Vienda Maria

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Category: travel

  • 8 is my lucky number

    the death of an 8-year-long lesson

    JUN 23, 2026

    This week I was planning to write about how the goal is not a life without friction, that life has edges, that we get to choose which ones we’re happy to run up against — raising children, braving the elements of the natural world, etc — after climbing the tallest mountain in Bali, an active volcano, last weekend. Which was so hard, particularly when an unprecedented1 wind appeared, threatening to tear our tiny human bodies off the summit and fling us unceremoniously into the sky.

    I started writing it at the start of last week when all the details were still fresh in my mind: the smell of wildflowers on the path, the golden light of the afternoon sun dappling the leaves as we hiked up above the clouds, the satisfying ache of my thighs from the steep climb, the tears that sprang from my eyes when I thought I was going to die. I’m still going to write about it because I think it’s an interesting idea and something we all grapple with, consciously or not. But today I want to write about something else.

    I’m on a visa run2: Bali, Singapore, Bali. The man at check-in warns me there’s a 50% chance they won’t let me into either Singapore nor Bali because they don’t like it when people do it in a 12-hour round trip, but I’ve taken the risk because my neighbour said it would be fine and I trust her. Plus, I got my lucky seat number: 8A, which I’m taking as a good omen. (My birthday is 8/8, plus it’s my numerology number, so 8 really is my number.)

    The flight attendants with their perfectly manicured bobs and straight Asian hair are pushing a trolley, a wheel squeaking down the aisle, handing out tiny bottles of water and meals on trays to those who ordered them. Not me. I’m a strictly fasting-when-flying type, though I’ve found choosing the fruitarian option on long-haul works well too, because you just get a fruit platter, which aids digestion perfectly for when you land.

    I’m wearing a long backless organic cotton Christy Dawn summer dress procured from Poshmark when I lived in NYC last summer, no bra, my comfiest tencel Uniqlo panties with a cherry on them, an Italian soft brown cashmere knit sweater bought on Vinted when I was in Paris, and dark brown soft suede loafers found at a Parisian market for €20. An outfit assembled for the full array of today: a motorbike ride to the airport before 7 am, an international flight that is inevitably too cold, and six hours in an airport. Then the same again in reverse. I hope to be showered and in bed by 11 pm.

    Over the past three or four days, a new sweetness has blown into my day-to-day. This sweetness is difficult to describe because it’s so ordinary. The absence of a hardness running underneath my life, a subtle bracing against the world. A vigilance. Some part of me has always been scanning the horizon for the next disappointment, the next upheaval, the next thing that would require me to gather my strength and begin again. I am desperately clinging to this sweetness, hoping it won’t dissolve into nothingness.

    That’s what I want to write about. The end of a truly harsh 8-year cycle. The death of an 8-year-long lesson. I read Leah Vanderveldt and Otherworldy on the astonishing astrology right now, and it spoke to me so deeply that I wanted to reflect on my own experience with it.

    For the past eight years I’ve been circling a wound: where is my home, where do I belong, who are my people, where can I safely root and with whom? It has been all about relationships, self-worth, and security. Testing and exploring the right to simply exist and be sustained. Searching for possible answers from a million different vantage points, gathering experiences and evidence that might point me forward to the truth.

    It was 2018 when this started, which feels like a lifetime ago. I don’t even recognise the woman I was then. 

    8 years ago I made the decision to remain estranged from my mother, after a lifetime of repetition compulsion: the unconscious drive to stay inside a painful dynamic, hoping each next time it resolves differently.

    8 years ago I ended my tendency towards perpetual monogamy, drifting from one relationship to the next with barely a breath between them. I had been proposed to three times by then, but it was clear to me that it was not in my best interest to get married to any of those people. While some of them were genuinely great, we weren’t a fit. Since then, there were some situations that I got out of that were extractive, and I am grateful those chapters are over and for the lessons. People say we date our opposite-gender parent. I don’t think that’s quite right. We date the parent with whom we have the most unfinished business.

    8 years ago, I moved into a house and lived on my own for the first time in my life and tried to learn how to stop outsourcing my needs for safety and security to others and instead learn the delicate way of trusting myself to become sovereign in my ability to care for myself.

    8 years ago I started to grow from the confrontation of the parts of myself that had not matured or taken responsibility for my life.

    2018 was the year I finally chose myself and my path in a way that I didn’t know was possible until then. But with it came the harsh realities of seeing the world in the stark, bright light of adulthood, no longer softened by adolescent ignorance.

    I spent those 8 years reparenting myself, mothering and fathering myself, filling the gaps of care I hadn’t received in childhood, all whilst being entirely afloat.

    I studied psychology for this reason and have spent years becoming fluent in family dynamics, reparenting, corrective experiences, the slow archaeology of inherited patterns. I have done all of this work on myself first. It is also, not coincidentally, one of the central reasons my clients seek me out.

    In the last year I saw the last of my old familial patterns dissolve. Relationships I had been faithfully resourcing for years, smoothing over difficult moments, absorbing tension before it became conflict, from which I withdrew my energy, gently, without drama. Other relationships that genuinely sustain me grew stronger, as though they had been waiting for the space.

    A short break for self-promotion: If you would like to learn how to use your writing as a functional brand-building tool, join me for Going Pro this July. Learn more here.

    So far so good.

    I have landed in Singapore, through immigration, ate the most delicious dumpling soup, sat in a Starbucks for a few hours editing the above while sipping soya milk tea, checked back in, passed through immigration again, and am now waiting to board my flight home. May all the angels and gods be with me upon landing, and may the exit and journey to my bed be quick and smooth.

    I am sitting cross-legged on an airport waiting chair opposite my gate. Boarding is in 45 minutes. I didn’t get my lucky seat this time. I’ve been placed in the middle, 15E, so there had better be someone fascinating or hot next to me.

    The point I have been trying to get to, circling this whole essay, is that since 2018 I have been living inside my personal survival story. Eight years of repairing foundations. And now I am done. So, so done with this story. I can feel the completion in my bones.

    That sweetness I’ve been feeling is the sign: my reality is rewriting itself.

    The solstice was yesterday. I celebrated with yoga, then breathwork, then a sound healing, and cried through all three, releasing whatever remnants of grief and shame were still lodged somewhere in my body from the past eight years. 

    Afterwards, I won a $200 voucher for my favourite organic clothing store, Luna Indigo. Two days before that, a kind stranger bought me breakfast at my favourite café simply because I let him share my table. Small things that to me are all pointing in the same direction: I am moving into a new chapter.

    Alongside that, something else is shifting. The desire to keep working at the level of excavation and repair — trauma, the long shadow of the past, the dissolution of inherited patterns — is receding. I notice I am more drawn now to making things. Art, beauty, structures in the actual world built with my own two hands. 

    I have spent eight years becoming very, very good at the interior work. I have earned a kind of mastery there that I am genuinely proud of, and that will always be woven into everything I do. But I no longer want it to be the primary story I am living. I want to be fluent in the outer world now. In creating and building and being fully, unguardedly alive in it.

    The flight is delayed by an hour. I’m sitting between two cute women who are going on their first trip together in their 15-year friendship. I ask if they want to sit beside each other, gesturing that I’m willing to move into either seat, but they say ‘no’ giggling, and we chat a little. Someone sitting nearby is dropping some really foul-smelling farts. Everyone is tired. It is getting late, the mood is restless and impatient among the passengers.

    I am in a good mood because I believe this is divine timing for whatever lies ahead. I’m resting my chin on my knees, bare feet on the chair, shoes kicked under the seat. I’m tired and dream about being back home and in bed, and think about what it means to put roots down and how to make that decision.

    Continued here…

  • what can no longer be postponed

    right before it happened

    It finally happened. I pooped myself in public this morning. Wait. It’s not as bad as you think.

    I was at the beach for the first time in weeks. The monsoon rain finally stopped and I got up early and walked down to the black sand and got a coconut at a shack on the edge of the inlet, then wandered along the shore until I found a spot where I could sit in the sun and watch the surf lifesavers train in the water. I had only just settled in. Towel laid out. Coconut balanced on a piece of driftwood. Clothes off so my skin could finally see daylight again in a teeny tiny bikini after weeks of monsoon rain. And then I felt it. A rumble in my stomach. A familiar urge, but more urgent than usual. I had only been sitting there for about thirty seconds and already I knew I didn’t have much time. Panicking slightly, I started packing up my things. If I can just make it to the nearest toilet, I thought. But the nearest toilet was not really that near, and my body, it turns out, had very little patience for dignity or logistics. I dropped everything and ran. Not toward the cafés but toward a fishing boat a few metres away, ducked behind it and squatted down. Just in time.

    I knew yesterday, right after I ate the fresh vegan spring rolls, that something was slightly off. The evidence was now undeniable. I tried to clean up and cover my tracks with some leaves but honestly there is only so much one can do in a situation like this. What can one do but get on with things? I casually strolled back out from behind the fishing boat hoping that no one would need to use it for at least a week, looked around satisfied that nobody had seen me, picked up my towel and my coconut and started making my way home. Home was a twenty five minute walk away. I knew I needed to get clean and I needed to be near a toilet for the rest of the day.

    And then.

    The next nearest café didn’t have an easily accessible restroom but the one after that was part hotel, part café, and happened to be the exact place where I had eaten those damn spring rolls that caused the predicament in the first place, which frankly made the situation feel a little bit like their responsibility. I felt like they owed it to me to recitfy the situation. I confidently strolled past reception like I belonged there, which is really the only way to enter a place when you are about to do something you technically shouldn’t. I found an unlocked vacant hotel room, walked into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet to relieve the remains of whatever turbulence was still unfolding in my stomach. Then I stripped naked, got into the shower, washed myself thoroughly, shampooed my hair with the tiny hotel shampoo, dried off, got dressed again in everything except my now retired bikini bottoms, and strode back out onto the street feeling, if not proud exactly, then at least reborn.

    When I got home I peeled off my clothes, put them in the washing basket, rinsed under the shower one more time just in case, pulled on an oversized t-shirt and got into bed, which is where I will remain for the rest of the day. Close to the toilet.

    The funny thing is that when I decided on the title of this article — what can no longer be postponed — it was before all of this happened. My idea at the time was far more high-brow. I wanted to write to you about all the things in life we put off because of this that or the other, when actually the things we are avoiding are often the very things that move us closer to ourselves. But it turns out the title still works. Because this morning on the beach something very literal happened. My body made it abundantly clear that there are moments in life when postponement is simply no longer an option.

    A few days ago I asked on Instagram: What needs to be claimed? (Excuse the ‘why’ in place of ‘what’ typo. Here are some of your answers:

    I look at these beautiful heartfelt answers and think about what it means to claim them. What it really means. In ourselves. In our daily lives. Claiming something rarely happens in a single moment of self-realisation or readiness. More often it requires a shift in behaviour or energetics. A choice we begin making over and over again. Something that, at a certain point, can no longer be postponed if we really want what we say we do.

    Take self-love. Claiming self-love doesn’t mean reaching some mythical state where you love yourself twenty-four hours a day and never struggle again. It means that in the moments when you are tired, disappointed, ashamed, or convinced you are not enough, you choose the loving action anyway. You rest when you would normally push through. You speak to yourself with a little more gentleness than you feel you deserve. You stop participating in your own internal bullying.

    Claiming abundance is similar. It isn’t just about learning how to receive more. It’s about noticing all the subtle ways you have been telling life that you are not worthy of what you want. The ways you downplay your gifts, undercharge for your work, apologise for taking up space, or quietly assume that other people are allowed to live well but somehow you are not.

    Claiming health is not simply about giving the body time to heal. It is about being willing to listen to the reasons the body fell out of balance in the first place. Illness has a way of pointing, sometimes quite bluntly, to what is no longer sustainable. The pace that needs to slow down. The stress that cannot continue. The truth that has been quietly sitting in the background waiting to be acknowledged.

    Claiming work you love is rarely neat or linear either. It usually requires you to do things that feel uncomfortable, unexpected, and occasionally inconvenient. You stretch yourself. You try things you are not yet good at. You keep showing up before you feel fully ready. The love for the work often grows through that process rather than appearing fully formed at the beginning.

    And claiming romantic love… That might be the most confronting one of all. Because claiming love often means letting go of the ways we have protected ourselves from it. The strategies, the stories, the old disappointments we have been using as quiet evidence that it might not work out anyway.

    You have desires and you ask for things in life. And suddenly there you are. Standing in front of something that can no longer be postponed.

    *
    I’ve opened up my books for a few 1:1 mentoring spaces across the month of March.

    If you need to untangle this next step in your life → book here.

    If you want to start your own writing journey on Substack → book here.

    If you’re ready for creative strategy infused with intuitive intelligence → book here.

    for everything else click here

    *

    A few nights ago I had the strangest dream.

    I kept trying to take flight. In the dream I knew, with total certainty, that I could fly, but every time I tried to lift off it felt like something heavy was pulling my body back down again. There were all these reasons why I couldn’t. People telling me I shouldn’t, even wrong, to want to. I kept waking up and then slipping back into the exact same dream again and again, each time attempting the same thing from a slightly different angle. Trying harder. Trying softer. Scheming. Adjusting. Negotiating with gravity. Until finally, toward the end, after many false starts and failed attempts, something shifted and I lifted cleanly off the ground. And the feeling, when it happened, was ecstatic.

    It felt strangely indicative of the inner journey I find myself on right now.

    Lately I’ve been asking myself the same questions over and over again. In a world increasingly fragmented by things like social media and AI, what actually feels meaningful to me? How do I want to contribute? Not just in ways that are productive or visible or strategic, but in ways that genuinely feel good and do good.

    More and more I feel drawn toward creating things that last. Things that are genuine and whole. Work that doesn’t feed on the low-grade panic or outrage that so much of the world now runs on. I know instinctively that whatever I create next won’t come from strategy alone, or from information, or from reacting to whatever the algorithm seems to want. It is comimg from reaching inward and pouring from a place inside myself that none of those external forces can really access or touch.

    Remembering how to do that seems to be the journey I’m on right now. One that is revealing itself slowly, almost reluctantly, from within. One of my greatest gifts is helping other people find that place within themselves too.

    Yesterday my friend Kelly Vittengl and I had a conversation that stayed with me. She told me she’s become increasingly convinced that one of the truest acts of rebellion available to us right now is to stop endlessly consuming the news and instead start becoming and creating what is actually true and authentic to us.

    It can sound a little like spiritual bypassing. It can even feel slightly uncomfortable to say out loud. But her point wasn’t that we should ignore suffering or pretend the world isn’t complicated. For all the darkness we see in the world, she said, there is also immense goodness. And if you find yourself struggling to see it, sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do is become it.

    I’ve been wrestling with this quite a lot lately. I’ve found myself hesitating before sharing things publicly. Wondering if it’s appropriate to talk about beauty, or creativity, or joy when the world feels so noisy and heavy. And yet, deep down, I still believe that the most meaningful contribution many of us can make is to focus on the things we genuinely value. To build and nurture the things we want to see more of.

    Perhaps that is what so many of us are feeling right now in different ways. I suspect this is where the question of what can no longer be postponed becomes important. Because eventually something in us grows tired of waiting. Tired of negotiating with the parts of ourselves that are afraid or cautious or endlessly trying to behave appropriately for the moment we are living in.

    Eventually the body runs for the fishing boat. Eventually the dreamer lifts off the ground. Eventually something inside us realises that postponing our lives isn’t actually helping anyone. Not the world. Not other people. Not ourselves.

  • time loosens its grip

    when I kept hitting breaking point in November I booked a flight

    JAN 07, 2026

    Colomb Bay, South Goa, India

    The sky is pink. The temperature is perfect. The air feels like skin. There is no boundary between my body and the sky. We are both naked, in perfect harmony.

    I eat in a ramshackle hut sitting on stilts at the northern end of the beach. Papaya juice and momos or a mackerel thali. The second time, the proprietor thanks me for coming back. When he brings me the bill, he has written a scrawling love letter across it. I can barely make out how much I need to pay. It makes me smile.

    I look for the huts I stayed in seventeen years ago, but I can’t find them. I walk farther than I meant to. I slow down. I scan the shoreline. Everything has changed, of course. The beach. The paths. The way things are arranged. I have changed too.

    Seventeen years ago I was naive and new. I still grasped onto purity. I hadn’t yet felt the full depth of life, the particular weight of it, the way it settles into your body and rearranges your inner furniture without asking. I didn’t yet know what life could ask of you, or what it would take.

    I was on an ardent spiritual path then, under the illusion that a particular flavour of consciousness made me exempt. That being “spiritually conscious and evolved” somehow placed me outside the ordinary contracts of grief, fear, longing, pleasure, disappointment. That belief is seductive because it flatters the ego while pretending to dissolve it.

    What I know now is that avoiding pain doesn’t remove it. It just delays your willingness to let it sit down beside you. It creates another layer of suffering. Tension, resistance, self-judgement. Because life keeps arriving anyway.

    These days my spiritual practice is much simpler. I let life be as raw as it is. I let grief have weight. I let joy be bright and felt. I let pleasure move through me without needing to turn it into meaning. I let fear exist without trying to alchemise it into wisdom. Reverence, for me now, looks like staying. Staying with what is actually here.

    It was here, seventeen years ago, that I was inspired to start my first business. The one I poured forty thousand dollars into. The one that failed. I saw the reality of textile workers’ lives. So I started an ethical fashion brand called ética & ella. I was ahead of my time. And completely unprepared.

    Sometimes I think I’m still failing at business even though I’ve run one successfully for a decade. I don’t like convincing people they need things they don’t. And if we are honest, we probably don’t really ned very much. 

    I think of something Mara Hoffman said when she closed her brand. How maybe the great human project of this era is simply finding ways to sell things to each other. Every day we wake up and offer something: a product, a service, an idea, a body of work, a version of ourselves. And if we aren’t selling, we’re buying.

    All the mysticism, all the beauty, all the cosmic intelligence of the universe and the punchline is just… buy and sell.

    Here, that world feels far away. The urgency of it. The hunger. The constant wanting. I don’t need most of the things in my suitcases. Both of them. When I left Paris, I packed everything I own. Except the winter coats, the Pilates mat, the ring light. I don’t yet know where I am going next, and didn’t want to leave anything behind that I might miss.

    Every morning, I journal for a couple of hours. A part of me has come back online. A quieter intelligence. Less managerial. Less vigilant.

    Access to a heart-brain that’s been tucked away tells me truths I’ve not had space for. The ways I contorted myself in ways that are rewarded by our western society. How I negotiated a world I didn’t fully believe in by staying busy, competent, contained. 

    Time loosens its grip.

    When I kept hitting breakingpoint in November, I booked a flight. I knew I needed to do something drastic. A friend recommended going to an Ayurvedic Hospital for treatment. By the time I got the visa for India, they were all booked out. Until two days ago, when a space opened up for February 7th. I’ll be here until the end of February, for now.

  • every day after

    returning to nyc after a few weeks in colombia; a conversation with my therapist that literally changed my life; post-breakup growth and healing; and the many things I’m thinking about

    This is the third and final part of a series of recent real-life stories.You can read part 1 & part 2 here.

    The dusty dirt track that runs to the beach passes three enormous wild mango trees. I carefully crawl under the wire fence and inspect the floor carpeted by discarded mango leaves for an intact one. I find two: fallen, ripe and unbruised, pick them up and pretzel myself back onto the path. When I reach the water’s edge, I kneel into it, washing the riper of the two, peeling the skin away from the flesh with my fingers, letting the golden juice run down my arms and drip off into the sea. I bite into the juicy flesh like a starved savage until all that’s left is a large stone. I love it when my wild, feral island girl personality emerges.

    Every day since my arrival, I make this daily pilgrimage. To immerse myself in the salty water. To walk along the sand barefoot with the sea lapping at my feet. To discharge the chaos of my emotional world from the past month. 

    I’m alone and in Colombia.

    For the first 10 days, I am sick af in a hotel room. Sick in the body with a fever and a cold. Sick in the heart from a breakup. Sick in the mind from the combination of both. My period comes too, and I can’t think of a more lethal combination. Desperate to heal, I move myself deeper and deeper into the jungle to be immersed by nature until I end up in a tiny one-street village surrounded by tropical plants on the edge of the Caribbean.

    Every day after work,1 I walk to a quiet part of the beach, sheltered by mangroves and lie down on a sarong I’d bought in the village, watching the waves, letting their rhythm rock my nervous system back to homeostasis. If the water is calm enough, I find a shallow spot to crouch in and sit in the cool, salty sea until the waves become too much. The tides are dangerous here, and no one swims in these waters. 

    Every day, I become stronger. Every day, I feel a little more capable. The world starts to regain its colour after weeks of seeing in sepia. I stop to admire flowers, seashells and tiny crabs that are trying to make their home next to me. My capacity to make any kind of meaningful decisions about my next steps remains offline, and the urgency to make them has faded. 

    Every afternoon, thunderstorms roll through the Sierra Nevada mountains behind me.

    My appetite returns, and I eat papaya and scrambled eggs with tomato and onions and thickly buttered arepas for breakfast with gusto. I enjoy coffee black for the first time in my life because that’s how they have it here. I drink fresh coconuts and ask them to cut them open so I can scoop out the young, jellylike flesh. I try limonadas of all sorts, resting with my two favourites, sandía (watermelon) and coco (coconut). 

    Every day, my tan grows a little deeper.

    A dark moon sets in Cancer and a new moon rises in Leo, and I, too, begin to rise. But not without the lessons of this dark time.

    I think a lot about a lot of things. (Addressed in depth below.)

    I think about the state of the world and its wars and suffering, and politics. I think about victim mentality and how we can choose our thoughts and beliefs to rearrange our reality. I think about how the world has flattened in recent years. I think about travel and its place in my life. I think about the intentional home life and career I want to participate in. I think about how micro experiences are also always happening in the macro. I think about my most recent relationship and romantic relationships in general. I think about the burning hot shame I feel about not having seen the signs sooner. 

    I am deeply embarrassed that I let myself get involved with this man. I feel like I should have somehow known.

    I speak to my therapist about it, and she laughs at me. 

    “You feel shame?! For what? Trusting your partner? Being in love and wanting a beautiful story? Matching your actions with your words? The only person who holds ANY shame in this scenario is him. A lot of men are avoidant, emotionally unavailable, immature and generally inconsiderate. They are not worthy partners, and they waste women’s time. That’s not a reflection of you. It’s all on them. Stop taking it personally. So what, you encountered only one of them? You’re lucky! He’s so boring. Now, let’s move on!”

    Haha. I adore her brutal honesty. She’s right! So I do. I move on.

    Now that I’m feeling stronger, she is tougher with me. She’s in her late 60s and no longer sees clients, but having worked with her on and off for seven years, she is the only person who truly knows all the stories I have lived and learned from. She’s helped me move past, through and on from so many life moments that felt like the end to me. We all need people like this in our lives.

    And just like that, I’m over it and back in NYC.

    I land in NYC with the sunrise. It’s a late July summer morning, and the heat is already starting to rise. Relief and joy flood my body. I don’t know what this feeling is, but I’m so happy to be back. I’ve discovered a trick to avoid the subway into the city from JFK airport and get a driver to Grand Central Station for the price of two coffees. 

    My therapist introduces me to the work of therapist Terry Real. I find a talk where he says, “Black-and-white thinking is a sign you’re in your adapted child; mature adults don’t categorise things in binary terms, but children do.” Something inside me shifts.

    It speaks directly to me. That oversimplified lens we slip into under stress: good/bad, right/wrong, always/never isn’t clarity, it’s contraction. A survival strategy.

    The rest of this article is paywalled and accessible here.

  • what I really think of nyc

    & why I’ve stayed…

    find my list of fav cute places in nyc here on Instagram

    I heard a loud crunch, followed by the softest gasp, and turned my head. A bicycle lay on its side, a man tangled with it on the ground, and a large SUV hovered just above them, still and silent.

    In an instant, people moved. Without hesitation, strangers rushed forward, bending down, reaching out, offering presence and help. A small collision. A moment of disruption. And then, care. Simple, instinctive, human.

    That’s what New York is like. Sudden, raw, and full of heart.

    My friend Petra and I were sitting on the terrace of my favourite natural wine bar in LES when it happened, the fragility of human life, the compassionate human response brought tears to my eyes. In many ways, this encapsulates what I think of this city.

    People keep asking me “what were your first impressions?” and “did you actually even want to go?” and “what do you really think?” and “do you want to stay?” 

    New York holds you in ways you cannot hold yourself. It cradles you and asks you to let yourself be swept away by its momentum. If you cling to what you think you know and resist the current, it will spit you out. It is deeply imperfect. It is alive in a way that catches you off guard. There are layers to it, and not all of them are beautiful. You cannot escape yourself here. You meet yourself again and again. In the streets, in the faces, in the silence that exists between the sirens. 

    I think the New York that people fell in love with, the one that raised artists and misfits, the one pulsing with radical self-expression, is gone. Or at least fading. What remains is a softened echo. A diluted version wrapped in branding. You can still hear the heartbeat, but it’s muffled by rent prices and influencer cafés.

    I’ve seen this happen before. The cities stretch, and the soul thins. Creatives, thinkers, those who live at the edge of culture leave. No longer willing to mortgage their joy for the performance of a lifestyle. The New York I had hoped to meet doesn’t live here anymore. Or maybe she’s hiding. I don’t know.

    And still, the city pulls you in. There is something magnetic about the way life moves here. The pace makes you sharper. The people make you braver. Everyone is building something. Everyone is searching. 

    It has given me clarity. About what I want. About what matters.

    New York City retains a feverish optimism that anything is possible here. The American dream that you can create a new life on these shores remains intact and alive. The people cling to it, and this perspective offers opportunities to build on possibility and belief, if little substance. And that is enough. It is enough to start with. Substance comes with time.

    New York City hold the power of proximity. Most cities are built wide, so it takes an hour, if not more, to go anywhere. It is built sky-high, so everything is within half an hour’s reach, either walking or by Subway. It means you can meet people and go places without overly taxing both your energy and your time. The currency of this city is the value of your relationships. 

    That accessibility makes a huge difference.

    I came to New York for love. For adventure. For the desire to experience a different perspective and to reclaim my sense of inspiration and hope. I believed, deep in my bones, that the relationships I build shape everything that comes next. And for that, I couldn’t imagine a better place. 

    I also came to New York because I wasn’t sure where else to go.

    On Tuesday evening, I was supposed to board a flight to London, but I didn’t.

    Life cracked open in a way I didn’t see coming. Plans changed. The shape of my future shifted overnight. And so I stayed. Not because I wanted to, exactly, but because something asked me to meet it here, in the unknown, in the aftermath, in New York.

    hi friends!

    I felt like nodding my head at the fact that this newsletter is never just one thing. It’s part personal memoir, part story, part soul of my business. It contains multitudes, like I do, including updates and offerings, woven between reflections and real-life turning points. It arrives when it’s ready, not when a schedule demands it.

    Some weeks it’s a window into what I’m creating or learning. Other times it’s just a trace of where I’ve been or what’s breaking open in me. But always, it’s a long thread of my desire to be of service. To contribute something meaningful through words, through beauty, through whatever insights life offers me to pass on.

    I’m so grateful you’re here. That you let me do things this way. That you’ve never asked me to make my creative work more conventional, more predictable, more polished. Instead, you let me do it her way. And for that, I’m deeply glad. I’m working on an essay that reveals this business approach in depth because this is what I have discovered:

    Even though it’s really scary at first, it always pays off to do things your way. Even you think it’s wrong. Even when you think it’ll never work. Which is the underlying premise of her way club. To always trust yourself despite any doubt. 

    For the past months, I’ve been quietly working on something behind the scenes. A little companion guide I’ve been using in my own life for more than a decade. A way to ground, to find rhythm again, to work with the natural currents of time instead of pushing against them.

    It’s called Planet Powered…:for the curious

    Over the last few days, everything finally came together. The words, the flow, the feeling of it. It’s part written word, part gentle practice. A simple guide to living in rhythm with the energy of each day of the week. A way to tune back in, realign, and soften into how life wants to move through you.

    I’ll share more soon, but for now, I just wanted to let you know it’s here.

    And I hope it meets you exactly where you are.

  • this life is a dream within a dream ☁️

    about NYC being a place of contrast requiring inner stability, and the quiet strength of being well-resourced

    When I stepped out of JFK airport and followed the signs to the subway, I braced myself. New York is known for its edge, its abrasion. I am soft. I tend and protect that softness like a flame cupped in two hands. I wasn’t sure how it would survive here.

    I tapped my phone at the turnstile and joined a tall young man in the elevator. He wore headphones and held himself like someone accustomed to noise. Still, I turned to him, map pulled up on my phone, unsure where to go. He removed one earbud, glanced at the screen, and said in the gentlest voice, “You can’t get the F from here, but if you take the K, you can transfer in three stops.” 

    I blinked. He had such a kind presence. His softness mirrored mine. Maybe there’s space for gentleness here, after all.

    I followed his directions toward the Lower East Side. A few minutes into the ride, the unmistakable smell of urine filled the carriage. A man down the carriage—middle-aged, Chinese descent—had wet himself and begun swearing loudly. Slurring. Angry. A different kind of edge.

    This city, I’m learning, holds everything. Softness and despair. Precision and chaos. A young man with headphones offering quiet directions. An older man unravelling in public. Here, opposites coexist, unapologetically. New York is a city of contrasts, and that is, perhaps, its defining trait.

    The days have spilled into one another like rainwater pooling in uneven stone. Time behaves differently here. Moments stretch. Then vanish. Weeks slip past before I can grab hold. What I’m learning is this: I cannot tether myself to the outside world. It’s too volatile. Too fast. Too much.

    Instead, I tether myself inward. I return to a still point inside me — a quiet place I cultivate through ritual and self-devotion. I nurture it like a small garden: feeding it with breath, rest, laughter, water, movement, music. A daily act of remembrance. Of protection. Of belonging to myself.

    Sometimes, it’s as simple as walking to Whole Foods alone, sending a few voice notes to the women who hold me in their hearts. That ten-minute walk fulfils two needs: solitude and connection. It’s imperfect. But it’s enough.

    Work is another tether. Returning to it each day — whether I want to or not — grounds me. I write. I build. I teach. I remember who I am. Even when the city pulls me in every direction.

    Last night, friends made homemade pizza and poured glasses of white wine. We ate slowly, talked about art, about cities we’ve loved. And then, walking home, we passed a man with his trousers around his knees, bare bottom exposed, head buried in a trash bin. Of course. That’s New York, too.

    Right now, I’m writing this during a live co-writing session for The Art of Noticing. Eight of us are here, silent on Zoom, warm orchestral music in the background. Earlier, we spoke about a line from one of my recent essays about being a well-resourced woman. We explored how writing can teach without instructing. That sometimes, the lesson is simply in the living.

    In Her Way Club, this here community I lead, that’s what I teach: how to listen inward. How to find your way—not the right way, not the perfect way, but yourway. In writing. In loving. In parenting. In creating. In becoming.

    And to find your way, you must first be resourced. You need space. You need softness. You need access to yourself.

    Being resourced is a privilege, yes. But it’s also a practice. A skill we build and rebuild. I see it as the art of tending to our inner ecosystem. Of becoming our own safe haven.

    It means expanding your capacity to meet life without collapsing. Learning to sit with discomfort. Making choices from groundedness, not panic. It doesn’t mean you never need others. It means you’re not uprooted every time the wind blows.

    How do you become that person?

    You start small:

    • You build a daily rhythm that supports your nervous system.
    • You learn to breathe when you want to scream.
    • You create a home that feels like a hug.
    • You save a little money, even when it’s hard.
    • You learn to cook a meal you love.
    • You reach out and you know how to be alone.
    • You keep learning. Keep listening.

    This is what I’ve brought with me to New York. Not just clothes and books and dreams, but tools. Practices. A soft heart and a solid core.

    And maybe that’s enough to belong here.

  • how on earth 🌎 do you pack your life into just* a carry-on case?

    *plus a ‘personal item’ bag 🎒

    LIKE THIS:

    The Art of Noticing sponsored this video. You have 3 days left to join us!

    CLICK HERE FOR INFO & REGISTRATION PAGE

    How do you pack your entire life into a carry-on suitcase and a personal item?

    With chaos, creativity, and a lot of rolled-up clothes. In this video, I take you behind the scenes of my last-minute, slightly frantic, and surprisingly successful attempt to pack for a transatlantic move—with two bags and zero chill. You’ll see my strategy (loosely defined), my favourite travel bags, packing hacks (hello, socks in shoes), and some honest real-time stress. 

    Plus: a peek at The Art of Noticing writing club and why it’s the perfect companion for any life transition.

    The bag I was loving on is called the Kono Travel Bag Underseat Backpack Carry-on Luggage Bag.

  • my last week in portugal + mental health chats

    my last week in portugal + mental health chats

    sunshine, sadness & soft goodbyes

    It’s my final week in Portugal, and I’m taking you along for the ride—foggy-headed colds, emotional reflections, sunny beach breaks, and bittersweet goodbyes. From filming a workshop and navigating mental health wobbles to processing anxiety, getting a haircut, and soaking in some much-needed sunshine, it’s a week of tenderness, transition, and tuning into what my body and heart need. Plus: mermaid hair, vintage clothes, and a reminder that movement really is medicine. 💛

    Access my workshop from the video in the FREE REWILDING RETREAT here.

    A message about the Rewilding Retreat

    From day one, we’re handed a script filled with “shoulds” and “supposed to.” It tells us that fitting in and following the rules will lead to happiness. But instead, we end up feeling disconnected and numb and asking, “Whose life am I really living?”

    My friend Jenner felt exactly the same way. She did everything she thought she was supposed to — went to college, landed a dream job, fell in love — yet she felt more lost and disconnected than ever before.

    So, she tore up the old script and started her journey to rediscover herself.

    That’s exactly why Jenner created The Wild Ones® ReWilding Virtual Retreat.It’s all about going beyond society’s little boxes and rediscovering your natural, authentic self.

    This isn’t just another online event. This is a RECLAMATION.

    No wonder over 32,000 people have joined this event in the past, and now ReWilding returns for its 6th year, better than ever. I’m thrilled to be part of this experience, offering my own workshop on Choice Architecture and Invisible Currents.

    Our environment creates invisible currents that guide our decisions without conscious awareness. Join me in mapping the hidden choice architectures in your life — from physical spaces to digital environments to social circles — and identify how these structures might be invisibly directing your life trajectories. Then, let’s deliberately redesign them, together.

    During the 8 transformative days of this FREE online event, you’ll experience:

    Daily transmissions from over 30 hand-selected visionaries and healers (including me :) who will guide you back to your innate wisdom

    • Deep somatic practices to release years of conditioning stored in your body
    • Powerful energy activations that reconnect you to your authentic power
    • A global community of heart-centered rebels, walking this path alongside you

    “This retreat was a game-changer for me! I went in feeling lost and came out with a renewed sense of purpose and clarity.” — Emily

    The entire 8-day journey is completely FREE and designed to fit into your real, full life. No overwhelm, just deep resonance that changes everything.

    Ready to see what it looks like when you take your dreams seriously? Free tickets are available now, so claim yours here!

    I can’t wait to see you there!

    Vienda

  • I can’t believe I’ve been here (in Portugal) for 5 months!

    It’s been five months of life in Portugal, and I still can’t believe it.

    In this video, I reflect on the journey so far—returning from Salzburg, settling into Ericeira, and embracing the ever-unfolding adventure of change. People often ask me how I navigate transitions so smoothly, how I move through big life shifts with what seems like ease and grace. The truth? It’s not effortless—it’s a skill I’ve cultivated over years of deep inner work, trust, and surrender. Join me as I share my thoughts on resilience, adaptation, and finding beauty in the unknown.

    If you’re in a season of transition, I hope this video reminds you that change can be met with openness, softness, and strength.

    Let’s dive in.

    Links to articles on topics I mentioned:

    — my Instagram account has been hacked, disabled and is being held hostage for ransom: https://viendamaria.com/2025/02/06/my…

    — redirection (aka: goodbye Instagram): https://viendamaria.com/2025/02/11/re…

    — ALIGNED: https://viendamaria.com/aligned/

    Don’t forget to subscribe here:    / @viendamaria  

    Join over 100 peeps for the Free 6 Day CLARITY Challenge on my website: https://viendamaria.com/from-stuck-to…

    To get these videos directly in your inbox when they come out make sure you sign up to HER WAY CLUB: https://vienda.substack.com

    One of my favourite things to think, write and talk about is the intersection between life design and creating intentional freedom, in a soft, intuitive and feminine way.

    Read my writing here: https://vienda.substack.com

    Lots of love, Vienda x

  • a 5-day trip to Salzburg, Austria (MAJOR FAIL)

    a 5-day trip to Salzburg, Austria (MAJOR FAIL)

    I felt alienated by my own country, where went to get my passport renewed as I had been instructed by the embassy in Portugal but was refused due to the complicated nature of where I live and belong.

  • i’m moving to New York

    i’m moving to New York

    kind of, maybe, not really…? I really wanted to write that to see how it feels in case it turns out to be true 

    FEB 18, 2025

    I’m sitting on the Ikea sofa in his living room, laptop balanced on my knees, pretending to work. Through the open door to his office down the hallway, I can hear his voice, steady and methodical, as he speaks with the electricity company to cancel his contract. Each call makes his impending departure feel more real.

    The day we met he told me he was moving to New York in the new year. At the time it meant nothing. I was talking to a stranger on the wooden bench outside a cafe window.

    But as coffee meetings evolved into sunset walks through cobblestone streets, as dinner dates transformed into intimate evenings on his sofa, as casual conversation turned into “Will you be my girlfriend?” – that once-insignificant sentence took on a weight I hadn’t anticipated.

    He’s preparing to leave the country at the end of March. I’m not built for long-distance relationships – I’m either fully present or completely absent. So I am joining him a few weeks later.

    One day, a few months after meeting, he was excitedly speaking about New York as we wove our way through the alleys to our favourite Saturday breakfast spot for coffee and cinnamon rolls. In my luteal phase, my emotions already simmering close to the surface, when tears welled to the surface.

    We had discussed it before. 

    He had asked me to join him with such natural ease as if it were the most obvious next step. I had always dreamed of spending three months in New York – to live there permanently? I wasn’t certain. But to discover its hidden corners and explore its endless possibilities? Absolutely.

    But that morning, as my hormones conspired against me and left me feeling raw and vulnerable, all I could focus on was how this was his adventure, his dream. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I might be merely a footnote in his story. In that moment, I grieved for something I hadn’t yet lost.

    I tried to compose myself in private, but the wave of emotions was too powerful to contain. Through tears, I confessed that while I was genuinely happy and excited for him, hearing him talk about New York made me feel like an afterthought. Unused to and ill-equipped for such feminine displays of emotion, he panicked, genuinely confused – because in his mind, there had never been any question. We were going to New York, together. That was the only version of the future he had envisioned.

    I needed reassurance, more than I wanted to admit. I found myself losing an internal battle between soaring excitement and crushing doubts.

    Now, as our departure date approaches and our relationship has deepened with time, I feel more secure in the future we’re creating together. Today, when he looked at me with bright eyes and said, “I can’t wait to see what we create together!” I felt my heart lift with joy.

    Still, I oscillate between hopes and fears. Perhaps you, dear reader, if you’ve made New York your home, can offer some guidance.

    My excitement and hopes bloom:

    • I dream of losing myself in the halls of the Met, discovering hidden galleries in Chelsea, hunting for treasures at Brooklyn flea markets, and immersing myself in the vibrant, multicultural tapestry that is New York City. Every corner holds the promise of inspiration.
    • The thought of the connections waiting to be made sets my heart racing – the artists, writers, dreamers, and doers all within reach. I plan to approach each day with intention, cultivating a diverse and inspiring circle of kindred spirits.
    • I envision this new chapter expanding my creative horizons, opening doors I never knew existed, and forging connections that could transform my work and life in unexpected ways.
    • Each morning will bring new possibilities – a different neighbourhood to explore, a new face to become familiar, another layer of the city to uncover and make my own.
    • I believe in a kind of magic that happens when you’re perfectly aligned with your path. I’m curious to discover what shape that magic takes in a city of eight million stories.

    Yet my fears and doubts cast shadows: 

    • As a highly sensitive extroverted introvert, I quickly become overwhelmed by excessive stimulation. When surrounded by too much input – noise, movement, energy – I need a quiet space to decompress and reset. I worry about finding that sanctuary in a city that famously never sleeps.
    • My soul craves warm sunshine, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the rhythmic sound of waves – none of which New York is particularly known for. Where will I find those moments of natural peace that keep me grounded?
    • In a city consistently ranked among the world’s most expensive, I fear financial pressure might force me into a “hustle culture” I’ve intentionally avoided. I believe in working with purpose and alignment, not from desperation.
    • The heaviest weight on my heart is finding a new home for my cat, Danger. This separation might be temporary, or it might be permanent – the uncertainty makes it even harder. He’s been my constant companion, but I can’t bring him with me, and I can’t let his needs become the anchor that holds me back from this adventure.

    If you’re reading this in Europe and have space in your heart and home for a loyal ginger cat who gives his affection selectively but completely, please reach out. He needs a peaceful environment, ideally with a garden, and he’ll reward you with unwavering devotion.

    Life has a way of surprising us with unexpected turns. Moving to New York after my lease ends in April wasn’t part of my plans (though a psychic I’d quickly dismissed had predicted exactly this last August). But I love to embrace life’s kismet redirections.

    I don’t live by carefully crafted plans but by my unwavering belief that “something will happen.” Something always does.

  • I spent 2 weeks with the patriarchy

    & it really sucked. Things got weird, way too quickly.

    I am sitting in Palermo Airport. It’s 10:20. My flight doesn’t leave until 15.30. But I had to change my plans. To get off that boat. I was not expecting to find myself in an airport again so soon, yet here I am. Things got weird, way too quickly.

    When the universe hands you a neon sign saying ‘EXIT,’ you don’t wait for the next showing.

    Sometimes we try things, and they don’t work out. Sometimes those things involve million-dollar catamarans, mid-life crises, and a crash course in advanced patriarchy studies.

    Dear reader, before we begin I want to clarify that I’m not normally exposed to people like this, who I call ‘normcore’ or ‘normies’. Due to my particular lifestyle and work, I tend to attract a certain quality of people who actively practice self-awareness and self-responsibility. So while you may be nodding your head and thinking “This is normal” it is not, to me, and the world that I choose to cultivate. It has shown me how necessary the work I do in the world is, and how much more accessible it needs to be to every ‘normcore’ ‘normie’.

    ☾

    He scanned my body seconds into our introduction, his eyes doing the dance of the seven veils across my waist, hips, and eyes. I could practically hear the internal ‘cha-ching’ of approval. Welcome aboard the S.S. Objectification, population: me and my exhausted cat.

    ☾

    The UK won’t let you fly out of the country with pets so we circumnavigate this obstacle. A taxi to the port. A ferry across the English Channel. A bus to the train station. A train to Paris. A tiny hotel room in the 8th arrondissement with perfect views.

    In the morning I shower and slip on my already-worn travel clothes. Black Free People leggings and a soft green t-shirt plus double denim jackets, one a stone-washed black, the other quilted and blue. I have to be practical to carry my body weight in luggage including my cat.

    ☾

    A taxi to the airport. An orange juice to quench the travel-stress-induced sore throat and thirst. A flight to Menorca. A taxi to another port. By the end, I felt like I’d starred in my own version of ‘Planes, Trains, and Automobiles’ – with a feline co-star.

    There I meet Alain. He comments on the weight of my bag and I counter that it’s hard to pack light when you don’t know where you’re going and there’s no going back.

    We take his dingy (that he keeps calling dinky) to his million-dollar catamaran. I make a makeshift toilet out of an Amazon box, fill it with litter and let my cat out to explore, while Alain shows me around.

    Alain is a French-speaking Belgian with limited English skills. Our conversations are simple and halted. I often translate French phrases even though I don’t speak French but understand enough to get by.

    I can tell he is confused by me. Unimpressed by his obvious wealth, I do not attempt to charm or delight him. He has kind blue eyes that wink at me too often in a both lustful and fatherly way. The lustre of his once handsome youth has not quite faded. He comes from a generation of men deeply steeped in internalised patriarchy and I have zero interest in playing into his biases.

    I do not need nor want anything from him and that makes me free.

    He started as a hairdresser, he tells me. And then through luck and business acumen became Europe’s second-largest importer of gold and precious metals. Until the company went bankrupt and he took a few years off living in the Caribbean. That part of the story makes me think some suspect dealings were going on. Now he has a construction company in Belgium that is run by his son and daughter.

    The patriarchy is chivalrous and generous but every act feels counted and measured to be paid for. Transactional.

    I don’t feel he is sincere. I start to put my guard up. After unpacking I tell him I am tired and go to bed. He seems disappointed and confused.

    ☾

    On our first day together, anchored in a small bay in Menorca while we wait for his school friends to arrive in a few days to join us, we share antipasto and some wine in the afternoon.

    After one glass he leans close and says “Don’t be afraid. I want to kiss you.”

    I recoil and answer “no”.

    Not only do I not want to which is enough reason, but I also am unwilling to compromise myself when I’m already in a vulnerable position.

    Plus, he’s the same age as my father, were he still alive.

    For the next 48 hours, our island exploration becomes a battleground of wits and wills. He lobs inappropriate comments about my body, gender, and sex like verbal grenades, while I deflect them with shields of feminine power and independence. We’re engaged in an absurd dance, his patriarchal peacocking met with my unyielding resistance.

    My friend Jackson, ever the strategist, suggests I fight fire with fire. So, I reluctantly lower myself into the mud pit of this verbal sparring match. I find myself slinging barbs about his age and loneliness, reminding him that I’m not here to play saviour to his midlife crisis.

    I can’t help but wonder: Is this what passes for social interaction in his world, or have I stumbled into a poorly written sitcom about mismatched travel buddies?

    The patriarchy is a young boy, abandoned at 14, trying to make his way through life and desperate for love.

    On the third day, we talk about integrity and authenticity and how important both are to me. He becomes silent and still. Finally, I have touched a real part of him. The part of him that knows that love and affection are not transactional but has accrued wealth to feel worthy of it. He is suffering under the patriarchy too.

    ☾

    When I first agreed to this trip, we had a plan: a 3-month trial period. We would start in Spain and slowly make our way from there to Italy, Greece, and then Turkey. From the first day of my arrival, Alain keeps changing the itinerary.

    Every day it is something new. Tunisia. Croatia. Montenegro. By the end of the two weeks, he decided to put the catamaran onto the harbour in Sicily for 5 months and imagined me to live with him. It was not what I had signed up for.

    ☾

    His friends join us and alleviate the intensity.

    I watch the three friends love and care for each other. It’s heartening to see. They are blind to the privilege that protects them from the suffering and diminishment that others have to face.

    Confounded by the wives who have left them and the girlfriends who don’t trust them they wonder why everyone is left feeling lonely and starved. “I worked so hard!” they are exasperated. “I gave everything I had!” They’re not wrong.

    They have also been robbed by the patriarchy. Never taught to feel and surrender to their humanness. Always thinking they can fix every problem by working harder and accruing more. Everyone is suffering. No one feels met, seen or fulfilled in this system.

    The patriarchy is 3 giggling schoolboys in the bodies of mid-50’s white men. Ignorant to their privilege and power.

    They don’t know about how many women I know are faced with the sharp slap of being disempowered by the system that credits men when they bear children. Automatically, the naming of their children, ownership, and important decisions are deferred to the man.

    Patriachary is mostly invisible until ruling forces show their hands.

    ☾

    Within hours we set off. Menorca to Sardinia.

    The seas are wild and the waves high. All the men get seasick, their pink faces turning shades of white and grey. Even my cat vomits in response to the 4-metre rolling surges. I read and write and skip meals while they eat despite their sickness, as we all wait for the 2-day journey to come to an end.

    In Sardinia we refuel and they decide to press on. Sicily is another 3 days sailing away and they have a flight out of Palermo at the end of the week.

    I slowly get to know his friends.

    We come from such different worlds they don’t know how to relate to me. They think I’m a loner because I don’t join them for large parts of the day but the truth is that I prefer my company to theirs when they are rolling around seasick, making crude jokes and speaking French most of the time.

    I am resourced in caring for my well-being and don’t need to belong to the group to feel safe. To them, this is strange.

    ☾

    It’s Saturday. I arrived on this watery adventure Saturday a week ago. Today, I can’t stop weeping. Tears flood from my eyes and I take myself away into my cabin to cry and sob and let it out. My nervous system is on edge.

    I don’t want to be here anymore.

    Amidst the tears, I have an epiphany. I realise I’ve broken a generational pattern of making misaligned decisions out of a need for survival.

    The power imbalance is exactly what the patriarchy preys on. They need us to need them. But it never works out for anyone. We all end up hurt and resentful. And then women a deemed ‘crazy’ because we have to reclaim our power in unconventional ways because we are not resourced enough otherwise.

    It feels so good to keep saying “no” to Alain’s propositions. Accepting or acceding to him comes at a cost that I am not willing to pay. He has never encountered a whole woman, a free woman, a woman who neither needs nor wants anything from him.

    It’s fascinating to observe my journey with my own internalised patriarchy.

    With my last long-term relationship, I slipped into the ‘perfect woman’ mould. I cooked and cleaned and cared and on top of that, I ran a business and paid half the bills and half the mortgage (that I was never repaid for).

    Now, I have no inclination to prove my worth or lovability through female labour. I nurture and care if and when I want to freely. And withhold it as easily. My actions and choices come from a pure place. Because I am self-resourced.

    This confounds the patriarchy who are conditioned to a system of exchange based on a need of survival from those who are oppressed and under-resourced. It’s easy to hold the power when the other has none.

    ☾

    Eventually, we find a connection point as I astound them with my impeccable music taste. One night, we share songs and dance.

    The patriarchy does all the cooking. Because I can’t relax enough to scrape together a meal beyond carrots sticks and cheese slices. If meals are left to me we starve. They cook. I wash up.

    After 5 days at sea, we are all glad to return to land. I never imagined the tension build up in my body from the constant motion of sailing. A stress response to the unnatural feeling of being thrown back and forth relentlessly.

    Upon arriving, desperate to speak to anyone not on our boat, I introduce myself to our neighbours who tell me that no skilled sailor would consider crossing in those conditions. It gives me a new perspective on Alain, his skills as a sailor and my safety on his vessel.

    ☾

    As we finally stumble back onto solid ground in Palermo, I have a heart-to-heart with one of Alain’s friends. Turns out, I’m not the only one who felt unsafe and uncomfortable. He says he hated every second of the journey. He wishes he had never come on this trip. That Alain is behaving strangely. We agree that he is not well. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take it.

    Alain’s advances continue. When he catches me in tears he sends me a message that says “I wish I could hold you in my arms to comfort you”. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t want this man to touch me, ever. I don’t reply.

    ☾

    On Wednesday I again am filled with tears. When I think I’ve cried it all out I rejoin the group and we explore the city of Palermo but the tears don’t stop. They notice and I tell them I am feeling emotional and need space. I hide behind sunglasses and try to focus on the astounding history, art and beauty of Sicily. Spirituality is devotion to beauty, I think to myself in admiration.

    But I know now, that it’s time to go.

    ☾

    On Thursday I book a flight. His friends leave today and it will just be Alain and me again. I am unwilling to face that.

    On Friday over cappuccinos and cornettos at a patisseria I say to Alain “Alain” he looks up at me “I am leaving on Sunday. And I’m not coming back.” he nods, silently. Understood. He offers me to stay on the boat until then. “I can take an Airbnb,” I say. “No, please stay” he counters.

    The patriarchy pretends it doesn’t know what it wants and is fine and chill and cool with everything but doesn’t know how to communicate how it feels and it wants directly and clearly and is boiling with anger and frustration underneath.

    ☾

    Grateful and relieved, on Saturday I sunbathe and swim and read. For the first time, Alain leaves me alone. This is more like what I thought the experience would be like. Peaceful.

    As I pack up my life once again, I reflect on this bizarre nautical chapter. It wasn’t the adventure I signed up for, but it was the lesson I needed. I’ve emerged stronger, wiser, and with a newfound appreciation for solid ground.

    Sunday I get up early clean my cabin and bathroom and dive off the boat to swim one last time. I am ready to leave. He takes me to shore in the dingy and we have an awkward goodbye. “Thank you for an interesting time,” I say. “Have a nice life.” He mumbles something. I don’t care what he has to say. I’m ready to go.

  • idle

    the antidote to hustle culture, urgency culture, consumer culture and capitalism

    Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life, and I wept with relief and happiness.

    I never planned this.

    I had no idea this was where we would end up. But I do live with the philosophy of saying yes to life and letting life, in her ultimate intelligence, guide and lead me.

    I knew that there was a craving deep inside my soul.

    So loud, so pure, so uncompromising that I could not ignore it. I wanted to extract myself from the world of constant distractions: always something to do, someone to see, something to add to the list, social media, TV shows, work, more work, more stuff to buy to numb my inertia.

    Since 2020 happened I have been caught in a cycle of distraction, less able to sit quietly with myself or truly engage with the world around me.

    I craved to replace this constant noise with being wholly consumed with the simplicity of living. So much so that I did not need nor want distraction from living and being.

    I had to learn to be idle.

    This morning I woke up to the sunrise, red streaks across the horizon of a purple sky, stripped naked and dove into the sea. This, I thought, is a start. I intend to spend my days teaching, talking, writing, creating, singing, playing, swimming, lounging and laughing.

    Work is there. It anchors me and I am happy to have those commitments. And…

    Mostly: I will be idle.

    A month ago, I threw my hands up in the air and said, “Universe, I’ve run out of ideas. This next step is on you. You work it out. Because I can’t do this by myself.”

    One kismet conversation led to another, and suddenly I was offered an invitation to move onto a beautiful catamaran with my cat and our friend Captain Alain to sail the world. It felt like the universe answering my call, offering me a chance to step out of the repetition of ‘normal’ life and rediscover a more nourishing form.

    We are in the Balearic Islands on Menorca. In a few days when the winds pick up we are heading to my paternal origins of Sardinia, then south to Sicily, the Greek Islands, down to Tunisia, across to Turkey and then… let’s see.

    I hope to break free from the piercing, anxious apathy that brews in the blood and rediscover the joy of being fully present in each moment. It’s a step towards reclaiming my agency and capacity to act rather than passively consuming out of a need for distraction.

    In my journey to embrace a simpler, more fulfilling life, I’ve come to understand that there are two kinds of people.

    — There are those obsessed with outcomes, desperately seeking stability, willing to sacrifice everything to achieve that goal.

    — There are those who have let go of fixating on outcomes, instead pouring themselves fully into the fluid unpredictability of the present moment and the process itself.

    For me — those living deeply in the moment — are truly the ones who are more vivid and alive.

    It’s not the ultra-disciplined person with a rigid lifestyle and endless list of goals who inspires me. Rather, I’m drawn to those who take the time to walk slowly, who dedicate themselves to a cherished hobby, or who can simply lay back and lose themselves in passions for hours.

    These are the people who embody the essence of what it means to truly live and love.

    In embracing this way of life — one that values presence, simplicity, and active care — we find ourselves more inspired and alive.

    By focusing on the process rather than obsessing over outcomes, by nurturing the conditions for growth rather than fixating on the end result, we not only find more fulfilment in our own lives but also become a source of inspiration and support for others.

    This is how we truly learn to love… ourselves, others, and the world around us.

    In a world obsessed with hustle and bustle, where every second is monetised and optimised, there’s a quiet rebellion brewing.

    It’s the art of being gloriously, unapologetically idle.

    Not lazy, but present. Alive.

    Awake to the whispers of the world that we usually rush past.

    Idleness isn’t about doing nothing; it’s about doing nothing particularly “productive” and finding it spectacularly fulfilling.

    It’s life, raw and unfiltered, served straight up with a twist of kismet serendipity.

    We’ve forgotten, in our mad dash to achieve and acquire, that we’re dancing animals at heart. We love to move, to explore, to simply be.

    Somewhere along the way, we traded our dance shoes for computer screens and our curiosity for convenience.

    Here’s the secret: In the spaces between the urgent emails and the rushed commutes, real life is waiting.

    It’s in the idle moments, the apparently “unproductive” times, that we stumble upon joy, connection, and meaning. It’s where we remember who we are beyond our job titles and social media profiles.

    So here’s my invitation:

    Join me in embracing idleness as a radical act of self-love and rebellion.

    To reclaim our right to wander, wonder, and yes, to faff about. Because in a world that demands we constantly prove our worth through busyness and acquisition, choosing to be idle is choosing to be fully human.

  • where to now?

    winter is coming / maybe south? maybe more south? / a love-hate letter to Australia / a surf road-trip along the west coast of Europe / a catamaran trip around the world

    Maybe south. FranceSpainPortugal…and then?

    Maybe more south. IndiaIndonesiaAustralia…and then?

    ☾

    I am back in my little cabin in the southern part of the UK my furry shadow in the shape of a cat firmly pressing his little warm body against my side as I tap at my laptop keys willing little pieces of my heart out of my fingertips to share with you.

    My 8-month mentor training that you have been reading about across the past month started this week and I am in between live training calls today. The shift from externally facing business work and output to internally facing business doing the actual work is palpable. I notice that I have withdrawn from the clamour a little while I recalibrate.

    The weather outside is grey and wet. 17°C. Winter is coming.

    If I didn’t know I was leaving in three weeks I would be crying but instead, I am laughing because I am leaving three weeks. It was a fast and short six-week on-and-off summer here in the UK.

    An anticipated disappointment.

    This morning I spoke to a very nice car salesman who told me he would help me sell my car before I go.

    I’ve sold all my other furniture already, except for the desk and the bed. The rug that I have shipped across the world several times will get rolled up and put in storage in a friend’s garage with one other bag that will stay behind for now.

    Where to now?

    ☾

    Australia is a strange place.

    Not my home but sometimes the closest thing. Many formative years spent there have etched a love for the country.

    There is something about those endless skies, the vast open space, the scorching bright light. Everything is more alive, more wild, more dangerous. The ocean, the wildlife, the sun.

    Every beautiful thing has malice to it.

    As a young girl, I learned to be wary of long grasses and concealed foliage. At any moment something that wants to kill you might appear. Even now when I walk through gentle European landscapes my eyes search for evidence of a poisonous snake or spider, a magpie attack or a vicious lizard hidden somewhere.

    I have skills most of my friends don’t.

    I can open a coconut with a machete in three short hacks. I can identify most tropical fruits and herbs and can tell when something is good to eat. I can look at the ocean to determine whether it’s safe to swim and where, or not, based on the movement in the waters. I can walk barefoot on any ground, my feet instinctively finding safe pockets to balance on, without being marred by rough surfaces.

    Sometimes I watch people without the same wildness in their spirit clumsily fumble through nature being pitted by its elements and feel a superiority in my feral heart.

    Australia gave me to myself.

    It taught me to find peace and vibrancy in the terror and brutality of life.

    I miss the smell of the eucalyptus and the feel of the paper bark under my fingers. I miss the unbridled wildness and the freedom you can find when you get far enough away from civilisation. I miss the instant community formed through the shared obstacles of navigating this treacherous land.

    Australia.

    A country that is rough and raw and honest its bigotry and vacuity. That will readily opt for toxic positivity instead of squarely addressing what is truly going on. Punctuated by the cultural archetype of the “battler” — the idea that people should work hard to earn just enough to survive — is deeply ingrained in the national identity. With little room for more delicate and nuanced ways of being.

    I did find my people there.

    But they are not the average Australian. As they are not your average Brit or average European or average American. There is nothing average about the people I claim as mine.

    It’s been 10 years.

    I think of it often. More now, than before.

    ☾

    But Europe is my home, too.

    Europe gave me delicacy and refinement inaccessible elsewhere.

    A month ago I had a plan.

    A friend of mine and I were going to take our cars and meet in the north of France and slowly drive our way along the west coast. France, Spain, Portugal.

    An all-girl surf road trip. I figured, that by the time we arrived at the end, I’d have an answer to that question.

    Where to now?

    But then the plan changed.

    My friend could no longer go and I was left adrift in no man’s land wondering what better kismet plan the universe had in store for me.

    A good one, it turns out.

    Instead, I was invited to join a friend on a four x double-bedroom catamaran with my cat to sail around the world for six months or more. However long it takes and suits our tastes.

    In three weeks we will take a taxi to a port south of here, ferry to France, train to Paris, stay the night, fly to Menorca, board a catamaran and slowly sail south.

    From the Balearic Islands to Sicily, through the Greek Islands, onto Turkey, through the Suez Canal edging Egypt, into the Red Sea, to the Gulf of Aden, across the Arabian Sea, onto India, the Pacific, and more…

    I had never imagined I’d end up here but that’s the beauty of this life I have chosen.

    It is kismet.

    Contained by an ecstatic swell of destiny, accessible only by relaxing into the unknown.

  • monday blues are real

    Every single day of the week has a different vibe. And when you know how to harness the energy of the days of the week and make them work for you, your entire life changes.

    I woke up on Monday bone-tired. Had I been running around as the green fae in a secret treasure hunt and staying up late at a festival all weekend? Yes, I had.

    But still… I am also no longer in my 20’s where I can whimsically shirk all responsibilities. Nor do I want to.

    (I feel this particular topic is owed an article all of its own as I have a lot of thoughts and opinions about moving away from the cult of youth and flourishing at every age and how we are evolving in this current moment of our collective consciousness where old paradigms and expectations no longer fit, but that’s not for today. I’ll circle back to that another time.)

    Then I remembered it was Monday and that I am allowed to rest!

    We don’t flailingly and aimlessly live and feel the way we do without reason. There are a whole host of influencers impacting how you feel, and what you do, every day. Your emotions, if you have slept, your last conversation, the sun, moon and stars, and the energy of the days of the week all play an important role too.

    One thing that we often overlook is that each day of the week brings with it a unique vibe, atmosphere and energy.

    Have you ever wondered why Monday feels like such a drag?

    It’s because Monday is influenced by the Moon and the vibe is all about quiet introspection and being alone. But in our world Monday is the first day of the working week and we are expected to feel like we are full of beans (even when we are not).

    You know how people get really excited about Friday?

    It’s not because everyone hates their job and wants to run around shouting “FRIYAY!” at the top of their lungs. It’s because Friday is influenced by the planet Venus and the vibe is all about excitement, socializing, beauty and romance. It’s an upbeat energy compared to low-key Monday.

    Every single day of the week has a different vibe. And when you know how to harness the energy of the days of the week and make them work for you, your entire life changes. Instead of pushing against the current, you’ll flow with it.

    Here’s how it works:

    DAY: MONDAY 🌙

    PLANET: MOON

    VIBE: Get in touch with your feelings, be mindful of your moods, purify your surroundings, practice compassion.

    Monday is a moon day, and so we are dealing with emotions, moods, intuition and the shadowy side of life. Many people report Monday as the most challenging day of the week. It’s no wonder, as the moon carries with it erratic and sometimes unpredictable energy. If you are not a fan of Monday, there may be some underlying emotional energy that you are struggling to deal with. It helps to spend some time being introspective and journaling about what is coming up for you. This lets our logical mind know “where we stand” in a metaphorical sense.

    Best tasks for Mondays: Meditation, dream analysis, planning, quiet time, personal indulgence, rest, relaxation, sleep.

    I hold my CEO day on a Monday for both my life and my business.

     

    DAY: TUESDAY 🔥

    PLANET: MARS

    VIBE: Express your passion, get some exercise, release pent up frustration/energy.

    Tuesday is influenced by the planet Mars, which is an aggressive planet. In fact, its namesake in Greek myth was the god of war. Tuesday is a driving force in the workweek and will auger a sense of productivity, competition, effectiveness, determination and completion. With these kinds of energies in the forefront, Tuesday is the perfect day for finishing long overdue tasks. Conversely, Tuesday is also a great day to start new projects.

    Best tasks for Tuesdays: Building strategies at work and in career, marketing, acting on new ideas, starting new projects, cleaning out clutter, exercising, finishing to-do lists or catching up.

    As the ‘official’ first work day of my week, I use Tuesdays to bite a chunk out of my ‘to-dos’. It’s generally one of my most outward-facing productive days of the week. Projects, emails, and urgent tasks all get piled into this one day. I block-task my days so this creates space in the week for other commitments.

    DAY: WEDNESDAY 💬

    PLANET: MERCURY

    VIBE: Study, travel, research, meditate, teach, talk, write, hold meetings.

    Wednesday is ruled by Mercury who is the messenger of the heavens. It facilitates clear communication and carries new information to our awareness in extremely precise and effective ways. Mercury also augers higher perception too. I love the synchronicity of Wednesday landing in the middle of the week because it gives a pervasive sense of connectivity. In a way, Wednesday is the vital communications link to all other days – it’s like the network server of the week (to use computer terms).

    Best tasks for Wednesdays: Communication of course! Catch up on emails, thank you notes, letters, phone calls, etc. Wednesday is a good day to sign contracts (that is, if Mercury is not in a retrograde) too. Mercury is also a beneficent energy for short travel, so plan your day trips accordingly.

    Wednesdays for me are for meetings, group mentoring calls and private clients. Because I made space on Tuesday and can focus on these solely on this day.

    DAY: THURSDAY 🪐

    PLANET: JUPITER

    VIBE: Make a point to feel gratitude and positivity from the moment you wake up, as this is going to help you leap forward throughout the day.

    Thursday belongs to Jupiter, the planet of positivity and expansion, making it the perfect time to learn new things and expand your consciousness. A survey concludes Thursday is the most productive day of the week in business. It’s no wonder, as Jupiter has a way of lighting a fire under us and getting us moving. Jupiter is the planet of enterprise and expansion. It’s also an extremely optimistic planetary energy that can be felt all through the day on Thursdays when we tune into it.

    Best tasks for Thursdays: Socializing, networking, marketing. Working with financial tasks such as the stock market or even balancing accounts will lead to positive results in the long term when done on Thursdays while ruminating in Jupiter energy.

    Often, I also see private clients on Thursdays as well as carve out time for copywriting, marketing and more of the fun creative aspects of running my business.

    DAY: FRIDAY ♥️

    PLANET: VENUS

    VIBE: Appreciate the people in your life, go on a date, show your love, recognize beauty, make new friends. Enjoy fashion and creative pursuits.

    Friday is the day of Venus, the planet of love and creativity, which makes it the perfect day to connect with others and relax. We all know Venus energy, and when it comes to the symbolic meaning of days, Venus is a highly appropriate vibe for Friday, the traditional end-of-the-workweek day. Venus is about love, connection, belonging, comfort, sensuality and passion. If you think about it, most people who have traditional Monday – Friday workweeks tend to let their hair down and celebrate on Fridays (points for kicking off the weekend too). Friday is an all-around feel-good day, replete with the energy of friendliness and kindness. Interestingly, Friday is also the most popular (romantic) date night.

    Best tasks for Fridays: Romance, romance, romance! Did I mention romance? Fridays are also perfect for expressing your love amidst friends and family. This is a great day for pleasure and appreciation, so trips to places that make you feel indulged, luxurious or pampered are good too (like a spa, salon, the movies, a jewellery store).

    I generally take Fridays off from work and instead plan Venusian things that fill up my cup. Buy flowers, go on a date, go to a gig, get my hair cut (or cut it myself as I have been prone to lately), see friends, go to the beach or on a road trip.

    DAY: SATURDAY ⏰

    PLANET: SATURN

    VIBE: Tackle some big projects that need doing and take time out of your day to get organised for the week ahead.

    Saturday is the day of Saturn, the day of taking responsibility and getting organised. Saturn can be a stern energy and a real taskmaster too. This makes Saturday one of the most advantageous days of the week because the opportunity for productivity and completing tasks is optimal. Unlike Thursday/Jupiter however, Saturn isn’t as jovial when working to get the job done. Saturdays are best put to use when we thoroughly plan for prevention. Preparing for the week ahead on Saturday will align our Saturn energies and bring about satisfactory results for each consecutive day in the week.

    Best tasks for Saturday: Housework, preparation for upcoming events, academic tasks like studying and homework, catching up on a backlog of work.

    On Saturdays, I’m found behind my laptop for the morning. Answering any emails left from the week (I aim for inbox zero when I can) and tying up loose strings from projects, clients and commitments. I’ll look through my love to-do list in my Plannher and make sure everything is ticked off or rearranged before my weekend begins on Saturday afternoon.

    DAY: SUNDAY 🌞

    PLANET: SUN

    VIBE: Make today a day for rest and relaxation. Try not to schedule anything too demanding or high energy on Sunday and instead, take the time to connect to your inner radiance.

    Sunday is the day of the Sun, a perfect day for relaxing, unwinding and connecting with your inner self. Sunday is notorious throughout time and cultures as being a day of rest, the sun shines brightly on our Sundays with clarity, vitality and a sense of well-being. This day is optimal for soaking up some social warmth by being with family, friends and neighbours. It’s also a perfect day to catch up on our rest and relaxation. The sun is all about radiance, sharing, expressing, expanding, illumination and growth. The sun is also about provision, as it ensures the continuation of life as we know it.

    Best tasks for Sunday: Rest, relaxing, having fun with loved ones, gardening, grocery shopping, cooking and worship for the purpose of illumination.

    Sunday, Monday and Friday are my favourite days. Honestly, even though I love my job sometimes I think I wouldn’t work if I did not have to. I’d love to be super floaty and have zero obligations! And on Sunday, I get permission to do exactly that. It’s a ‘me day’ where I limit plans and commitments to only things I absolutely adore.

     

    Before I go…

    Remember, these energies are subtle guides, not strict rules. The real magic happens when you tune into your own rhythms and needs.

    Why not experiment with aligning your life and tasks to these cosmic vibes? You might just find your week flowing with newfound ease and joy!

    What’s your favourite day of the week? Let me know in the comments, and I’ll give you examples of how you can use its energy this week!