I tell myself, "Enough is enough. No more Gene Keys today." I close the book, put it on the shelf, and walk away. Five minutes later, my nose is back in the book.
I have listened to or read a Gene Key daily for two and a half years. Every. Single. Day. And if I try to take a break, somehow, the book returns to me, flipping open as if to say, "Oh, you thought you were done? Think again."
A few weeks ago, I completed a six-month program to become a Guide with the Gene Keys. My love for this work is immense, and exploring it with my partner, Molly Lynch of Exquisite Being, makes it even more expansive. We record a podcast together every week, diving deep into a Gene Key. And let me tell you—these conversations are life-giving.
But sometimes, I ask myself Why I love this work so much?
Maybe it’s because this practice brings me peace in a world of chaos and uncertainty. Maybe it’s because it helps me feel more grounded and satisfied with who I am. Or maybe it’s because I’ve learned something profound: fear is safe.
Learning to Trust Fear
I used to see fear as the enemy—something to be avoided, fought, or ignored. But the Gene Keys have shown me a different way.
Take financial instability, for example. Like most people, I’ve had moments where my bank account balance made me want to break into a cold sweat. But then, I remembered a line from the 32nd Gene Key:
"Every time you feel yourself worrying about money, smile, take a breath, thank your ancestors, and relax. When I truly need it, it always comes."
The first time I read that, I thought, "Oh sure, that’s easy to say when you’re not staring at a checking account with barely enough to cover groceries." But then I tried it. I took a breath. I paused. And something shifted. The panic eased. And sure enough, the money came—not always in the way I expected, but it came.
The Gene Keys: My Reluctant, Unshakable Companion
At this point, I should probably start a support group:
"Hi, I’m Anna, and I can’t stop contemplating the Gene Keys."
But maybe that’s the beauty of it. Perhaps we don’t choose our most profound contemplations—they choose us. And when something keeps calling us back, there’s probably a reason.
So, for now, I’ll keep contemplating. I’ll keep opening the book, even when I think I won’t. In a world full of uncertainty, this practice reminds me of something simple but powerful:
There is something larger at work, and I am part of it.