But if wellness is a new religion, then snake oil will inevitably be part of it, and Robin Carhart-Harris believes that it is. Carhart-Harris, a neurobiologist at the University of California, San Francisco, was at Eudemonia to talk about his research on psychedelics, and I saw him participating in a panel with musicians (also regular users of hallucinogens) about the links between psychedelic experiences and creativity. “Religion is falling away and leaving a gap,” he said, and when he spoke of study subjects under the effects of psilocybin and MDMA he used words commonly used to describe religious experiences: “ecstasy,” “exorcism,” “connection.”
In a conversation later, Carhart-Harris spoke about the widespread “psychological anguish in the West,” and the possibility that the use of psychedelics specifically, but also of other wellness offerings, might reflect the human quest for the “special, divine, extra, transcendent” aspects of existence. Humans require this kind of connection and, in seeking it, they have always encountered gurus or messiahs who promise to deliver healing or miracles through what he called “medicine, or sacred medicine.” Carhart-Harris, a scientist, skeptic and reluctant atheist, draws a line between seeking spiritual experience and believing in the supernatural.
Azeezah Goodwin, who is 34, doesn’t want to live forever. Working as an attorney at Debevoise & Plimpton in New York, she felt, she said, “like she was on this yuppie modern treadmill.” She was going to Barry’s Bootcamp and Tracy Anderson for workouts because she felt it was the right thing to do and she would read The Economist, The Wall Street Journal and, “no offense, The New York Times” so that when she bumped into the senior partner in the office she could chat intelligently about the news of the day. On weekends she did what she calls “the brunch circuit”: “Just go get drunk at brunch and, yeah — repeat.” “I was just so miserable,” she said.
So, during the pandemic, she moved to Miami, a city she already loved, intent on prioritizing human connection. She had come to Eudemonia to do what she called “heart-led” networking — not finding the most powerful person in the room, but seeing who seemed cool. She has left law and is writing a Substack and creating a local Miami wellness bulletin. She is training to be a Pilates instructor and spends time outdoors. She reads less news, a surprising delight to her.
“It’s kind of nice to be a little more focused on things that are grounded,” she said. In the evenings, especially with other people, she’ll have a cocktail. Or she’ll have dessert. The point of a good life isn’t how many years you get, she told me. “I think this is so cheesy, but it’s kind of like ‘Rent.’ How do you measure a life? And it’s really about love.”