I'm feeling better.

The muscle aches, the headaches, the weakness... all the flu-like symptoms have pretty much cleared up.

It wasn't that bad, but it was the combination of being sick with my schedule that made it intense.

What really helped me: journaling, yesterday.

Since I'd caught up on everything I needed to do, I was able to write in my journal.

At one point, it was a daily habit, so there were days when it didn't serve much purpose anymore. But yesterday, after almost two weeks without it, I realized once again how important it is.

It's where you can empty your mind and understand through direct observation where the knots are. The ones that have been blocking us for weeks, sometimes months.

An essential mental hygiene habit.

I'm realizing that these daily notes compete with my personal journal.

It's becoming increasingly rare for me to write in my journal. Often because I spend the early morning moments writing a note right here.

But my journal is my engine.

It's where I can think things through without worrying about outside perspectives, others' approval, public success, nothing.

I pour out what bothers me, I describe the obstacles blocking me, I jot down the thoughts I don't want to forget.

Most importantly: I sort through the notes I accumulate throughout the day. I compare them. I draw lessons from them.

But now that my professional and personal activities have both taken off at the same time, I realize I need to be more selective about what I dedicate my time to.

Especially since writing a daily note also competes with my daily video.

So I'm going to do two things:

• Bring back the stats (which I had deliberately stopped) to see if stopping the daily notes would really have major consequences
• Start thinking about a different format.

I absolutely want to maintain an activity here. But I tell myself that social networks are made specifically for what's ephemeral: daily videos belong there.

But here, I could present longer, more polished work that isn't redundant with the rest.

Something to think about.

This is a question I'm asking out loud.

Often, I'm in a hurry and I'm not sure the few words I throw down here are of any interest.

At the same time, it forces me each morning to do the following exercise:

1. Search within myself for what is true and sincere,
2. Express it in a way that others can understand.

In this regard, it's different from my personal journal where I stop at step 1.

Still, I wonder if I shouldn't take all this in a new direction.

I ask myself the same question about my daily videos. At some point, I'm going to get tired of talking about meditation and creation, right? It's already starting.

I think I'd like to create more on a daily basis (fiction, abstraction, poetry?) but I don't yet see what or how.

However, I think the best way to transform this activity is to keep at it. With the same regularity. Keep doing what's easy, especially when I don't have time.

That's how you find what feels aligned.

Sick, with a ton of things to do.

Videos, work meetings, deliverables.

Spirits are good though.

A year ago, I had serious doubts about my ability to make a living. I went through some rough patches. Now, I've found something that works reasonably well.

Overall, I think I've understood some very important things about communication.

It helped me get my personal channel off the ground. It helped me find clients for ChezFilms and truly help them. (So far, the feedback has been excellent.)

But most importantly: it's going to help me better communicate about my own projects.

When I'm a bit more financially stable, I'll be better equipped to bring my artistic projects to life—whether it's funding them, producing them, or distributing them.

But for today, we'll just focus on managing the back pain and headaches during client meetings...

I had my son two weekends in a row in Normandy, so I fell behind on shooting professional videos (which I normally do on weekends).

And since I have meetings almost every day (ChezFilms is taking off, which is great), I haven't had time to catch up on this blog.

And I have a ton of client deliverables waiting.

Oh, and I'm sick. I'm coughing and my back is a mess.

Normally, I add my weekend posts on Sunday or Monday, no one the wiser. But this time, I'm not even going to pretend. We're picking up the journal today.

Have a great week, everyone :)

I still go often to the SACD Writers' House.

To write, to work, for meetings, for screenings. (Authors can rent offices there for free.)

The Writers' House, like the SACD offices for that matter, are places where you feel welcome.

The people who work there are kind, attentive, available.

You can tell that things have been designed to be simple, accessible, welcoming. People are at the heart of it, not just an appendage to a system organized for machines.

It's rare enough to be worth noting.

And worth emulating.

I've already mentioned this, but now I'm going to be radical about it:

I'm going to do my daily videos in a single take.

Two, at most.

In the recent series I did on meditation, I would sometimes redo takes dozens of times because I felt that this or that part wasn't clear enough.

And for meditation, that made sense: I'm talking about things where you need to be precise so you don't mislead people.

But now: no more. It has to be simple. I shouldn't cling to secondary details: if I stutter, if the sound isn't perfect, if I have to correct myself to explain an idea, that'll be just fine.

The goal is for it to be easy. To find the audience that likes this raw, personal, improvised side.

And not attract an audience that likes the very clear and structured side of videos that take me too much time.

It always comes back to the same Arlan Hamilton quote: "Be yourself so the people who love you can find you."

And conversely: don't make unnecessary efforts to attract people who don't love you.

My technique for creating my blog posts or daily videos is as follows:

Either an idea comes to me. Then, if I can, I take out my phone and record it right away.

Or, especially for blog posts, it's the right time to write—because I won't have time later, for example. Often in the morning with coffee.

So I pause and look for what's deep down.

In other words: if I stop all activity, stop thinking, stop planning, is there something stirring deep inside me? Is there a problem, an idea, or a new way of seeing that came during meditation that I could share here?

I always find something.

But recently, I may be reaching the end of a cycle.

My videos about life and meditation have done very well. I'm happy with my posts here, too. But I think I want to move on to something else. When I look deep down, I don't find the same excitement for these topics.

Let me be clear: I'm going to keep posting one video and one note per day. But I mustn't let myself get trapped by what has worked. The source is the inner excitement.

I have to follow my thread—even if everyone unsubscribes.

You know how it is: when I post a photo, it means I don't have time to post anything else...

Especially since this is an old photo, at least 10 years old.

Not related to anything.

Image

But I like it. Taken with a Rolleiflex at the port of Trouville.

To understand leverage in finance, imagine that one day you receive a machine with the following property:

When you insert €100 on one side, a year later, €130 comes out the other.

If you're rational (and greedy), your first instinct should be to try to insert as much money as possible.

To the point where it would even be profitable to go borrow from your friends, from the bank, wherever you can, and put everything into the machine...

On one condition (and it's an important condition): that the borrowing rate is lower than the rate of return. In other words, it's only worthwhile if the bank charges you less than €30 in interest.

This simplified model represents how financiers view companies.

They don't care about the internal workings, only the financial return. And if the latter is higher than the borrowing rate, then it's worth borrowing to invest.

And for me... it's the same thing with meditation.

I realized one day that the rate of return of meditation on my well-being was much higher than expected.

So, it was worth borrowing time from my other activities (which had a lower return) to invest it in presence and clarity.

It was quite a radical decision at the time.

I don't regret it.

All the notes and videos I'm posting right now are about presence.

How to find peace in the moment without creating artificial goals or attachments; how to reach a pure joy that doesn't depend on satisfying a manufactured need; how not to stake everything on the future; etc.

And meanwhile...

We ask children to write a letter to Santa Claus to list the new acquisitions they'll make in a month. We create excitement from a completely fabricated anticipation. We turn the present into a waiting period rooted in consumption.

Like so many traditions that have become so natural today, I find it hard not to see our lowest commercial instincts at work. It's become an unquestioned consumption reflex, supporting a growth that destroys everything.

Once upon a time, Christmas was the festival of lights.

In the middle of winter and perpetual night, people hung lights to celebrate the gradual return of the sun.

Then capitalism came along.

Generally, we do everything to avoid it.

When we feel anxiety rising, we associate it with a problem, a fear, a goal, so we act.

What action will make it go away?

When action isn't enough, we try something else. Or we take it personally. Another failure. "Someone more capable than me would have known what to do," we tell ourselves.

Except there's nothing to do.

Anxiety must be experienced. All the way through.

No action will chase it away or diminish it. No solution will resolve it.

Especially since by trying to act too soon, we don't let anxiety deliver its message. A part of you is worried about something. Let it express itself fully. Don't immediately go to war against something else.

Then, once the emotion has passed, return to your activities.

An inner transformation has occurred.

This transformation will contribute more to your well-being than any action devised in panic.

--

Related:

• Rain
• All in the Body

I'm currently doing a series on meditation in my daily videos.

From the start, I've been using these videos to reinforce concepts I've understood intellectually but don't apply enough in daily life. And instead of making a note for personal use, I express it in a post for collective use.

Big advantage: it forces me to put into clear words, for people who aren't necessarily well-versed in this, concepts I've been immersed in for several years. I have to articulate the context, the goal, the method.

It clarifies many ideas, even for myself.

--

Related:

• My sources

Faith is essential to presence.

Presence means being fully immersed in what you are doing.

It means being steeped in the present, in sensations, in the activity, without passing judgment or hatching plans. You simply do the best you can, without thinking about the rest.

It is a way of operating that can be unsettling at times.

If we plan nothing, what happens next?

Shouldn't I also anticipate the future a little, prepare for what follows? Otherwise, don't I run the risk of being left high and dry?

This is where faith steps in. It says this:

The best way for the next activity to emerge is to perform the current one well. If I am entirely present in the moment, the next step will take shape on its own as a consequence. There is nothing to predict.

If I start anticipating, however, it means I am no longer fully focused on what I am doing. A part of me does not trust and prefers to build plans. Intellect takes the reins from action. We are no longer in the flow.

To be yourself, you must have faith that the future will arise as a natural consequence of the present fully lived.

--

Related:

• One Thing Done Right
• Two ways to solve problems

It's funny how my personal and professional activities—which are quite disconnected from each other—keep progressing at the same pace.

To the point where it could almost become intimidating with the sheer number of things to do in a day.

Blog posts, personal videos, work videos, replying to comments and messages, client calls, quotes, requests... and then the actual work itself!

If I thought about it in the morning, I could feel overwhelmed.

So I don't think about it.

I meditate. I focus on the present. With the confidence that when it's time to do something, it'll come naturally.

Yes, it works. For now.

But mostly because both my personal and professional activities are aligned. Both resonate with me. I do them naturally. I don't have to put on a costume that isn't me.

I keep being myself, and the work gets done.

Lost in life? Not sure anymore where to go, what to do, what goal to pursue?

Place your attention on the present.

Tired? Not feeling yourself? The sense that you're not where you should be, that you're wasting your day?

Place your attention on the present.

The present is the draft of air. The tension in your neck. The car light blinking. The green of the plants swaying in the wind. The light in the sky. The smell of coffee.

In this immediate and ever-changing present, there's no room for the story you're telling yourself.

It's the one putting you in this state.

--

Related:

• Meditation, a How-To
• Without a Voice in Your Head?

To put it kindly, let's just say it's "more of a summer spot."

For weeks now, my mother has been encouraging me to check out the Ciné Bistro that Claude Lelouch opened at the Trouville harbor. It's right near my place, it's cinema-themed (my thing, supposedly), and it opened on my birthday.

So today, on a sunny Sunday, I decided to go there for lunch.

And I left pretty quickly.

What bothered me—actually stunned me—is that they managed to take the best location in Trouville – right on the harbor, facing the pier – and turn it into such a dark place. Aside from two windows facing the beach, you'd think you were in a nightclub. Dark, lit by string lights, with party music playing. (I'm guessing it's for the projectors and the cinema vibe.)

I didn't have the heart to spend €19 on a club sandwich eaten in the dark when beautiful winter sunshine was waiting for me outside.

Sure... the chairs have the names of great actors and actresses written on them... There are movie posters and photos... But it all feels very artificial to me.

Honestly, it reminded me of the "Cult Film Festival" that Karl Zéro organized in Trouville: cinema is just a pretext to create a pseudo-closeness with celebrities who couldn't care less. There's no real vision behind it.

I went and had mussels at the harbor instead.

And yet I meditated this morning. It's a quieter day—well, not quieter, lots of things to do, but not too much work.

But there it is: bad mood.

Maybe the flight back. Maybe the food. Nerves unwinding.

Here's at least one mistake I don't make anymore: thinking that whatever triggered the irritation is the source. Ha! Not falling for that one anymore. Proof: I moved on to something else and that second thing pissed me off too.

So there you go.

I could have put off writing this note until later. When things felt better. Write yet another piece of bullshit about meditation. "Oh, you just have to place your attention on blah blah blah..."

But no, that's the whole secret now: I'm not waiting anymore for things to be okay.

In fact, I'm not even hoping for things to be okay.

I do it now. With what's here. I accept.

Damnit.

When I post a photo, it means I didn't have time to write a note.

And when I post a crappy photo, it means I didn't have time to take nice photos.

And when even the caption is crappy, it really means everything's going to hell.

Image

Yet it was a fascinating business trip, which went very well, where I met great people.

But that's exactly it. If you find time to add magnificent illuminations to your diary, maybe it's because your real life is crappy.

Woke up in the middle of the night with this very clear recipe idea in my head:

Splinter Rice Recipe
(20 minutes, easy level)
Mix a bowl of rice with a large quantity of splinters that will flavor the dish but that you absolutely, absolutely must not swallow.

What exactly is my brain trying to tell me?