If you’re a Gen Xer or a Millennial, you’re probably familiar with the iconic TV show 90210. It even had a reboot, so unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve at least heard of this ’90s classic. Before I explain why Brandon Walsh showed up in one of my ceremonies, let me give a little context.
Earlier this year, I attended a week-long retreat in Costa Rica that included ceremonies with ayahuasca, a plant medicine indigenous Amazonian communities have used for centuries as part of their spiritual traditions. These ceremonies, typically led by experienced healers who have trained extensively in their cultural practices, create a container for deep introspection and healing. I’m sharing my personal experience, but it represents just one lens on a much older, richer tradition.
People often say that during an ayahuasca ceremony, you never know who or what you’ll meet. Some report vivid visions and encounters with beings as varied as ancestors, animals, cosmic energies, or archetypal figures. You might receive guidance from a jaguar, a grandmother spirit, or — apparently — a character from a teen drama.
Four years earlier, at the same retreat, I’d had powerful experiences — emotional releases, insights, and plenty of purging — but no dramatic “consult” with a specific figure. On my second trip, I found myself in the middle of a particularly uncomfortable ceremony: nauseous, restless, and desperate for guidance. I silently prayed for some kind of mentor — maybe a wise ancestor or spiritual guide — to show up and offer wisdom.
To my complete surprise, my “consult” was none other than Brandon Walsh from 90210.
Yes, that Brandon Walsh — the steady, moral, big-brother figure from my TV childhood. I didn’t grow up with an older brother, so somewhere along the way Brandon had become my internal template for one. In my mind, he was the guy who gave solid, grounded advice when things fell apart.
I suddenly remembered an episode I hadn’t thought of in years. Brenda, his sister, was going through a tough breakup and reached for a cigarette. Brandon told her, “If you can get through this, you can get through anything,” urging her to use that painful moment as a turning point to quit.
In the middle of my ceremony, feeling miserable and stuck, Brandon appeared in my mind’s eye and said those exact words to me: “If you can get through this, you can get through anything.” And the wild thing was — it landed. I realized there was nothing in my everyday life that felt harder than what I was enduring right then. If I could ride out the nausea, discomfort, and emotional intensity of that night, then I could certainly handle traffic, tantrums, and email inboxes.
That one line reframed everything. When I came home, I noticed I had a little more patience. I was slower to snap. Annoying situations didn’t get under my skin quite as quickly. Not because life got easier, but because my sense of what I could handle had expanded.
You don’t need plant medicine — or a surprise cameo from a ’90s TV character — to access that kind of wisdom. The next time you feel tempted to numb with wine, sugar, or scrolling, see if you can ride the wave instead. Remind yourself, “If I can get through this, I can get through anything.” It’s not about never needing help; it’s about proving to yourself how capable you really are.
Physical challenges can teach this too. Bikram yoga students say that if you can survive a 90-minute class at 105 degrees, the rest of your day feels manageable. Ice baths, long runs, difficult workouts — they all train your nervous system to stay steady under stress. That resilience translates into the rest of life.
Have I mastered this yet? Absolutely not. But I’m less triggered than I was a year ago, and that counts as growth. Spirituality isn’t about perfection; it’s about becoming a little more grounded, a little more compassionate, and a little more able to stay present — especially when things get uncomfortable. And if you need to scream into a pillow or have an ugly cry in the shower along the way, go for it. That’s just part of being human.