Ich habe das Gefühl, dass viele keinen echten Grund für ihre schlechte Laune brauchen. Dass sie es selbst nicht mehr merken, weil es schon längst Normalität ist. Ich verstehe, dass man nicht jeden Tag super gelaunt sein kann und darum geht es auch gar nicht. Aber wenn wir nicht aufpassen, kann schlechte Laune schnell zur unbewussten Standardeinstellung werden.

Wir können unsere Perspektive trainieren.

Es gibt meiner Meinung nach einen himmelweiten Unterschied zwischen einem gesunden Problembewusstsein und einer völlig unverhältnismäßigen Problemobsession. Wenn in jedem Satz eine Beschwerde mitschwingt und kein positiver Gedanke mehr für sich stehen darf, empfinde ich das als unglaublich anstrengend. Warum glauben wir eigentlich, alles Schöne immer relativieren zu müssen? Ist es nicht auch mal okay, etwas Gutes einfach gut sein zu lassen?

Nur, weil es uns so beigebracht wurde, heißt das nicht, dass wir etwas nicht hinterfragen dürfen.

Wir dürfen immer die Frage in den Raum stellen, ob uns eine bestimmte Denkweise langfristig weiterbringt oder ob sie in ihrer aktuellen Form vielleicht eher destruktiv wirkt. Wir müssen nicht um jeden Preis alles aushalten. Wir dürfen auch mal uns selbst zuliebe entscheiden. Das mag sich im ersten Moment falsch anfühlen, aber nicht, weil es wirklich falsch ist: es ist einfach nur ungewohnt.

Und auch auf die Gefahr hin, deshalb als egoistisch abgestempelt zu werden: ich werde mich nicht einreihen in die lange Serie an Frauen, die sich Zeit ihres Lebens immer selbst hintenangestellt haben.

Ich will keine Wartende sein.

Nicht mein Leben lang auf den vermeintlich richtigen Augenblick herbeisehnen, um endlich das zu tun, was sich richtig anfühlt. Nicht immer erst eine andere Person fragen, ob es okay ist. Meinen Wert sehen ohne künstliche Bestätigung von außen.

Ich will keine Wartende sein. So lange, bis alle passenden Momente unwiederbringlich verstrichen sind. Bis ich auch den letzten möglichen Wendepunkt verpasst habe und mich mit meiner Ist-Situation abfinden muss, weil ich aus Angst oder Passivität jede andere Wahlmöglichkeit ausgeschlagen habe.

Ich will keine Zeit damit verschwenden, auf etwas zu warten, was erst passieren wird, wenn ich aktiv danach handle. Ich bin davon überzeugt, dass sich der für uns richtige Weg erst beim Gehen zeigt, nicht vorher. Ich weiß, wir wägen gern ab, wir wollen wohlüberlegt Entscheidungen treffen und alle Konsequenzen möglichst vorher im Kopf miteinander abgleichen. Irgendwann müssen wir aber selbst einen Punkt setzen. Es gäbe immer nochmal eine zusätzliche Gedankenschleife, die wir potenziell durchlaufen könnten. Aber ab einem gewissen Punkt wissen wir eigentlich, was wir wollen: und ab da ist jedes weitere Hinterfragen eigentlich nur ein Hintertürchen, mit dem wir unser Nicht-Handeln zu rechtfertigen versuchen.

Wir denken, wir sind produktiv, aber eigentlich drücken wir uns nur vor dem nächsten Schritt.

Unbequem sind neue Wege vermutlich immer ein bisschen, aber ich bin davon überzeugt, dass sich dieser Mut langfristig auszahlt.

Wenn wir etwas verändern wollen, müssen wir das nicht ruckartig, per 180 Grad Wendung oder von heute auf morgen. Es reicht, langsam anzufangen, aber konsequent zu bleiben. Nicht aufzugeben, wenn’s mal nicht so klappt. Es so oft wieder zu versuchen, bis es spürbar leichter wird. Nicht in Schwarzseherei abzukippen und am Blick für das Gute festzuhalten: besonders dann, wenn es schwerfällt.

Gegen die Bitterkeit

Ich habe glücklicherweise einige tolle Menschen in meinem nahen Umfeld, mit denen ich mich regelmäßig darüber austausche, wie es ist, als Frau sein eigenes Wohlbefinden zu zentrieren; in einer Welt, die einem genau das ständig streitig macht. Nicht jede Entscheidung vom Umfeld abhängig zu machen, sondern Dinge zu priorisieren, einfach, weil man sie selbst als wichtig empfindet. Wenn ich jemandem dazu einen Tipp geben müsste, wäre es dieser hier: lass los, wer dich runterzieht und bewahr dir die Freundin, die mit dir beim Brunch das Sektglas gegen die Bitterkeit erhebt.

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Als ich denselben Menschen schließlich erzählte, dass ich mich trennen werde, weil es für mich einfach nicht passt, waren die Reaktionen sehr spannend.

“Den perfekten Mann gibt es nicht, schlag dir das aus dem Kopf.”

“Du hast zu hohe Erwartungen.”

“Man muss schon Kompromisse machen können.”

Dabei hat nichts davon je eine Rolle gespielt. Man kann mir sicher genug vorwerfen (ich meine, ich bin ein Mensch), aber ich erwarte keine Perfektion - weder von anderen noch von mir. Im Gegenteil. Ich liebe es, wenn Menschen ihre Menschlichkeit annehmen und in Stärke verwandeln. Wenn sie ihre eigene Fehlbarkeit zur Verbündeten machen, statt die Angst vor dem Scheitern dominieren zu lassen. Was gibt es Inspirierenderes?

Die Beziehung hat es letztlich nicht über die Anfangsphase hinausgeschafft, aber ich habe in diesen Monaten mehr über die Haltung von Menschen zum Singlesein gelernt, als mir lieb ist.

In vielen von uns steckt nach wie vor die Überzeugung, ein Mensch ohne feste Partnerschaft sei in sich unvollständig.

Noch dazu sind wir wahnsinnig neugierig. Wir wollen den “Tea” am liebsten brühwarm serviert bekommen und wenn das nicht passiert, versuchen wir, ihn selbst zu organisieren. Ich war ehrlicherweise schon etwas erstaunt darüber, welche Ausmaße das annehmen kann.

Menschen, die sich plötzlich wieder melden, sobald sich etwas in deinem Privatleben verändert. Wenn der “Tea-Durst” die offensichtliche Hauptmotivation für die Wiederaufnahme des Kontakts darstellt und man spürt, dass das Gegenüber eigentlich lieber “Wen datest du?” statt “Wie geht’s dir?” fragen würde.

Ich will nicht auf meinen Beziehungsstatus reduziert werden.

Es triggert eine meiner größten Ängste: nicht mehr als eigenständiger Mensch wahrgenommen zu werden. Weder möchte ich zu 100% von anderen abhängig sein noch möchte ich, dass jemand seine komplette Identität von mir abhängig macht. Warum sind so viele davon überzeugt, dass Beziehung nur dann richtig gelebt wird, wenn man sich 24/7 textet und nichts mehr ohne den anderen unternimmt? Ich wurde bereits in der frühen Anfangsphase meiner Beziehung gefragt, warum ich denn ohne ihn abends wohin gehe. Vielleicht deshalb, weil eine gesunde Dynamik in meinen Augen bedeutet, dass ich trotzdem noch ich bleiben darf.

Ich mache gern Kompromisse, vorausgesetzt, die Basis stimmt.

Respektlosigkeit nicht zu tolerieren ist keine fehlende Kompromissbereitschaft meinerseits, es ist eine Grenze, die ich setze. Und über Grenzen diskutiere ich nicht mehr.

Wenn das zu hohe Erwartungen sind, dann bin ich ehrlich okay damit.

Als ich meiner Oma von der Trennung erzählte, sagte sie: “Du hattest das Gefühl, in einem Käfig gefangen zu sein. Dabei brauchst du wahrscheinlich jemanden, der die Tür immer offen lässt.”
Ich sah sie an und der Gedanke, der mir als Antwort kam, brachte sofort Klarheit.

Nein, Oma. Da dürfte gar kein Käfig stehen.

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This insight was of course inspired by some of my favourite people. Spending more time surrounded by friends who seem to be quite balanced and less in survival mode mirrored how much I’m still operating in fight or flight, while neither is required from me anymore. This is the tricky part for a cautious mind – you just can’t seem to find the off switch.

Getting there fast shouldn’t be the only priority.

For the longest time, I was boldly convinced that it had only been the last couple years where ‘a lot of unfortunate things piled up’, but lately I’ve realised that I had gaslit myself a little into believing that. It’s not necessarily just about the last couple years, but more like myself and my personal way of handling things. I filled my pace, my actions, and my decisions with an incredible intensity I repeatedly mistook as drive. A well-intended attempt to achieve my goals, rooted in my own misunderstanding of what being successful has to look like. I see it now.

I’ve need-for-speeded myself through pretty much every stage of life so far, always fearing that I might fall short behind expectations or miss out on a once in a lifetime opportunity. While I thought I was thriving, I was just using my personally developed skillset to exceed in survival mode. I know I’m not alone here, many of us have what I lovingly refer to as restless soul syndrome (don’t worry, it’s not a clinical diagnosis, you can google it). What I mean by it is this tendency to stay in a constant state of inner restlessness, with a chronic sense of urgency. What we don’t always realise early enough, though, is that this way of driving most likely has us end up in a crash against a tree.

Speed alone doesn’t determine how efficient our drive is. We need some proper sense of direction, too. We can’t blow up our whole gas reserve in the first half of the journey when we know the next gas station is double the distance away. And driving as fast as we can still won’t turn a car into a plane.

And now?

I want to learn how to drive slower from now on (not just due to the insane Gas prices, thank you for that). A speeding mind costs you long-term, and there are prices I’m not willing to pay, money unrelated. I want to cultivate an inner sense of stability, wellbeing, and mental clarity, which I think is more than ever important, given the times we’re living in. I want to leave the survival mode my nervous system has perfected over the years and prioritise active stress relief over senseless scrolling. I want to build a new drive, fuelled with intention instead of pressure.

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“I hate men” is a phrase frequently heard. What people usually mean by it: “I hate patriarchal patterns.” That is a fundamental difference. And whilst reflecting on my own prior usage of the sentence, I automatically had to think about the men in my life who’ve been the sweetest counterexamples.

One of my closest friends is a man. A wonderful one. We’ve been in each other’s lives since we were ten and have since become inseparable. After I moved away, we established the routine of calling the other every week, usually on Sundays. More often than not, these calls turn into hours-long conversations, and we only break that habit when something urgent comes up. I trust him unconditionally.

Besides him, one of the few other people who can read me like a book is my grandpa. He is a great listener and he never fails to sense when something is up. And he has ever since cultivated a particularly impressive understanding of unconscious patriarchal patterns, due to a natural feeling for power imbalances. On the days when my grandma makes potato salad for lunch, he leaves some of it just in case I stop by. He knows how much I love potato salad and that it’s one of the few things I never cook for myself because it just doesn’t make a lot of sense when you’re living alone. This tiny anecdote captures the essence of his character.

When a woman says that she hates men, she refers to the type a good man would agree with her on.

The personified embodiment of every structural power problem that we have. And still: the statement itself serves one bitter aftertaste.

It’s incredibly difficult to address topics like these because it can quickly be dismissed as “pick-me”, especially when you’re a woman writing about men in a “favourable” way. But first, differentiation isn’t a one-way street, and second, this isn’t a question of whose side to take. It’s a sincere attempt to leave this whole angle behind.

Whenever we state something so drastic and generalised, we automatically neglect important parts of the reality. And this can become potentially problematic when it ignores the effort of those who are already part of the solution (or actively trying to be). It’s quite typical for the way we publicly tend to transport information, because polarisation draws more attention than differentiation. But the question is whether that’s actually productive in our aim to build genuine eye level in our society.

We can address important structural issues and point out problematic dynamics while maintaining a fair and differentiated perspective. One thing doesn’t have to cancel out the other.

In collective change processes, it’s important to name the underlying root cause of the problem.

Otherwise, we’ll just repeat the cycle. Generalisation erases parts of reality, and personally speaking, I refuse to forget. The one who walks you home at night simply because he wants you to be safe. The guy friend who immediately steps in when some other man doesn’t seem to understand what “I’m not interested” means.

The men who get why the three words centred in this text would slip out of a woman’s mouth, and not take it personally – because they see where she comes from. They don’t try to discuss patriarchal patterns away, they acknowledge them – well aware that while they weren’t the ones who established them, they’re now in the position to make a change.

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I’ll never forget the moment I was told that she didn‘t survive the surgery that should have given her more years to spend with us. It was such a surreal experience, first making you slightly dissociate, followed by a complete free fall.

Losing her was my first experience with major grief. I think that most of us know how it feels like to live with a void that can’t be filled, and that in itself is an ongoing journey.

How she lived

She had her own small sewing business, a one-woman-show fueled by passion and the will to make an impact. She was a creative, she designed clothes for plus size women during a time when it was much more difficult to find them than it is today (and it’s still a challenge).

My aunt seemed completely and totally unbothered if anybody, even a family member, criticised her without being asked. At the end of the day, the only opinion that really mattered to her was her own. She was fiercefully outspoken, which tended to cause discomfort in some of our family members - but she never, ever compromised on who she was just for the sake of fitting better into someone else’s preferred version of her.

The self worth my aunt had cultivated was a result of decades worth of experience - with life, with people, with relationships. She introduced setting boundaries before it became a thing we’re socially hyper-aware of, which of course stirred things up in our family. She was leading by example, not just talking about it. She was willing to risk a dispute before shrinking herself, and this might be the most valuable lesson I got to learn from her.

How she loved

My uncle and my aunt had the kind of love I really look up to. They were so loving with each other, supportive and respectful, surely with their differences but never going against each other. Always a team. They went on many amazing trips around the world, they shared hobbies and friends and yet each one of them stayed their own person. They reshaped my view of love in a healthy way and I’ll always be grateful for that. They showed me what’s possible if you find the right person who’s willing to do it with you. And that, at the end of the day, this time spent together can be worth decades more than you effectively might have had.

My aunt was one of a kind.

She was the one who noticed me under layers of beliefs and traits that were pressed on by outer circumstances rather than being intrinsically true. And no matter how short or how long of a time we get to spend with them; meeting someone like that is truly a gift that can enrich the course of our whole life.

That’s the reason why I’m telling you this story today - surely the loss of that particular person is weighing heavily. With time, though, it transforms. Into more and more daily life moments where we find ourselves embodying exactly what they taught us.

What did I get to learn from this?

Losing somebody who meant the world to us will change our world. But in ways that leave more impact than we think - not only the void.

We get to honour the way they inspired us by intentionally integrating their wisdom into our daily decisions. We miss them and we feel the gratitude. Everything all at once.

Thank you for seeing me - you did it first, you did it best.

Carry-On Question:

What piece of wisdom are you grateful to have learned from somebody lately?

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Breaking self-sabotaging patterns seems to be one of the most complex and difficult things to achieve – at least it often gets painted that way. But what if we stop following the belief that change is nothing but hard and painful?

What if, in reality, it gives back so much more than it takes?

Why we tend to stay stuck

We’re so deeply wired to assume that change is almost impossible to achieve that often, we’re not even questioning it anymore. We’ve just resigned to the idea that we’ll most likely stay stuck in the ever-same patterns, without any chance to escape. But why is that?

Let’s start off with a truth that can’t be ignored. Whether we successfully change our course isn’t exclusively up to us and our willpower. Our position in society makes up the stats, together with a number of other factors. The more privilege we enjoy, and the less structural hurdles we face, the better the chances. Against some ongoing philosophy, the reality is that not everybody can achieve anything. Besides material aspects, there are limits varying from country to country – in rights, in mentality, in freedom. This is something important to consider.

That mentioned, what I mean to address here leans more towards our inner patterns determining how we show up on a daily basis. What we think about others, and ourselves. The way we regulate our emotions, and the expectations that guide us through. All that is deeply wired within, a product of the conclusions we’ve drawn from past experiences – and not subject to our awareness unless we actively begin to self-observe.

And no matter how unsatisfied we might feel, staying within the pattern offers a sense of comfort we don’t immediately find when taking the first steps out of it. Outside, our alarm bells start ringing and everything screams at us to turn around and run – even though we might prefer staying out in the sun instead of hiding in the darkness.

We need to prepare ourselves for that initial discomfort – and face it. It won’t stay, I promise.

Finding the exit

The exit is there. Always. Seeing it is the task. Noticing when we’re about to repeat the same self-destructive decision and using that momentum to actively choose otherwise.

Our patterns aren’t necessarily our fault – but nevertheless, they are our responsibility. The way we navigate them is a matter of choice. We might be shaped by yesterday’s experiences, but we determine the impact we allow them to have on our today.

Breaking a pattern means being brutally honest with ourselves. We’re suddenly eye to eye with the stories and actions that brought us here, and that view is what many of us shy away from – simply because we don’t want to be confronted with the things that hurt us. And well, it makes sense. One tiny weakness in that strategy: avoiding the tough questions won’t make them disappear. They can be tackled one by one, bit by bit. And when we decide to approach them, let’s not forget to do it with self-compassion and patience. It doesn’t need to be solved tomorrow, give it time.

What is there to gain?

If you’ve come this far reading, you might wonder when the “it gives back more than it takes”-part starts: don’t worry, right here.

Catching the exit and daring to step out of a familiar pattern is probably the bravest thing we’ll ever do. And it comes with the biggest reward. We’re no longer in autopilot mode, which allows us to move along with a crystal-clear intention and a very own set of beliefs and priorities. It won’t feel like freedom at first, but don’t confuse growing pains with a stop sign. Keep going.

Taking the leap

And gradually, we’ll be able to step out more and more often – until, one day, a pattern that once held us tight will be nothing more than a memory. A way we used to do things, without any real impact on how we navigate our life today. We’ll have found and built our own definition of functional, healthy, and happy – all because of one single decision we made the moment we realised that this is what we wanted.

We will notice this individual feeling of readiness – when the intrinsic desire to evolve has become bigger than the sense of comfort we find in a familiar pattern, no matter how destructive it might be. All that’s left to do is gathering enough self-trust to embark on a journey that leads us away from what we know; and fueling that trust on a regular basis.

Carry-On Question

What’s the pattern you’re currently busy finding the exit for? And what is it you would wish for instead?

This week, take a moment to sit with these questions - and kindly observe what comes up.

Then, take a moment to visualise how the situation will look like once you’ve left the pattern behind. What has changed? What is different in the way you think and act? How do you feel now?

When you come back, bring the following thought along into the new week:

How does that vision of yourself differ from the person you are today - and what is one decision that will bring you closer to that goal?

Today’s edition was inspired by a beautiful conversation with Ali Papa from Vistas of Hope. Thank you for kindly challenging me to these thoughts.

Find more articles and essay’s on the Wholeheartedly website, or ➡️ click here

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The stories of Hannah

“Now we’re the old ones” is what Hannah said at one point during lunch. Hannah is over 80, quite tall, and a true force of nature. She’s been friends with my grandparents for many decades, and whenever I manage to join their Thursday lunch, I’m especially excited to see her. Hannah is so funny, feisty, outspoken, and makes herself unmistakably clear when it comes to her priorities. Despite medical advice, she refuses to give up on eating sweets with the words: “I’m 80, before these doctors tell me anything, they should try and live up to that first. They’re not gonna take away my chocolate.” I love her for that.

This said Thursday lunch takes place every other week, always in the same traditional German restaurant. The group consists of five seniors: my grandparents, Hannah, her sister-in-law, one other friend; and on some occasions, me. In earlier days, they used to go bowling together, but time has led them to cut that part. Now it’s simply about going out to eat, exchanging news, recalling moments of the past, and enjoying each other’s company.

Hannah then went on to tell me a bunch of hilarious stories from their hiking and travel days. And what can I say, imagining this woman repeatedly slipping in the mud while shouting “I’m not a pig that you lead around to roll!” at her hiking companions almost took me out; I was crying laughing.

Spending time with those five really makes you understand the value of building friendships over such a long time and collecting decades’ worth of shared memories. While you’re in the midst of building your life, there’s a chance that this can slip. But moments like these bring back the clarity.

My grandpa tells me that a lot, too. When I came back from Portugal with my first tattoo, he said: “This is something you’ll look at when you’re my age, and you’re going to remember this amazing time you had when you were young.” I’m sure he’s right.

How about not wasting our chances?

I’m all about experiencing and adventuring. Since having major surgery at the beginning of last year, my whole thinking has taken a hard turn. I’m barely afraid of anything anymore, actually, missing out on living life to the full is what scares me the most these days. That whole rocky health journey put many things into perspective, and the biggest gift that came out of it besides feeling great now is that it has become impossible to take anything for granted.

But even if it wasn’t for all of that – listening to five friends in their late seventies and early eighties talking about their long and beautiful history together would have shifted the perspective all by itself. It’s so easy to believe that there’s plenty of time left for everything, and while that’s ideally partly true, it also isn’t. At least not if every day ends with the thought: ah screw it, I’ll do it tomorrow. That’s how chances fade, slow and subtle.

That being said, it doesn’t mean we have to fall into an insane hustle mentality as a consequence. Taking one small daily step in the direction we want to go already sets us on the path that fits us best. Preventing ourselves from freezing in a situation we’d rather not stay in through regular check-ins. How does it feel here? Are we good?

And if we aren’t, what is it that’s missing?

One day, baby, well be old, too.

One day, baby, we’ll be old and think about the stories that we could have told.

That’s a very popular line from the Reckoning Song by Asaf Avidan and The Mojos. What if, one day, we’ll manage to think about the stories that actually happened? Because we were present in the right moments – emotionally, physically – and brave enough to chase what we desired? Aware enough to realise whenever something good came our way, worth holding on to? Wouldn’t that be a beautiful goal to set for ourselves?

One day, baby, we’ll be old, and we’ll be the ones sitting around a table with our favourite people, sharing stories of the past. And now’s the time of collecting them.

Carry-On Question

What’s one story you would love to tell when your time of Thursday lunches comes around? Has it already taken place, or is it about to happen, still?

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Let’s have a gentle look.

The big ol’ question of ‘How do I build my dream life?’ seems massive if you look at it as a whole. Like something unachievable and abstract, somewhat distant and surreal. ‘Where the hell do I even start?’ is the thought that likes to follow up right after. No wonder, since we’re facing an incredibly overwhelming objective, one making it easy to get lost between paths and possibilities. But what if, all this time, we’ve simply been asking the wrong question? Maybe we ought to start here instead:

What is it that makes me genuinely happy? When do I feel like I’m in the right place at the right time?

A thought experiment

Let’s do a thought experiment. Imagine you’re sitting at a table. In front of you, there are many colourful puzzle pieces coming in all shapes and sizes. Nothing is predefined and it’s fully up to you which ones you want to pick and put together to form the puzzle. Imagine the pieces visually represent all the things that bring joy into your daily life. What do you see?

Pawprints on sand. Your favourite coffee mug. A hilarious moment captured while making memories with your friends. Snippets and postcards of your happy places. The view from the top of the hill on your favourite evening walk. Your love story on film. And all the beautiful moments you’re yet about to experience.

When we see the images in front of our inner eye, we also hear the moment. We smell it. We feel it. And we remember – not only who we are, but what makes us, us.

Isn’t that kind of answering it already? So often, what we’re desperately seeking is in immediate reach; all we have to do is notice.

Sorting our puzzle pieces

In Wholeheartedly’s second edition, we talked about the importance of creating the conditions that will then allow us to go with the flow. Being in the right place surrounded by the things we love, and realising it, is exactly that.

For most of us, there are also parts we would rather see erased from the puzzle of our life, but those are equally as important as the ones we’re able to choose. They hold substance, the connecting elements to our story. Turning points. Wake-up calls. Without them, there wouldn’t be a puzzle; just pieces.

And there can be many. When you spend a lot of time in differing surroundings such as navigating life between countries and meeting people with all kinds of lifestyles, you start grasping how many. These encounters enrich the way we look at our own puzzle, by opening up new perspectives and providing ideas on what else we might want to integrate. Four years ago, I spent a week in Liguria, Italy, with a group of amazing women, bonding over our shared passion for self-discovery. Conny was one of them. Our age difference of twenty years plus didn’t do any harm to the fact that we somehow just clicked. She got me, and I got her - it was great. The last day of our seminar, she went up to her room and came back with a yellow candle. When she handed it to me, she said: “You know what, I wasn’t sure why I even packed this coming here, but I had a feeling I should. And now that I met you, I understand.” The candle had a label with a single word on it: Vertrauen. The German word for trust.

Back then, I struggled finding it – in life, in my abilities to follow my dreams and in the pieces to fit together in the end. The candle still serves as my reminder to keep trusting, especially at the beginning, when it’s not yet clear how things will go. It’s become one of the connecting elements in my puzzle.

How can we go on from here?

Putting the pieces together is quite the adventure. First, we need to find the courage to start. Then, we’re busy identifying the single shapes and sizes, sorting through ways to connect. It’s tempting to overanalyse the process, and we’ll ask ourselves more than once how on earth they can all fit into the same picture despite their contradictions – but against our fears, they’ll end up complementing each other wonderfully.

Always complete, but never quite finished. Raising questions on one end and surprising with answers on the other. There is always room for expansion, the table is big enough. Love has no limits.

Carry-On Question:

When you think about the pieces to your puzzle – what do they show? Which moments and places? Who is part of it?

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Meeting Logan and Jean

Two people who’ve managed to do that beautifully are my dear friends Logan and Jean. They spent two decades living and raising their daughter in Singapore before moving to Portugal, where we met. Before building a life together, each of them had embarked on their unique journey filled with travel, adventure and self-discovery. Prior to meeting them, I’d never had the pleasure of getting to know a couple as unbound from location as Logan and Jean. They truly embody the “home is where you are” - saying. I love the way they’re giving each other stability while navigating the expat life, and how their relationship is their strongest sense of security. They didn’t bother establishing it on the outside – through things like buying a house and staying in it for as long as they both shall live. You can tell that they’re an incredible team in the way they effortlessly move through their day side by side, and I remember catching myself thinking more than once while spending time with them: “This is what I hope to find one day, too”.

Watching them navigate their shared life with all that grace makes me forget sometimes that they too had their passages of uncertainty leading up to where they are now. The first year of their relationship, for example, was long-distance due to Jean travelling the world, leaving them with challenges such as keeping contact (remember: pre-digital times!). Despite leading different lifestyles at that time, they managed to grow individually and together, by prioritising themselves while nourishing their connection. Through Logan and Jean, I learned that even the unpredictable part of the journey can be incredibly joyful – if we allow it to be.

So how can we cultivate optimism in times of uncertainty?

When we’re facing changes on all ends, and the “Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans” is really kicking in?

With care comes the worry. We can only fear to lose something if it’s valuable to us. Diving headfirst into uncertainty is scary, because how do we make sure we keep close what’s sacred to us? A big first step towards making peace with uncertainty is accepting that even steadiness is changing its shape and appearance. We can’t force things to stay the same and why should we? After all, there’s a lot of possibility in the uncertain, waiting to unfold its potential. We can keep close what’s sacred by remembering why it’s sacred to us. By honouring its essence, its uniqueness. And embracing it in all the ways we can.

I’m learning to accept fear as a beautiful reminder of how lucky I am. How fortunate am I that I have that much to lose? And why on earth do I waste so much time worrying about losing it instead of embracing it while it’s right beside me?

Finding direction

We’re ideally moving through life with a sense of direction, but direction can come from various places and perspectives. Some of us need more structure to thrive, and some of us need the freedom. Both are equally valid and valuable. But no matter what type we’re individually leaning more towards, we got to leave some space for the unpredictable, or we might deprive ourselves of some extraordinary experiences.

There’s hardly anything more genuine than someone’s honest and heartfelt “I don’t know”. “I can’t tell what’s going to happen next, or how this will evolve moving forward. But I know I’ll see when it’s time.” Not needing the answer before it’s due. No unnecessary pressuring or forced time-lapse. Just moving along with the process, not working against it. Accepting the truth that there is only ever that much we can contribute, and the rest is patience.

The surfing analogy

In surfing, one of the first things you are taught is not fighting against the wave holding you under water when you’re experiencing a wipe-out; because it’s pointless. The less you fight, the faster you’ll come to the surface. It’s one of these analogies I’ve noticed to rediscover outside the ocean. Fighting against life’s unpredictability is equally pointless. Whether we want to or not, we will be confronted with plot twists or all other kinds of unforeseeable circumstances. It’s a perfectly normal part of the human experience, and yet we seem to struggle with finding peace within that truth. We can have all the backup plans in the world, but more often than not, the reality we’ll be confronted with at the end will ask us to build a whole new strategy anyway.

Letting go of that urge to control every aspect of the future is unbelievably freeing. The switch from attempting the impossible to acknowledging that the only controllable stability is the one you create within yourself. Becoming your own compass, your own world map, if you will. And: against our initial belief, not knowing what will happen in advance is not a bad thing. By taking a step aside, we’re allowing life to exceed our expectations.

Carry-On Question

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My aunt was the embodiment of authenticity.

A real force of nature with a beautifully soft core she nourished and protected. She was fierce, strong, fearless, confident, funny, incredibly caring and brutally honest – a trait that gave quite a, let’s say, fiery contrast with my family’s more indirect communication culture. She never beat around the bush or backed down in a heated discussion, and she expressed herself with a firmness and clarity I never witnessed anywhere else coming from a woman growing up. In other words: she was unapologetically herself, and to this day, she’s inspired me to keep cultivating my own version in an equally steadfast manner. My aunt saw me long before I could, in times when I was lacking orientation, purpose, and trust. When I didn’t recognise myself in the mirror and felt utterly incapable of even remotely reaching a reality I could feel excited to wake up to again, she was there, holding space – with the unmistakable certainty that things would light up sooner than I think. Sometimes, all it takes to find a way out is someone lending you the confidence until you’ve built your own; a gift of immeasurable value we’re all capable of making, by the way.

My promise to her

The last time we saw each other before she unexpectedly passed away too many years ago, she made me promise her that I was not going to ever compromise on being myself while building my life. It took me a couple of years of gathering the courage to start acting accordingly, but that in itself is already part of the journey – the preparation. Rooted in the encouragement coming from those who believe in you before you do.

Authenticity is terrifying.

Turning our backs on people’s groundless judgement to be able to fully focus on our own voices is pretty much the exact opposite of what many of us are taught to do growing up. We’re so quick to confuse that act of self-protection with ignorance, but just as long until we realise that opinions from outside don’t equal the truth about what we can or cannot do – and yet, we love allowing them to determine the course of our whole life. Paradox, isn’t it?

Embarking on a path that feels authentic sometimes means abandoning one that would have been perceived as more fitting or accepting to our surroundings. We’re well aware that placing a no where people are used to hearing a yes from us might shake things up a bit, and sometimes, fearing those opinions can be paralysing. Taking the first step towards yourself needs courage, considering it’s unfamiliar to everyone involved. But after a while, and after gradually adding on to that first of many little steps that will follow, what has felt like unmapped green slowly turns into well-known territory.

Why’s that? As we move, the system is moving. If you start tipping one piece, maybe twisting it just a little bit further than usual, the whole system slowly shifts through that new vibration you introduced. Same goes for the other way round: if we choose to repeat a pattern, we collectively end up at the familiar outcome.

Thoughts to carry along

Authenticity is where meaning begins. Our unique perspectives and outlooks on life hold immeasurable value; it’s where the chances sleep, so to say. We hold the power to inspire and uplift each other by sharing the truth of what’s going on inside us. Authenticity leaves a lasting impression and an imprint on the hearts we touch. It’s the groundwork we lay to be able to build soul-felt connections. Finding a sense of wholeness in the inimitable combination of edges and soft core, of upbringing and present. Honouring that weave of compounds that make us who we are by starting to show up in our truest form – and trusting that wherever this leads us, it’s going to be good.

Carry-On Question

If you think about one small thing you’ve been burning to try, but been feeling held back in a way (maybe fearing what others might think, or being afraid of being a beginner, …) – what is it?

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When she approached me with her thick curls, glowing eyes and radiant smile on that Wednesday afternoon, I immediately felt my initial nervousness fade into nothing. Eva is the kind of person who just lights up every room she enters with her captivating energy. It was a rather unpleasant day when we met weatherwise, but her warm presence made me forget about the rain right away. Eva is a surfer, so of course we immediately bonded over our shared passion for riding waves. Many surfers view it as much more than a sport – they honour it as a way of life, and Eva does so, too. For that reason, our exchange proceeded to go very deep very fast, and we ended up talking all the way into the evening. It’s one of these conversations that just stick with you as you move on with life afterwards, with glimpses of it resurfacing in all possible kinds of situations. One piece of wisdom Eva shared with me that day has remained particularly present ever since.

Eva’s piece of wisdom

“I’m sure you’ve heard of that popular saying ‘to go with the flow’, right? What many people don’t know is that this isn’t the whole saying, because: to go with the flow, we need to create the conditions first.”

To go with the flow, we need to create the conditions first. This counts for everything we do. To me, it specifically translates to learning how to let go before being able to enjoy and live in the present. We can’t do that without first laying a solid base of trust, in life itself and in ourselves, too. Letting things flow naturally becomes possible once we start believing that no matter what life has in store moving forward – the good, the challenging, the unforeseeable – we’ll be able to handle it. Creating the conditions to thrive, one small step at a time.

Thriving despite limitations

We all embark on this journey from different starting points. People’s paths are bound to unchangeable circumstances. The decks handed out to us are not equally fair, and the question is how to make peace with that truth without letting it blur our vision. There is always room left to create, to act or to decide – and no matter how little, it matters whether we fill that space with what we can or choose leave it untouched. Creating the conditions to thrive means learning to co-exist with these very real limitations while relentlessly redefining what’s possible.

Smooth sailing? Not necessarily.

Before the flow, there is the turmoil. Building a new foundation often involves starting over and challenging the beliefs that have shaped our whole thinking up to that point. It’s a deep systemic change happening inside us, making it seem like we are losing ourselves in the process – because we do, in a way. We transform.

We ask ourselves: what do I need to feel aligned with myself and my surroundings? What is no longer serving me? And then, we start adjusting.

Small steps

Changes don’t need to be big to be effective. There is no point in pressuring ourselves into taking steps we are not ready for yet or rushing a process thinking that the faster we go, the better. The truth is: real growth takes time, patience and repetition. Occasional errors are a beautifully normal part of the journey. What matters is introducing change from a place of joy and excitement for what’s to come as a result – because the reality that awaits us on the other side is meeting us with exactly that energy.

How Eva has shaped my path forward

Creating the right conditions to go with the flow is what I’m passionately devoted to in the current phase of my life, and on many days, Eva’s words are to me what a lighthouse is to the ships still searching for their haven. And as we know, they all arrive in the end.

Carry-On Question:

What comes up when you think about the conditions you can see yourself thrive in?

This week, find the time to sit with that question for a moment. Maybe there is one small thing you can adjust right away?

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