Now that I’m consistently sharing my stories, I’ve noticed something interesting. Lately, I’ve been treating all my breakthroughs and epiphanies with equal weight. The truth is, they are most definitely not created equal. I’ve started to feel a little like the boy who cried wolf when I send a new post to my closest friends. ‘This one is the best!’ ‘OMG… this one is amazing!’ ‘This one changed everything!’ At some point they’re probably thinking, ‘Sure, Laurie… until Tuesday.’ For the reader, there’s no real way to gauge the depth of the shift or the significance of the change.
Some insights are day-trippers. They hang around just long enough to get me through the next twenty-four hours before quietly packing their little emotional suitcase and heading home. (RS 1) Others create a Grand Canyon-sized rift in my internal operating system. The landscape is immediately—and perhaps forever—changed (RS 10+). Using some sort of Epiphany Richter Scale may help me—and possibly you, the reader—understand, register, and relate to these varied and often incomprehensible movements happening on an invisible internal level. The first relatable scale that came to mind was Richter’s. The Richter Scale, also known as the Richter Magnitude Scale, was developed by Charles Richter in 1935. It is a logarithmic scale used to measure the strength of earthquakes based on the amplitude of seismic waves recorded by seismographs.
| Magnitude | Description | Average earthquake effects |
| 1.0–1.9 | Micro | Microearthquakes, not felt. Recorded by seismographs. |
| 2.0–2.9 | Minor | Felt slightly by some people. No damage to buildings. |
| 3.0–3.9 | Slight | Often felt by people, but very rarely causes damage. Shaking of indoor objects can be noticeable. |
| 4.0–4.9 | Light | Noticeable shaking of indoor objects and rattling noises. Felt by most people in the affected area. Slightly felt outside. Generally causes zero to minimal damage. Moderate to significant damage is very unlikely. Some objects may fall off shelves or be knocked over. |
| 5.0–5.9 | Moderate | Can cause damage of varying severity to poorly constructed buildings. Zero to slight damage to all other buildings. Felt by everyone. |
| 6.0–6.9 | Strong | Damage to a moderate number of well-built structures in populated areas. Earthquake resistant structures survive with slight to moderate damage. Poorly designed structures receive moderate to severe damage. Felt in wider areas; up to hundreds of kilometers from the epicenter. Strong to violent shaking in the epicentral area. |
| 7.0–7.9 | Major | Causes damage to most buildings, some to partially or completely collapse or receive severe damage. Well-designed structures are likely to receive damage. Felt across great distances with major damage mostly limited to 250 km from the epicenter. A magnitude 7.0 or greater will result in a tsunami alert being issued to certain regions. |
| 8.0–8.9 | Great | Major damage to buildings, and structures likely to be destroyed. Will cause moderate to heavy damage to sturdy or earthquake-resistant buildings. Damaging in large areas. Felt in extremely large regions. |
| 9.0–9.9 | Extreme | Near total destruction – severe damage or collapse to all buildings. Heavy damage and shaking extend to distant locations. Permanent changes in ground topography. |
Source: Wikipedia
The more I thought about it, the more I liked borrowing the Richter Scale. Not because we should chase bigger earthquakes, but because the Richter Scale itself is wonderfully humble. It doesn’t predict earthquakes. It doesn’t cause earthquakes. It doesn’t encourage anyone to manufacture them. It simply measures the impact after the fact. I think inner earthquakes deserve the same treatment. Instead of measuring physical destruction, I’m measuring the significance of removing the cultural, emotional, environmental, and psychological obstacles standing between me and freedom, grace, clarity, and peace. The severity is no longer about damage to buildings. It’s about the amount of unnecessary suffering that quietly collapses when one of those old internal structures finally gives way.
I’ve had hundreds of realizations over the years. Some inspired a new journal, a new meditation practice, or a fresh commitment to paying attention. Those mattered. In fact, I suspect most lasting transformation is quietly built from hundreds of those smaller tremors. They prepare the soil, loosen old assumptions, and gradually release pressure along unseen fault lines. Then, every once in a very great while, something entirely different happens. The clints and grikes rearrange forever. There is no going back.
Case in point: Years ago, after countless attempts to quit drinking, one ordinary morning the obsession was simply… gone. I don’t mean I became more disciplined or finally discovered enough willpower. I don’t mean I found a better strategy for resisting temptation or the perfect counselor, guru, podcast, supplement, twelve-step program, or interpretive dance that finally snapped me out of it. I mean the internal argument ended. The part of me that wanted freedom and the part of me that kept driving to the liquor store were no longer fighting. There was no heroic self-control because there was no longer anyone inside arguing for the old way of being. That wasn’t an interesting insight. That was a Richter 10+.
A few days ago, something equally mysterious appears to have happened. I’m still observing it, so I reserve the right to change my description as I continue discerning. What I can honestly say is that my internal trust and worthiness seem to have taken a massive leap forward. The urge to judge, defend, protect, shrink, resist, look good, and be right? The thoughts before the thoughts? Something fundamental appears to have shifted.
As long as I’ve been noticing, my mind automatically scans people and situations looking for comparisons to make, improvements to suggest—for myself especially—shoulds to should, and problems to solve. I didn’t consciously choose those thoughts. They simply appeared after decades of conditioning, like muscle memory for the mind. I’ve spent years noticing them, questioning them, breathing through them, forgiving them, and letting them go. Those practices were invaluable, but they still required management.
Something now feels different underneath the practices themselves. Chris said several things the other day that would normally have pressed one of my well-worn buttons. Instead…nothing. I didn’t have to remember one of my tools. I didn’t consciously choose a better response. I didn’t silently count to ten or remind myself to trust my Bestie. There was simply nothing to manage. My inner project team had apparently been downsized, the council dissolved.
The following evening I found myself people-watching at a concert. Normally my attention would have been drawn toward comparison, appearance, improvement, or evaluation. Instead, I caught myself wondering what these people looked like as children. I noticed smiles instead of waistlines. Humanity instead of competition. Again, I wasn’t trying to think differently. The code running underneath my attention had changed. My automatic thought patterns had quietly reorganized themselves.
That’s what I now think a true Richter 10+ measures. Not the size of the realization. The impact. Not the excitement. The freedom. Not how much I learned. How much internal conflict quietly disappeared. Perhaps these are the work of my DMGS, Grace, or my Bestie silently resolving a conflict that’s been running in the background for decades. Perhaps it’s karma releasing from the Akashic Records. Perhaps it’s years of honest practice quietly reaching a mysterious tipping point. If the neuroscientists figure it out before I do, please let me know. I honestly have no idea… and I’m becoming strangely comfortable with that. No drinking. No smoking. No overeating. Now… no self-hatred? At this rate my inner critics may have to update their résumés.
One thing I do know is that these experiences cannot be forced. I’ve never bullied my way to a Richter 10. I couldn’t meditate hard enough, journal long enough, or white knuckle my way into one. All I seem able to do is keep showing up honestly, remain curious, practice consistently, and continue to hold the intention of removing whatever obscures my internal alignment. The transformation itself appears to come from the inside out, in its own mysterious timing. Looking back, I don’t think peace is something I’ve ever manufactured. It’s something I’ve uncovered. As the obstacles fall away, peace & alignment is simply what remains.
Perhaps that’s what the highest numbers on the Epiphany Richter Scale are really measuring. Not bigger insights, but the release of an old internal civil war. The management disappears. The effort disappears. The old code no longer runs. Then, almost without noticing, the questions themselves begin to change. Instead of asking, “How do I stop doing this?” I find myself asking, “Well… that’s gone. Now what is it like to live from here?”
That may be my favorite part of all. The earthquake isn’t the end of the story. It’s the trail marker telling me the landscape has changed. Now comes the wonderful work of wandering through unfamiliar terrain—not trying to recreate the earthquake, not trying to measure the next one, but simply learning the geography of a landscape that didn’t exist yesterday.