I got a flattering request a few months back. An unpaid but 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. Then
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. Just a list of
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 them drop, they 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
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
My second business launch didn’t go according to plans. And I had a lot planned. Good stuff: sessions, workshops, webshop, it was all coming together that February a few years ago. Premises booked, schedules set, posters illustrated, clients on a waiting list. After more than six months of preparation, writing and hustling, it was
An autumn day, twenty five years ago, I sat watching the old poplars outside my window sway in the wind. I had just turned eighteen. The poplars grew outside the hospital building, outside the psychiatric ward where I was locked up, against my will, because I was considered a danger to myself. A failed
