiness.

Eventually, the disillusionment hit hard. One pivotal moment stands out: I had spent weeks preparing a pitch to a potential investor who could make or break my startup. I had visualized success every night, plastered a confident grin on my face every day, and walked into the final meeting overflowing with optimism. When the investor politely passed on our proposal – “We’re going to have to decline” – my carefully constructed world quaked. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling like my chest was hollow. I told myself aloud that this was just a “redirection” and that something bigger was surely around the corner, but the words felt tinny and false in the silence of my office. For the first time, positive thinking failed me completely. In that lonely moment, the mantra “everything happens for a reason” rang hollow. I had no backup plan for emotional free-fall.

Instead of confronting my disappointment, I initially doubled down on forced positivity. I was determined not to let any “negativity” creep in. I slapped a smile on my face and told my team (and myself) that we’d “bounce back stronger.” Inside, though, I was a storm of frustration and fear. The more I tried to “stay positive,” the more fragmented I felt. It was as if there were two of me: the external cheerleader reciting all the right lines, and an inner voice growing hoarse from screaming that something was very, very wrong. At night I lay awake feeling like a fraud, exhausted by the constant effort to maintain an upbeat façade. I had followed the success script to the letter – why did I feel so disconnected and empty?

In hindsight, it’s clear I was suffering from an overdose of one-sided positivity. I had been taught to reject or reframe any “negative” emotion immediately. As a result, I’d never learned to sit with discomfort or listen to what my pain was telling me. My life had become a high-gloss brochure, all smiling selfies and inspiring quotes on social media, while inside I was withering. The frustration built up despite my best efforts to deny it. I felt ashamed, too – wasn’t I “above” such feelings by now? None of the gurus talked much about this kind of existential funk, except to say “keep your vibration high.” But trying to stay high was breaking me. By mid-2014, I was burnt out, disillusioned, and quietly desperate for something I couldn’t yet name. It was at this low point that an unexpected encounter changed the course of my life.

A chance encounter with a shaman

Late one evening in New York City, a close friend found me in a co-working space, hunched over my laptop and clearly spiraling. I must have looked as dejected as I felt because he sat down, listened to my torrent of worries, and then said, “I know someone you should talk to.” He mentioned a Brazilian shaman named Rudá Iandê, who happened to be in town. I recall chuckling through my tears – a shaman, really? I was skeptical but also curious. At that point I would have tried anything, even if it sounded far-out. A few days later, on a humid summer afternoon, I walked into a small room in downtown Manhattan to meet Rudá Iandê.

From the moment I saw him, I knew he was nothing like the self-styled gurus I was used to. He was soft-spoken, with a calm presence, and eyes that seemed to see right through my practiced smile. We sat on the floor, and he asked me gently why I’d come. I unloaded a sanitized version of my troubles – carefully phrased, still trying to sound upbeat about “learning from challenges.” Rudá listened patiently. Then he delivered a single sentence that knocked the wind out of me: “Positive thinking’s a drug,” he said, “It hooks you on a high and leaves you blind.”​ I blinked, unsure I’d heard correctly. This was the opposite of everything I’d been feeding myself for years. I had expected perhaps a mystical pep talk or some calming breathing exercises; instead I got a direct intervention.

Seeing my startled face, Rudá explained that by clinging to an illusion of constant positivity, I was actually blinding myself to reality. I was numbing my natural responses, much like an addict chasing the next high​. And like any addict, I was headed for a crash. He gently pointed out that the stress, frustration, and fear I’d been suppressing were not enemies at all – they were signals, part of me, carrying valid messages about what wasn’t working in my life​. By labeling them “negative” and stuffing them down, I was disrespecting myself, effectively fracturing my own psyche. “You’re living only half of your life,” he said softly. “The other half – the shadow, the doubt – you’ve banished. But it doesn’t disappear. It waits.” His words hit me like a revelation and a rebuke all at once.

I sat there, unable to maintain my fake smile under his gaze. Something long-buried broke open. In that moment I admitted to both him and myself that I was utterly exhausted from trying to be someone I wasn’t. Rudá nodded as if this was the news he’d been waiting for. He didn’t give me a grand formula or a five-step plan. Instead, he offered a simple practice: “Tonight, allow yourself to feel everything,” he urged. “If you’re angry, be angry. If you’re scared, let the fear in. Don’t fight it; don’t sugarcoat it. Just observe it.” This sounded terrifying – I had avoided actually feeling my darker emotions for years. But what did I have to lose? That night, in my tiny apartment, I let the storm come. I cried, I punched a pillow, I paced. I felt rage at the investor who walked away, at myself for possibly failing, at the universe for not rewarding my optimism. I felt fear that I was not good enough. It was intense, messy, and nothing magical happened – except that after a couple of hours, the storm passed. And in the quiet that remained, I felt a glimmer of something unfamiliar: relief.

Over the next days and weeks, I stayed in touch with Rudá. We met a few more times during his New York visit. Each time he would ask me some disarmingly incisive question that cut through my pretensions. There was one question in particular that shook me awake: “What are you avoiding by staying inside that box?”​ he asked, referring to the mental “box” I’d built from all my self-improvement dogmas. I realized I had been avoiding my own truth. It was easier to follow a script for success – even one making me unhappy – than to face the uncertainty of discovering what I actually wanted. In our conversations, Rudá didn’t lecture or claim to have all the answers for me. In fact, he explicitly refused the mantle of guru. “Yes, I am a guru,” he told me wryly, “but with one single disciple: myself.”​ In other words, he wasn’t interested in telling me how to live my life either. His goal was to help me reclaim that authority for myself.

That summer of 2014 felt like an awakening. Here was a spiritual teacher who challenged me more than any hard-nosed business coach ever had. Instead of reinforcing comforting narratives, he wanted me to break them. It was unsettling and exhilarating at the same time. I found myself drawn to Rudá’s perspective. When he returned to Brazil, I continued our dialogue via long emails and occasional calls. Eventually, he invited me: “If you’re ever in Brazil, come visit and continue the work.” It took me only one year – by 2015 I was on a plane to Curitiba, Brazil, to spend time learning directly from this enigmatic shaman on his home turf.

Unlearning the old, embracing the instinctive

Traveling to Brazil to meet Rudá Iandê felt as symbolic as it was literal – I was leaving behind the concrete jungle of Manhattan’s self-help seminars for something more organic and raw. In Curitiba, Rudá’s base at the time (he’s since moved to Marajo Island in the Amazon), I was welcomed into an entirely different rhythm of life. We would start our days not with an alarm clock and a pre-workout motivational podcast, but by walking in nature, listening to the dawn chorus of birds. Instead of endless goal-setting sessions, we had long conversations over home-cooked meals, where silence often spoke louder than words. Bit by bit, I felt the tightly wound spring inside me begin to relax.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One of the first things Rudá had me do was confront my definitions of success and meaning. He asked me to write down all the things I thought I “needed” to achieve or acquire to consider my life worthwhile – and then we examined whose voices were really behind those desires. I realized many of my goals were second-hand: ideas I’d absorbed from society, family, and yes, those gurus I followed. As Rudá bluntly put it, I was “living someone else’s life, someone else’s narrative, without even realizing it”. That hit deep. It echoed the gnawing suspicion I’d had that climbing the ladder (whether in business or personal development) was meaningless if the ladder was leaning against the wrong wall. Under his guidance, I began to shed these borrowed ambitions. It wasn’t that the goals were inherently bad – making money, building a business, improving oneself are all fine – but they must come from an authentic place. “Each of us has a different nature,” Rudá reminded me, “We’re not supposed to think and live in the same way. Our uniqueness is sacred and must be respected.”​ All my life I had been trying to fit myself into a template of success that was touted as universal. Now I grasped that what works for one person may not work for me, because human truth isn’t one-size-fits-all.

During my stay in Brazil, I also had the opportunity to participate in deeper practices and workshops Rudá led. This wasn’t the glossy, performative “unleash the power within” stuff I was used to. It was often uncomfortable, confrontational inner work. In one exercise, I remember sitting around a fire in the countryside, as Rudá prompted each of us (a small group of his students and friends) to speak our deepest fears aloud into the night. My heart pounded as my turn approached. When I finally confessed, “I’m afraid I’m not actually living my own life… that I’m a fraud,” the words hung in the air like a challenge. Instead of hearing immediate reassurance or a rah-rah encouragement, I heard Rudá calmly ask, “And what would happen if that were true? What then?” It was a question I didn’t know how to answer. I realized I had spent so long running from that fear that I’d never actually looked it in the face. Just acknowledging it in that circle under the stars felt like release. I didn’t need to banish the fear; I needed to accept it, let it inform me, maybe even use it as fuel to redirect my life.

Rudá’s teachings often returned to the theme of instinct and inner authority. He spoke about a “primal source” within each of us – the raw, untamed core of our being that intuition and emotions spring from​. This was quite the contrast to the mind-over-matter approach I’d internalized from my self-help days. I used to pride myself on rationally planning my life and mastering my feelings through thought. Now I was being invited to do almost the opposite: to trust the deeper currents of feeling and body wisdom that run beneath the surface of the intellect. According to Rudá, “the place where we will find our true energy and power is much more instinctive. It’s the burning fire within.”​ I started practicing listening to my gut – literally, paying attention to sensations in my body when making decisions or confronting a dilemma. At first, this felt alien. My brain would protest, “This doesn’t compute!” But gradually, I noticed something: when I honored a subtle feeling – say, a tightness in my stomach when I considered a business deal I thought I wanted – and dug into why that feeling was there, I uncovered truths I had been cerebrally avoiding. In that instance, I realized the deal in question appealed to my ego but actually went against my deeper values. My instinct knew this before my mind did. This kind of self-discovery was profoundly empowering.

Another pillar of what I learned from Rudá was a new relationship with emotion. I had already begun to see how labeling emotions as “positive” or “negative” was a flawed approach. In Brazil, this understanding deepened. Rudá has a talent for reframing things in memorable ways. I recall him saying in one of our sessions, “Insecurity, fear, frustration, and anger can be constructive powers if focused correctly. On the other hand, so-called positive feelings can turn out to be destructive.” This turned my old worldview upside down. Could my anger actually be powerful and useful? Could my perpetual optimism sometimes be a crutch or a lie? He helped me see that all emotions are part of our inner guidance system. My frustration, for example, was telling me about misaligned expectations and the need to change course. My fear pointed to where I felt unprepared or in need of support. Even my anger – a feeling I had rarely allowed myself – revealed my passion for fairness and authenticity (I tended to get angry when I or others were not being true to ourselves). By embracing these “shadow” emotions, I stopped fighting myself. Paradoxically, once I stopped trying to forcibly eradicate my insecurities, they began to have less control over me. I learned that when you “allow the wholeness of your emotions to come forth,” you access the full depth of your being. It’s like going from living in a small room to opening up an entire house – suddenly there’s space to breathe.

My time learning from Rudá Iandê gradually pieced me back together in a way that felt organic and whole. There was no single thunderbolt moment of total transformation. Instead, many small insights and practices wove themselves into a new paradigm for living. In the years that followed, as I deepened my own practice and stayed connected with Rudá, I felt a strong calling to help share his teachings with a wider audience. That’s when we co-created The Vessel, a platform dedicated to authentic, inner-driven personal development (and the website you’re reading this article on). One of the first and most powerful offerings on The Vessel was Rudá’s signature course, Out of the Box — a journey crafted by him, distilled from decades of shamanic work and inner exploration. My role was to support its release into the world — to help make it available in a way that preserved its integrity and depth. That collaboration felt like an act of service: helping to share teachings that had profoundly changed my life, knowing they could do the same for others.

Crafting a life on my own terms

The years since have been a continuous unfolding of the transformation that began back in 2014. I sometimes think of my journey in two distinct chapters: Before – when I looked outward for directives on how to live – and After, when I learned to look inward. Before, I was the consummate disciple of external gurus; after, I became a practitioner of my own inner guidance. This isn’t to say I shut out all advice or mentorship – far from it. I still value learning from others (including people like Tony Robbins, who undeniably has touched millions of lives). The difference is that now I filter everything through my own essence. I take what resonates deeply and leave the rest. I’ve stopped trying to fit myself into any mold, no matter how shiny and popular that mold may be.

In practical terms, my life looks different now too. I continue to run my business and pursue projects I’m passionate about, but my metrics for success have completely changed. I no longer think in terms of “crushing it” or reaching the next summit just for the sake of it. Instead, I ask: Am I being true to myself in this endeavor? Is my heart in it? Does it serve something I genuinely care about? If the answer is no, no amount of external validation will convince me to stay on that path. This was a stark change from my old way, where I might stick with a prestigious plan long after it lost meaning, just because abandoning it felt like failure. Now I know that pivoting or letting go can sometimes be the truest success – if it means realigning with my authentic desires. As Rudá had taught me, “Your most powerful dreams are truly your own… When I work towards dreams that have been given to me by others, internal frustration builds up. But if the dream is truly my own, I more deeply connect with it.” I carry that wisdom forward, checking in regularly to discern whether my aspirations come from inner truth or outside influence.

Ironically, by abandoning the externally-driven models of success, I didn’t become aimless; I became more focused and passionate than ever. I channeled my energy into helping Rudá to launch Out of the Box and build a community around it. The work felt different – it wasn’t about me proving anything or achieving for achievement’s sake. It was about sharing a message and helping others, which in turn made me feel deeply fulfilled. We heard from participants how liberating it was to, say, finally acknowledge their fear or to question a career path they’d followed out of duty. Every time I read a testimonial about someone stepping out of their own mental prison, I felt a surge of purpose that no trophy or bank balance could ever give me. It affirmed that I was, at last, living my life – a life of meaning as I define it, guided by values I hold dear (like authenticity, creativity, connection), rather than a checklist handed to me by society or a self-help guru.

Throughout this process, I’ve also come to a place of peace and appreciation for my former teachers like Tony Robbins and Esther Hicks. I no longer see my early enthusiasm for their teachings as foolish. In fact, I can now appreciate what I gained from them – confidence, a can-do spirit, an expanded sense of possibility – while also acknowledging their approaches were incomplete for me. I’ve met people who genuinely thrive with Tony’s high-octane coaching; it seems to align perfectly with their own essence, and that’s wonderful. I’ve also seen others find solace and empowerment in the Law of Attraction as taught by Esther Hicks, feeling tuned into something divine within themselves. Who am I to say those paths are wrong? They simply weren’t sufficient to encompass who I am. Those methods painted in broad strokes, and I needed to delve into the fine details of my unique nature.

If Tony Robbins provided a kind of map for success, Rudá Iandê handed me a compass and said, “Find your own north.” The map can be useful – it shows the general landscape, the major highways many have traveled. But the compass allows for exploration off the beaten path, guided by one’s own inner needle. I think the ultimate lesson I learned is that no external map can account for the terrain of your soul. At best, it’s an approximation. You have to walk some unexplored trails to really come alive. And that requires the courage to sometimes stray from the well-worn road of “how to live” that others have drawn.

Beyond the gurus: coming home to myself

I titled this story “Why I stopped listening to gurus who told me how to live,” but perhaps a more precise title would be “How I started listening to myself.” The truth is, I didn’t stop listening to others out of spite or rebellion; I stopped because I finally realized that no one else could do the job of living my life for me. I had to step into that responsibility fully. It meant shedding the comforting certainty that often comes when someone says, “Do these ten things and you will be happy.” It meant embracing a more nuanced, sometimes ambiguous journey where my instincts, emotions, and inner voice lead the way, one step at a time.

As I write this, I feel an immense gratitude for that fortuitous chain of events – the burnout, the friend who guided me to Rudá, the courage I found to dive into a different way of being. I’m also struck by a gentle irony: the very “inner authority” I was seeking was within me all along, but it took a shaman in New York City to point me back to it. Life has a poetic sense of humor. Rudá himself often emphasized that he wasn’t giving me new wisdom; he was just helping me remember what, at some level, I already knew. In one of his course lectures, he says, “If I help you reach your core, I want to be there to witness it, to celebrate with you and also to learn from your essential wisdom.” That line stayed with me. The idea that inside each of us is an “essential wisdom,” a core knowing of who we are and what our life is about, is profoundly beautiful. No mass-market guru, no matter how charismatic, can package that in a seminar. It’s personal archaeology – you have to dig for it yourself, though others can certainly hand you a shovel or shine a flashlight on the dig site.

In the end, my journey taught me to hold my beliefs lightly and my truth dearly. I no longer swallow philosophies whole; I taste them, savor what’s nourishing, and leave the rest. I’ve made peace with uncertainty and found strength in my own vulnerability. I’ve learned that frustration can be a friend, a clear signpost that I’m out of alignment and need to recalibrate, rather than a shameful feeling to suppress. I’ve learned that success is not a static picture someone else paints for you – it’s a living, evolving expression of your values and your nature. And perhaps most importantly, I’ve learned that meaning and fulfillment are not things out there to attain someday; they are experiences we create from the inside out, by living in harmony with ourselves here and now.

As I conclude this narrative, I invite you, the reader, to reflect on your own life. Are there “gurus” in your world – literal or metaphorical – who you’ve allowed to define your values, your dreams, your sense of self? It could be a famous author, a social media influencer, a well-meaning family member, or even the collective voice of societal expectations. Take a moment to gently question: Where do my beliefs about meaning and fulfillment come from? Are they truly mine, born from my own encounters with the world and my inner whispers? Or have I adopted them unquestioned, like hand-me-down clothes that don’t quite fit? There is no judgement in asking these questions – only the promise of greater clarity.

My story is just one of many. I don’t offer it as a new doctrine, but as an example of what can happen when you dare to step outside the comfortable boxes of received wisdom. The gurus I once followed weren’t charlatans; they were just guides whose paths were different from mine. I had to lose faith in them to find faith in myself. The journey has been messy, nonlinear, and at times lonely – yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s a strange feeling, emerging from under the tutelage of others and realizing you’re standing on your own two feet, responsible for every choice. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, much like life itself.

In the soft quiet that comes after writing these words, I feel that same sense of relief I first tasted years ago after that emotional storm in my apartment. It’s the relief of being myself, unabashedly, and not outsourcing that role to anyone else. And if there’s one insight I leave you with, it’s this: Your life is your message. No guru can tell you what that message should be. You owe it to yourself to listen, to experiment, to trust your own process. It may lead you away from familiar comforts and into the wild unknown of your soul’s desires, but I can promise you, there is no richer adventure.

In a world eager to tell us who to be and how to live, choosing to walk your own path becomes a quietly revolutionary act. I stopped listening to the gurus who told me how to live not because they were entirely wrong, but because I finally realized only I could hear the subtle music of my own spirit. Stepping out of their shadow, I found the light of my own truth. And I hope that, in your own way, you too find the courage to step out of any box that diminishes you – and into a life that feels like home.