We Within

I was attending a coaching retreat in Saratoga Springs (New York) when I heard the words, loud and clear. They weren't the words I expected, but the words I needed. I had told the agent at customs that the purpose of my visit was to attend this event which would help me create a business. “Can't you do that on your own?”, he asked with the seriousness that defines both cops and customs agents. Clearly not, agent , I thought. At least this time they didn't search me. And here I was, sitting among dozens of strangers, eyes closed, with a hand on my heart, asking the wisest part of me for guidance. I had a coaching certificate and was determined to start a coaching business, but the words that came to me pointed at a different path. The words were Speak and Write . Speak and write. Well, yes, coaches do speak and write, but at that moment I had the first hint that I didn't want to offer coaching sessions in the traditional sense. I wasn't surprised by the word write ;

In my previous post , I talked about the power of contentment and the beauty that can be found in the smallest things. This is the gift of mindfulness and spirituality, but we are not only spirit, just like we are not only body or mind. I was forced to remember this when something began stirring within me after months of quiet bliss enjoying the present moment. Slowly, my old coaching teachings started whispering in my head: You're not meeting all your needs. Yes, I have a Life Coaching certificate! (I'm also a Psychology drop-out, but that's a story for another day). Even though I haven't chosen the coaching path, everything I've learned over the years permeates the content I write and record. Today, I want to present to you a powerful teaching that comes from psychology: The Six Human Needs . The concept is simple: There are six needs all humans share: Certainty , variety , significance , connection , growth , and contribution . Everyone experiences them, but

It seems like yesterday that I turned 30. I celebrated that birthday alone, but I wasn't lonely. I took myself out for lunch after work and ordered a piece of cake. “It's my birthday”, I said, smiling at the woman who owned the small vegan café. She sang happy birthday as she brought that unforgettable mango cake. “I've cut you a big piece”. She was smiling too. I think back on that moment now that I'm slightly closer to the threshold of 40 than the threshold of 30. I remember how happy I was to start this decade. I've met many people in their late 20s who were horrified at the idea of turning 30, but I embraced that age feeling the shift that it sparked within me. My 20s were learning years, healing years. My 20s were full of mistakes and lessons. And even though I still make mistakes and hold similar fears, my third decade feels like a gift. In the last months, I've had a lot of time and mental space to ask myself why that is. As autumn progressed, I felt my

I often hear people complain that some animal lovers are "humanising animals". I agree to some extent. Some people don't let their dogs be dogs. They don't let them run and roll on the grass or socialise with other dogs, or they treat them like a human baby rather than a member of their own species with their own particular needs. In the case of wild animals , they assign the wrong meaning to their expressions, like when they think dolphins or monkeys are smiling (they don't smile like we do). But I've come to realise these people's definition of humanisation differs from mine most of the time. What they call humanising, I call treating   animals with the care and respect they deserve. And so they will get offended at the suggestion that members of other species have emotions as if emotions were exclusively human. They will get offended at the sight of a sick dog enjoying walks inside a pram as if being sick meant life is over for them. They will get offen

I saw him during one of my walks. I was going in one direction and, suddenly, for no reason at all, I changed course and there he was. Whether it was fate or pure chance, when he looked at me and meowed, I simply couldn't look away. He was in very bad condition. Too thin, covered in dirt, fleas and flea eggs; a thread of drool hanging from his mouth, which was missing quite a few teeth. He was extremely friendly and kept asking for cuddles. He had clearly been domesticated but everything indicated he had been on his own for a long time. I had to make a plan. The next day, I bought a cat carrier and canned food to try to catch him. All the neighbours in the area watched as I encouraged him to step inside the carrier with the help of some food. "Why are you trying to catch him?", a woman asked. "He's sick." "I know", I said. "That's why." "You want to cure him?" "I'm going to try." She thought he had a tumour an

I touch this new garment  — new in my hands but not really new, new some time ago in someone else's hands, someone I never knew, someone I'll never know. I touch this new, old garment and the fabric smiles at me. It wants to be worn. It's meant to dress someone instead of being dumped in a landfill or turned into ashes as the smoke rises to the sky. Yes, you're with me now. I carefully step into it, covering my skin, adjusting it in the right places. Its scent welcomes me. It's not the impersonal smell that new clothes are branded with at each store. It's the kind of smell that makes me think of soap and perfume and the person who wore this before me, the person who decided to give it up for someone else to wear. It looks brand new but it still has her essence. I feel the history of it: the body it dressed before me, the emotions it sustained as it held that body, the places it went to, the things it saw. I start to wonder. Did it travel? Was it surrounded by f

I was seventeen when I saw one of my favourite post-rock bands live for the first time. Before the concert, I had only listened to one of their albums but it was an album I played over and over, immersed in a trance, almost possessed by it. I remember walking around the apartment with headphones on, melting with the walls as the sounds turned my body into something fluid, something no longer finite, something that became one with everything around me. I was ravenous for this music, feeding off it day and night. I used to call these obsessive episodes "Godspeed Fever", for the name of the band was Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Not everyone's cup of tea, but I was lucky to share this passion with my brother. Our seats were high in the beautiful theatre. The band was far but we could see everything from there: them, their instruments, the screen that played mesmerising images, the rest of the audience... and the magic that unfolded like waves rolling over each of us. Music