My client, Chris, was desperate to become a successful day trader. Not for flashy reasons, but because it felt like the key that could unlock everything else in his life.

If he could master trading, he could hire more staff for his other business and stop doing the parts he hated. He could afford his daughter’s Ivy League tuition and get proper care for his disabled son. He could finally be his quiet, introverted self without always having to manage other people’s needs.

He wanted it so badly that he kept messing it up.

He’d jump into trades too quickly or exit too soon. He’d abandon his trading plan on a whim. And perhaps, most painfully, he’d spiral into “compare and despair” every time someone in his trading group had a good day.

When we started working together, I didn’t offer strategies or better routines. I asked him a different kind of question:

“When are you relaxed? In flow? At peace?”

It frustrated him at first. “You don’t get it, Risa,” he snapped. “I am relaxed when I trade. I’m totally calm. And then in that calm state, I blow $1000.”

Eventually, we had a breakthrough

He said, “I’m just not patient enough. That’s my problem.”

I saw how deeply he believed that story about himself. But I was curious.

“Tell me about a time when you were patient,” I asked.

He paused. Then he told me he used to be a hunter.

“You have to be very patient when you hunt. You wait, and wait, and wait. For the right deer, at the right distance, the right angle before you even think about letting go of the arrow.”

Then, his voice softened. “You know what happened once when I was out hunting?”

I leaned in. “What?”

“One day, I was up in a tree, waiting. And an enormous owl flew up and landed right next to me. Just sat there, watching me. For the longest time, we just stared at each other. It was… magical. I’ve never forgotten it.”

We both fell quiet. I could feel the moment as he described it, suspended in stillness, awe, and presence.

And I thought of Joseph Campbell, who said:

“We’re not so much seeking the meaning of life as the experience of being fully alive.”

In that tree, in that moment with the owl, Chris wasn’t hunting. He was home.

That’s what I mean when I speak of clarity of mind.

It’s not something you force. It’s not a mental trick.

It’s a return to your truest self, the self beneath the striving and stress.

Now, he could hear my question

When Chris reconnected to that memory, he could finally hear my next question:

“What do you really want from life?”

He didn’t answer right away. But the next day, he sent me a list.

It wasn’t just about trading anymore. It included time off with his wife, restructuring his business to breathe again, and paying off debt.

Shortly after that, they took a trip to the Caribbean for a friend’s wedding.

When he returned, he was different. More grounded. More at ease.

And just like that, his trading changed. He started to win more often. Not because he tried harder. But because he stopped trying to force it.

He had dropped into that quiet state, which we all have access to.

That’s where clarity of mind lives. That’s where you begin to strategize well, tolerate setbacks better, and make decisions from wisdom, not fear.

And it’s not reserved for the spiritually elite or emotionally enlightened.

It’s available to you, too.

The secret is not to chase the feeling, but to notice when you’ve left it and gently return.

When you prioritize your state of mind, not as a luxury but as a practice, you find yourself in the sweet spot of life again and again.

That’s the power of coming home to yourself.

That’s when your best self starts to lead.

And from there… everything changes.