In 2013, a California burrito changed my life.
For anyone not familiar, a California burrito is one of Southern California’s (many) iconic contributions to the cultural zeitgeist. Like Vans, Beverly Hills, 90210, or Paris Hilton. A California burrito is a carne asada burrito with French fries and avocado thrown in, and it is unbelievably good. The ingredients of this particular California burrito in 2013 weren’t necessarily what made it so impactful, however.
As I ate this particular burrito, I had been back in treatment for a few weeks.
Sandwiched between an economy box of ramen noodles and stacks of coffee tins in the back row of a white van, I had just come off of a particularly horrific run of homelessness and active addiction. Stealing a pack of M&Ms a day to eat, panhandling for cash, or attempting the usual nickel-and-dime junkie Walmart hustles to get the twenty dollars of heroin a day that I needed to survive. I had been to treatment once before—about a year prior to this—and like so many others that came before me, I had left said treatment center confident I would be able to shoot meth and heroin “like a lady.” Alas, I was wrong and was back… much, much worse for the wear.
Our treatment center had taken us on a “store run,” a trip to the Piggly Wiggly, Winn Dixie, Costco (insert cheap grocer here) to get weekly groceries and supplies for the houses. My house manager, Lewis, was driving the rehab van that was taking a few of us on this store run. Lewis had also been the house manager during my previous stint in treatment, and I adored him.
There’s a unique bond that can develop amongst people in treatment, a sense that though we may not have run together in active addiction, we all survived the same streets and traumatic experiences. As a result, there is a respect and understanding there that can lead to strong emotional bonds in relatively short periods of time. Lewis and I definitely had that. He’d been devastated when I had left the year before, and thrilled to see me return. He welcomed me into the house by chucking up my chin with his hand and looking at the picking wounds and scars that covered my face and neck. He smiled kindly and said, “You’re safe now. These will heal.”
After we did our grocery shopping and were headed back to the house, one of the other residents asked if we could go through the taco shop drive-thru. Not having any money, I panicked and looked up to find Lewis’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, already waiting. He winked. “I got you.” As we pulled up to the drive-thru window and everyone started clamoring to order, I completely froze.
I had forgotten how to order food.
I literally couldn’t remember how to order food. I had been living like an animal for so long, I had absolutely no idea what to say. What do I eat?? I don’t know! Again, Lewis read my silence correctly and ordered for me. A California burrito and a root beer.
After all the styrofoam containers had been passed amongst the van rows, over the boxes and around the seats to their waiting owners, I settled in to eat.
As I write this in 2026, I can still remember the first sip of that root beer and the first bite of that burrito. Holy shit. Obviously I had been eating since I had been in treatment for the two weeks, but this was different.
In an instant, I was absolutely overcome with gratitude for the burrito, the root beer, Lewis, the van, the box of ramen cutting into my arm—everything. Then something bigger happened. Another level of gratitude slowly started forming around the edges of my brain. It occurred to me that this was not the first California burrito I had ever eaten. So why was this one so good?? The answer blew my mind and changed my life. I realized that as a direct result of my addiction and subsequent homelessness, the same burrito I had had before was better. I looked up, and I was different. The music playing in the van was better. The parolee from Pelican Bay was even funnier. In that moment, the lens through which I viewed my addiction began to shift from shame to gratitude.
I had had a spiritual experience.
Years later, I learned of an emerging field in neuroscience termed “neurotheology.” Neurotheology is the science of spirituality. Dr. Andrew Newberg, a neuroscientist and the director of research at the Marcus Institute of Integrative Health, discovered that there is an actual measurable and visible neurological response in the brain during self-identified “spiritual experiences.”
Dr. Newberg’s research identified five elements that are consistently present across spiritual experiences: intensity, unity, clarity, surrender, and transformation. All five of those elements were present that day for me in the van.
- Intensity shows up in people’s spiritual experiences as a description of something as “the best,” or “the most.” Some people describe seeing the “brightest light,” or (in my case) eating “the best” burrito.
- Unity looks like a connection to surroundings and people that serve to take us out of ourselves. I felt connected in that moment to Lewis and the other people in the van, as well as the actual food and nourishment.
- Clarity looks like a realization or epiphany. For me, it was, “My God, my addiction actually served me by making me more grateful for ordinary things.”
- Surrender is letting go of preconceived ideas or judgments. I let go in that moment of a few things – one, that there was any way of changing what had already happened, and two, maybe it’s okay anyway.
- These result in a transformation of some sort.
Knowing these elements and being able to identify them allows us to create our own spiritual experience. I teach indoor cycling, and each class has the opportunity to be a spiritual experience. There is unity in the room through the movement and the music, intensity of energetic output, adrenaline and endorphins, clarity in seeing what we are capable of physically, surrendering to the difficulty and just embracing it, and ultimately, walking out transformed into someone who is so much stronger than before.
If you are looking to create your own spiritual experience, start with any previous identifiable spiritual experiences.
Pick out these elements in your past experience. Where can you craft these elements again and curate your own spiritual experiences? And if nothing else, try a California burrito. Throw in a root beer while you’re at it. Windowless white van optional.