Optimising the Moment: The Incessant Seeking

Vanessa Kredler Author

The subtle ways addiction shows up, morphs and changes

I’ve been very present with my addiction — not the dramatic, life-derailing kind that once defined me, but the quieter, subtler ways it still lives in me today. The way that there are compulsive patterns that seem to be a deeply rooted default survival mode in the moment they occur, but are not helpful in the long-run. 

Yes, I’m sober in many ways.
Food sober. Alcohol sober. Drug sober. Caffeine sober. Nicotine sober. Financially sober. 
I’m even moving toward more secure attachment and am building a local community (after decades of being very transient, living in different countries). 

And yet — the addiction is still with me. Always. It doesn’t disappear; it morphs. It changes shape. Forever driven by a nervous system state that is often in a blend of fight/flight and collapse modes, not quite feeling safe in the world, always rigidly (in a frozen way) needing to "sure up" the next thing so that settling and stopping finally becomes possible.

These days, my addiction shows up as an incessant seeking.

Seeking new experiences, connections, ideas, books, podcasts, information, insights, answers, guidance… always more. It’s like a little blind animal scurrying and sniffing its way toward the next feed.

The best antidote, I’ve found, is to channel that seeking into spiritual sustenance and the practice of surrender — and to consciously interrupt it when it becomes too persistent.

Recently, someone in recovery shared a story that landed deeply with me. They were running around their house, late for an event, stressed and frenzied. Then suddenly, they stopped. They sat down on the sofa for ten minutes and did nothing. Just let the frenzy unwind itself.

That image stayed with me — the simple act of pausing.
Letting go.
Letting the hamster wheel slow down.

For me, that’s an ongoing practice.

I’ve been exploring this in myself — the way my addiction manifests as a constant drive to do more, be more, improve more. The way my body and mind are looping in unison, the body moving and doing while the mind produces thoughts of urgency. My internal story follows my nervous system state, just as much as my state follows my story.

One Sunday, I decided to experiment with something radical: doing absolutely nothing.

I sat on my balcony, watching magpies chase away a larger bird. I listened to the wind and stared at the trees. I tried to be still.

What I noticed was striking: my addiction wanted to move on.
No matter how peaceful the moment was, there was a subtle pull — an urge to change something.

Do I turn on some music?
Make a cup of tea?
Listen to an audiobook?
Grab a pillow?

There were no words for this energy. Just a quiet hum of escape — the sympathetic nervous system always in motion.

In times of crisis, that hum might have become a roar — acting out through food, drink, or distraction. But in this calm, meditative space, it was simply a whisper. A need to optimise the moment. To make it somehow better or different.

If that whisper had words, it would sound like:
“I’ve just got to do X.”
or
“If I just had Y, then I could finally settle.”

Yet that calm never quite arrives, does it? The striving continues.

Occasionally, there are pockets of stillness — usually in nature, during spiritual practice, when with friends, family or 'safe enough' people, or through gentle movement like yoga, dancing, or making art. In those moments, I can feel my nervous system settle, my breath deepen, and my mind grow quiet. Again, the body and mind unite in more physiological calm, with more positive and trusting thoughts and feelings of spaciousness and abundance. A sense of a ventral vagal, resourced, nervous system state. 

Those are the moments when I glimpse true rest and safety. 

And still, I remain fascinated by this subtle, persistent pull — the addictive drive to optimise the moment.

It takes constant, compassionate practice to meet that part of myself gently — to remind it, like a small child or a shy animal, that all is well. That there is nothing to fix, nothing to reach for, nothing to improve. That I am safe in this moment. 

At the same time, I love those addictive forces within me. Those seeking protective parts. I know they've kept me alive. And I'm committed to helping them relax while also allowing their gifts and passions to be channeled into a healthful and meaningful life. That's another blog, I'm sure.

Categories: : Addiction, Recovery