When You Don't Know Which Way is Up

I spoke to a friend recently who told me he lost his reference point for making sense of what was happening. It's like we are all scuba divers experiencing nitrogen narcosis—overwhelmed, disoriented, drunk on compressed air.

Nitrogen narcosis, also known as rapture of the deep or the martini effect, is a reversible alteration in consciousness that occurs while diving at depth due to the anesthetic effect of nitrogen at high pressure. It causes impaired judgment, confusion, delayed responses—even hallucinations. And it only stops when you ascend. You have to rise back to the surface for clarity to return.

I feel like that's where we are now. Information floods us from every direction, yet each of us remains isolated in our own bubbles of reinforced truth. And in conversations lately, I’ve noticed how eerily similar both sides sound. Each insists the other lacks facts, clarity, or even basic logic. Each is baffled by how the opposing side can think that way—polarizing one another, different opinions yet identical in the way they discredit. It's the paradox of our age: more connected, yet more alone in our understanding.

The advice to divers is simple: “Watch the bubbles.” They always rise up.

But what happens when you can't trust even that? When your own sense-making gets bent? When the bubbles could be leading you sideways, not up?

Friends share news shaped by algorithms that echo our biases. Podcasts churn out confident takes that confirm what we already believe. And so our internal compasses spin. Truth becomes splintered.

The most dangerous part?

Some of us know it—and others don’t. Some realize they’re lost in it. Others are sure they’ve found the answer, not realizing they’re just repeating the last podcast they heard.

Here's what I’ve learned: when everything speeds up, slow down. When things get loud, quiet your mind. When you're flooded with conflicting signals—don’t react, root. Don’t reach for certainty—return to presence.

Contrastingly, if they seem numb, drifting, asleep at the wheel—be the one who moves with clarity and intent.

Your inner radar recalibrates not by speed, but by contrast.

In this post-truth era, where every 'truth' seems subjective and every opinion masquerades as fact, the work is not to cling tighter. The work is to un-grip. To sit with not knowing. To discern—not just what is true, but how you came to believe it in the first place.

So the question isn’t: How do we stay afloat in this storm of conflicting truths?

But rather How can we humbly and calmly rise back to the surface—before the narcosis becomes the new normal?