You know that voice you have in your head? The one that narrates your life, tells you which trees look familiar, says "hey, remember that time that sucked?" when you're just trying to have a nice day?

If you're already thinking, "the hell are you talking about?" just turn back now; it only gets stranger from here.

I used to think "that voice is me." I was wholly identified with it. Then Eckart Tolle convinced me that the voice was just a voice. He claimed to have a revelation one day when he was dangerously depressed and exhausted by a circus of incessant thoughts spinning around his head. He thought aloud: “I can’t live with myself anymore,” then thought, “wait—who just said that, and who (or what) am I referring to as “myself.”

To paraphrase where he went next: "You are not your thoughts. You are the space in which those thoughts occur," where thoughts are just a by-product of brain activity—a muscle doing a job. They're useful. They're a key part of the human experience. But they're not everything.

I first read Tolle ten years ago and I still buy his view. I treat the voice like a voice. I hear it. I listen to it. I ignore it.

The "I" in those statements—the “space where thoughts occur”, the "conscious observer," the "soul-me”—is a massive question mark that I’m not exploring right now. This is more about the voice.

Or should I say, voices.

As I've associated less with "being" the voice and more "hearing" the voice, I've realized its tone and the things it espouses changes dramatically throughout the day.

Pete Holmes has a joke in a stand-up special where he talks about different versions of himself: sleepy Pete, hungry Pete, horny Pete. "Who he is" changes dramatically based on the circumstances.

It's like that, just all in my head.

I did a few "art therapy" sessions a year ago and this is the picture I came up with for my circus.

It's as if I'm piloting a ship, where "I" am the pilot. And I have a number of advisors—the voices—who all try to weigh in on where we should go, how fast, etc.

Each advisor has been given different directives and priorities. One's job is to prevent a crash at all costs, even if that means sticking with known (safe) routes, or better yet: remaining completely still. One seeks achievement—to be a hero; it thinks exploration is the mission and urges us to fly recklessly onward.

These voices aren’t in the room with the pilot. They're all next door. And they can only communicate with me through one intercom system—one at a time. So, they elbow and jostle for the microphone as they try to give me advice.

And they don't really communicate with each other—none compromise or soften their views. They want every decision I make, big or small, to further their agenda. And they're crafty. They want their message across, but they know I’m onto them. Now they often hide their full intentions. Or they'll wear the mask of one of the other advisors to sneak their insight through—especially when I've made a conscious decision to ignore one's priorities.

“You need your sleep to stay healthy and have a good, productive day tomorrow,” the Safety-First advisor might say. But really, it’s just afraid I make it to that late-night open mic and one of the other advisors grabs the mic. A moment later I’ll be on stage and vulnerable and I might embarrass myself. If the Safety Advisor leads with that, I might be able to say, “nothing risked, nothing gained,” or “relax, this seems like a pretty supportive place.” It’s harder to argue with that true intention if I don’t know what it is.

My job as the pilot is to weigh my advisors’ urgings and plot a course. To do that well, I first have to figure out who’s who, then remove the bias from the advice to see how much value it still has.

It's tough. It's exhausting. But that's the job.

And since I've taken it up—actively trying to analyze the voice coming through before fully embracing its ideas—I've gotten better. It's hard to simply remember to ask, "who has the mic?" and seeing through ever-changing masks and schemes is a daily challenge. But I've been showing up.

And it's as if the pilot has grown up a bit. When I first made this picture a year ago, the pilot was a child, letting the advisors run the show. (One in particular had the mic most of the time; more on him another day.) Now the pilot has more confidence. I'm realizing who's in charge. I'm seeing the advisors' intentions. I'm calling them out. I'm not so easily duped.

I feel like I've gained more control of the ship and am now allowing us to get a little more out of control.

Onward we go.