”There’s this energy in you, like a freight train, it pushes forward no matter what. It’s all about results, achieving, getting there, being the best and doing it right. You have brought this energy into everything you do, even into your so called free time, and it needs to stop. It will break you
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I got a flattering request a few months back. Unpaid, but still, an exiting project. A lot of heart and a small budget. Do you want to join? Yes, I said, without much hesitation, and started writing, testing and recording. When I delivered my part of the deal it still felt fun and playful.
I have a bunch of drafts on my desktop right now – blog posts, stories, books, workshop plans, poster scetches and so on – and another hundred or so in a Dropbox folder. Ideas come easily to me, infinitetly faster than I can act upon them. That’s always the case, but right now almost
There will always be periods of too much to do, when everything seems to happen at once and you feel hopelessly stressed out and overwhelmed. And when we’re in the middle of such a period, helpful advice often just adds to the load. I know. But we’ll keep it simple. A few tiny steps
There’s a story about Gandhi I like. Gandhi’s advisors told him they had a very busy day ahead, with twice as much to do as usual, so could he skip morning meditation and get to work? Gandhi replied that if they had twice as much work to do, they’d better meditate for twice as
Nothing is constant. Definitely not your energy levels. Let it drop, it will rise again and you with it. Light and darkness comes and goes, during the day and during the year. Our world is cyclic, growth and decline are equally necessary. Don’t confuse rest for stagnation. It is potent, it’s moulting blackness deeply
I have a year of tough priorities ahead. So much to accomplish and very little time (mainly because of a sweet and chubby little one). It will be a continous lesson in saying no. Family and work, there won’t be room for much else. That’s ok. I don’t believe much in balance anymore. I
My mother baked all our bread when I was a child. She made cookies that were small works of art, and twirled cinnamon buns like nobody’s business. She embroidered Christmas tablecloths, made pancakes for all the kids in the neighbourhood and served homemade strawberry jam to go with it. She sewed the pants we wore
- In search of a simpler life
- Why I ditched a beautiful career
- To Love’s defence – A letter to my racist friend
- Why I write about sexual violence on a blog about creativity
- If you need permission to rest
- Confessions of an unprofitable human being
- How to burn a little brighter. Or, the end of a favourite myth
- The power of words – a letter from the Psych Ward