Scrolling through the Netflix guide, I came across BEEF. Intrigued by the trailer, I settled into the loveseat as the opening scene unfolded: two characters exchanging heated words in a parking lot, escalating quickly into road rage. What might appear to some like a benign occurrence was, for these characters, a defining moment, shaped by the suffering they were carrying and the unexamined choices that had brought them there.

Through a series of foibles—unwise decisions fueled by narratives, painful life moments, expectations about professionalism, and family dynamics—the vulnerability of their personhood is revealed. By the final episode, the two are raging down a windy canyon road, both cars hurtling over a cliff. Injured and armed, they rage on.

After eating wild fruit, they experience a hallucinogenic episode that loosens their defenses and softens their guarded personas. In that altered state, each begins to witness the other more fully as they share how they arrived at this defining moment. Through a near-death experience, they bear what has been silent and never previously shared, deeply empathizing with one another, forming a bond, and releasing the grip of silence—and, one might say, shame through silence—that had so informed their choices. BEEF, a dark comedy/drama with a complicated storyline, spoke to me about the consequences of unexamined choices, and about how what’s not brought into the open can be internalized, fester, and ultimately rupture one’s self-view.

The choices we make, whether conscious or unconscious, prime our experiences. I’ve come to believe coincidences aren’t “just coincidences,” but a convergence: what has transpired before, returning to consciousness in the present moment as the culmination of our choices. That doesn’t negate the mystery and wonder that unfolds, often waiting for us, but it does ask something of our receptivity: to be open and present, and to meet what is emerging with eyes and heart wide open. And it isn’t about what we think we’re “making” or “doing.” It is about purposefully interrogating the drivers of our actions, not through self-doubt or recrimination, but from a place of deep knowing and curiosity—not through thinking alone, but through a cognitive and somatic understanding of the moments that matter to the expression of this lifetime’s intention.

In my youth, I was somewhat haphazard about where I placed my attention and how I selected to act, at times operating on magical thinking to bypass what felt complicated. Honestly, a little magical, whimsical thinking can be beneficial when it opens up possibilities. Yet moving through life with the script handed down by the family system, the world of academia, professional culture, and what society deems appropriate—using magical thinking as an antidote to critically taking stock by listening to oneself—can be a recipe for heartache.

These scripts were neither bad nor good, yet they were certainly not neutral. The consequences lay waiting, and they can leave one feeling unprepared to meet what arrives, or caught in an “ahhh” moment where the thought is, Wow, did that just happen? As the decades rolled on, I began to more purposefully interrogate what I believed to be the experiences that brought me to a particular moment—moments where I actively participated, giving verbal consent or silently acquiescing, still choosing without fully grasping the choice.

Looking at those choices was not an exercise in casting blame or ascribing praise, but a watchful practice to understand how I was choosing to be in “right relationship” to what I believed was important. What was once considered important shifts with new information, or is affirmed given the season we’re in. There are aspects we hold dear because they center on goodwill and care for self and others, and there are others that have run their course and need to be set aside.

Taking time to take stock, with a willingness to look behind the curtain and understand what informs a choice, calls for us to be still. To pause. To reflect on where our attention attunes with intention and action, while also remaining receptive to the mystery of it all and the choices that brought us here.

Inspired by the writings of John Powell, Director of the Othering & Belonging Institute at UC Berkeley, I will close with a quote from his New Year’s letter: “We cannot know how things will turn out. That is not our charge. Our charge is to engage and to work for the world to help ensure … [that we] can thrive.”