Nicolas Boulenger

The names of some big brands were built on brain farts.

They were thrown together from whatever objects were lying around the room, or from some dubious inside joke.

No outsider can make sense of them.

It has nothing to do with the brand.

From a distance, it isn't even funny.

And yet they're huge hits. For example:

• Adobe was the name of the creek behind the founder's house,
• Häagen-Dazs was invented from scratch to sound Danish (a language that doesn't even have an ä),
• Miramax is a blend of the Weinstein parents: Miriam and Max,
• Yahoo comes from the brutes in Gulliver's Travels, whom the founders identified with,
• Les 3 Suisses comes from the three daughters of Mr. Suis, the owner of the bistro next door.

You could call it unserious. A who-cares approach to naming.

I see it instead as the sign of a philosophy that, in some cases, can explain the success that followed.

Because to found a brand, you have to embody it.

It really is a birth.

You put a part of yourself into it that will then, you hope, bear fruit and grow out in the world.

Now, I've said this before: logic is common to everyone. Two and two make four, whoever you are.

So if you use logic to name your brand, you create a name others could have come up with.

Your own DNA, unique, inimitable, isn't in it.

Whereas by going with the brain fart, you do two things:

First, you pick a name no one else could find. Because it comes from a moment, a place, or a reference that exists only for you.

Second, it proves you've understood that everything counts.

That moment, that place, those people are worth no less than the rest.

That instant, that joke, that reference are worth no less because they don't rest on reasoning.

On the contrary. It happened. That day. That hour. Just as it was.

It came out of you. Without forcing. Without a filter.

It's a piece of your biography.

And that has value.

Period.

Now, that confidence, that ability to step away from convention and own who you are in public, even when it's illogical, even when you know it will make sense to no one else...

That's often the mark of people who go far.

I haven't found mine yet. But I'm moving forward.

I still have two social media accounts:

• One where I'm exactly myself and talk about whatever I want, whenever I want,
• One where I'm selling something.

The progress of these past few years: what I sell is closely aligned with who I am.

I believe in it, I'm not forcing anything, and I meet people who are a good fit for me.

No part of me regrets doing it this way.

Quite the opposite: this is how I got closer to my truth, by digging both sides of the mountain at once.

I remain, however, very aware of what is not aligned.

On a scorching day like today, I see how my professional work remains powerless against what really matters.

Because I'm convinced another way of organizing things is possible.

One not built on the pursuit of profit, on unbridled ambition, on a headlong rush forward.

A way of organizing that doesn't back us into a corner.

And even if my professional work doesn't go against my deepest beliefs, I have to admit:

It doesn't serve them. Not yet.

I say not yet because it's in motion. I'm searching. I'm testing. I'm hopeful I'll get there.

Deep down, my core belief is this:

I'm not an economist. Not a politician. Not a researcher.

I tell stories.

That's no small thing: our world is made of stories.

It's the raw material we humans work with.

And I'm convinced that the story we tell ourselves about who we are, about our nature, about our reason for being, is the main source of the obstacles we run into.

I'd like to take part in creating a better story.

That's what I do personally, in my own videos.

And what I do professionally, with my clients.

I'd like to bring the two together.

I'm working on it.

No change originates from the outside.

If an obstacle blocks your path and you step over it...

then you were capable of it.

The solution to the problem was already inside you. The inner resources were already available.

Is an obstacle you know how to overcome really an obstacle?

Or is it simply a step?

Difficult, annoying, a delay... but one you handle.

When you don't know how to get past the obstacle, though, that's another matter.

In that case, you have no choice:

You have to transform.

Set the metamorphosis in motion, to go from someone who can't solve the problem to someone who can.

So this really is inner work.

Even if it draws on the outside, on observation, on interaction, the ultimate goal is to change yourself.

Not the world. Not other people. Not the obstacle.

Yourself.

Tinkering with your inner engine to overcome the problem.

So, to answer the question "How can we change things?":

Answer: we can't. Not directly.

We can only change ourselves.

Then let it happen.

I notice strong patterns among the people I coach:

• The work we choose is often deeply tied to our parents (I've talked about this before → linked note).
• We often try to reconcile personal impulses with professional constraints, which crystallize into "I wouldn't want a certain (very serious) person to stumble onto a certain (very personal) piece of content".
• And yet, underneath it all, a strong desire to come together. Under a single banner, a single story. To stop being different people for different people.

And among the solutions I suggest for creating this unity, there's one that keeps coming up:

Dig both sides of the mountain.

Part of you wants to be accepted.

By your friends, your colleagues, society.

That part is constantly searching for a balance between who you are and what's expected of you – or what you think is expected of you.

Of course, that's necessary. No one exists in isolation. ("No man is an island".)

But in doing so, you only dig one side of the mountain.

And God knows where that will take you.

To find inner coherence, you also have to dig the other side.

That means creating a space somewhere where you can be 100% yourself.

No filter. No calculation. No image to keep up.

A place where you can pour out whatever moves you, with no polish, no beating around the bush, no need to make sense.

Public, if you can – I sometimes suggest creating an anonymous account at first.

Then, if you keep digging from both sides, you'll eventually meet in the middle.

A tunnel linking what is absolutely you to what society accepts – or what it needs.

A direct line between your heart and the world.

Between your roots and the sky.

One that will become the inexhaustible source of your action.

For experts and entrepreneurs:

I'm launching the "Story, Presence and Content" workshop. The first cohort will run at the end of October.

It comes from something I realized and have shared before:

Helping people build the right story isn't enough.

It clicks, they see why it matters, but...

Often, things stall after that.

When it's time to speak, to present, to make a video.

So for a while now, I've been adding a very hands-on part to my coaching, where "we make things together".

That's where the real barriers show up: old habits and old fears come rushing back.

It's often the most important moment.

The story isn't theoretical anymore. You see how it gets put into words in front of someone, or in front of a camera.

But above all: we produce the first piece of content together.

That's where it all makes sense, for them and for me.

For them: it speeds up a process that would probably have taken them several months – assuming they didn't give up.

For me: it helps me understand where the real resistance was. So I can help them get around it.

That's why I decided to turn it into a workshop.

Day one: story. Day two: public speaking. Day three: we make things.

I'm really excited to do this work as a group.

It'll create the kind of momentum that worked really well in last year's creative improv workshops.

And the others become your first audience.

The first cohort runs from October 29 to 31 in Trouville.

A first version, no frills.

If it works, I'll run a second workshop in January.

Find out more here.

This is the note I often read when I wake up.

I rework it regularly.

I cut what no longer works or now feels obvious. I add what I've understood lately.

Fair warning: the current version is... "very beatnik".

Read quickly, it sounds like the kind of vaguely empty New Age lines you'd see over a sunset photo...

And yet I arrived at these phrasings after many iterations.

They speak to me.

So here's the whole note, then I'll go back through the passages to explain why it makes sense to me.

Today



In every moment, I follow my joy, my excitement and my instinct.



I never act out of fear, obligation or guilt.



I turn fear into joy, obligation into choice, guilt into compassion.



The past is a dream. The future a concept. I could be anyone in this moment.



I am always doing exactly what I should be doing.
I don't think about the next action. It comes.
I know that everything matters.



I keep watch over my thoughts like a shepherd.
When I feel an attachment, I watch it transform in the body.



I am always immersed in a creative activity that is my point of contact with the world.



I don't justify myself. I explain nothing. I ask without reason.



I am surrounded by love, laughter and connection.



The world dances for me and through me.

I did warn you.

But let's go through it:

In every moment, I follow my joy, my excitement and my instinct.

This one I talk about all the time, here and in my videos. Clear enough.

I never act out of fear, obligation or guilt.
I turn fear into joy, obligation into choice, guilt into compassion.

At first I only had the first line, but I realized it was too... generic. And a bit false.

So I added the recipe that goes with it:

Turning fear into joy: fear often comes from a misaligned belief. It's a signal, if you like. But if, instead of giving in to panic, you look for the belief causing the problem, examine it, even change it... the emotion transforms instantly. Fear and excitement are really two readings of the same thing.

Turning obligation into choice: because, honestly, we don't always have a choice! Work, family, health... But actually, we do. Far more than we think. In the end, if you act, it's because you chose to. So I always try to take a moment in presence to find the part of me that genuinely chooses. To see if I really agree with it.

Turning guilt into compassion: the most beatnik and the hardest! Often we blame ourselves. Or we blame others. Which is roughly the same thing: we think the world should be different. Finding love again means remembering that everyone in this world is doing the best they can – myself included. In other words: a reaction that seems absurd to us was the best anyone could come up with. Because we're imperfect, fallible and anxious. And that shared weakness should inspire compassion rather than guilt.

The past is a dream. The future a concept. I could be anyone in this moment.

This is a foundation of meditation.

Only the present exists. The past exists only in memory. The future only in imagination.

So if I close my eyes and focus on the sensations, the sounds, what the body is doing... I can set aside who I am.

If I rely only on the birdsong I hear, I could be someone else. Somewhere else.

My identity only resurfaces the moment I choose to sustain it through my thoughts and my actions.

I am doing exactly what I should be doing.
I don't think about the next action. It comes.
I know that everything matters.

Same here: I've been talking about this a lot lately.

See the related notes.

I keep watch over my thoughts like a shepherd.
When I feel an attachment, I watch it transform in the body.

The shepherd image comes from the Buddha, I think.

Another foundation of meditation:

The goal isn't to suppress thoughts. They'll always be there. And we'll never control them.

But we can watch them, calmly.

Most of the time they wander. They pass.

But if a thought becomes too insistent, you handle it. Calmly too.

Not by setting another thought against it – that's where the chaos starts – but by looking for how it shows up in the body.

That was the subject of yesterday's note.

I am always immersed in a creative activity that is my point of contact with the world.

In other words: my activity comes from within.

I find what excites me, what I'm passionate about, I do it, and people join me in that activity.

Rather than letting the outside world choose.

I don't justify myself. I explain nothing. I ask without reason.

"Asking without reason" means not feeling the need to "convince" people.

You ask. If the person wants to, they do it. If not, they don't. No case to argue. Ever.

I am surrounded by love, laughter and connection.

That one seems clear enough.

Though I'll add: I don't want to be surrounded by "people". Or "friends". It's really love, laughter and connection that I'm after.

Which can happen with anyone.

The world dances for me and through me.

This one is both obvious and not so obvious.

"The world dances for me" is something you notice during meditation or in presence.

For example: you watch a leaf swaying in the wind.

Normally you don't think much of it. It's the wind, physics. No mystery there.

But when you step out of thought, out of the physical explanation, out of the usual interpretations...

You can feel a real connection with the leaf. With the movement. With the moment.

You get the feeling – completely unjustifiable from a rational standpoint – that this movement really is meant for you.

That it exists for you. Like a gift.

Then you realize you're not separate from that movement.

That you're part of it.

You are the leaf. The leaf is you.

A little matter and consciousness, in motion since forever.

That's the dance.

What often grates about personal development is the idea that you're supposed to become perfect.

Cut out your flaws, your idle moments, your little pleasures.

And if you can't manage it, you feel judged.

You picture the "enlightened" as having "dissolved their ego" and looking down on everyone.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

The wise people I've met usually know their flaws better than anyone.

They're very, very aware of being imperfect.

So much so that they no longer hide, no longer lie to themselves.

Quite the opposite: their flaws opened the way. Imperfection isn't an obstacle, it's the path.

It's by diving into their slip-ups, their addictions, their failures that they find the material to move forward.

I notice it too, at my own modest level.

The day before yesterday, I completely let myself go.

I broke every one of my rules.

I wallowed in comfort and self-indulgence, to the extreme.

It's not the first time, mind you.

But here's what's different from before:

I didn't blame myself for a second.

I didn't try to correct my behavior even once.

I watched myself, as if from the outside, repeating my mantra:

"I'm doing exactly what I should be doing."

The key being: it's the same mantra as when everything's going well!

In other words: I'm no prouder of my good days than I am ashamed of my bad ones.

The Nicolas who does well isn't the real one.

The Nicolas who falters isn't a mistake to be fixed.

It's a continuum.

I need my strength and my compassion as much as my laziness and my anger.

If I ignore the bad, if I dress up failure, if I pretend, I stop moving forward.

So if one day I point to your anger, your greed, your slip-ups, it's not to make you feel guilty.

I have the same ones!

It's just that, with practice, I may have found a few techniques to put them to better use.

To turn them into fuel to move forward.

Which I try to share with you.

No doubt clumsily.

So don't take it the wrong way.

Probably the best way to detach from the future.

But I'm always stumped when someone asks me about it.

How do you meditate? I have no idea. It depends.

My own practice has changed a lot.

But if I had to pin down a few constants, about what meditation is or what it isn't, here's what I'd say:

1. Meditation isn't prescriptive

There's no obligation, no goal to reach.

"I have to do this."
"I shouldn't feel that."
"I have to reach a certain state."

No: the whole point is to step out of goals and outside obligations.

There's nothing to do. Some will say you just have to "be".

But that's a bit too vague to be useful.

Here's how it can break down:

2. At the core: acceptance

Probably the most important part.

Taking in and accepting what's here, now.

In particular: the state you're in.

The goal isn't to be calmer, more detached.

The goal isn't to change your state.

But to become fully aware of it.

Not pushing away emotions or thoughts. Accepting them. Living them.

But I know what you're thinking:

"Doesn't accepting then become... a goal? Haven't we just swapped one goal for another?"

For me, it's not a goal but mechanics: something you do without expecting any result.

It happens in two steps:

3. Spotting and releasing attachments

Either I'm in the flow of the present:

Sensations, thoughts and emotions follow one another.

None of them stays long.

This short cycle keeps me available for whatever comes up now: the sound, the next thought, the ray of sunlight.

That's presence. Nothing more. A flow.

Or the same mental content gets stuck and keeps coming back.

A thought, an anxiety, an obligation.

That keeps getting between me and the present.

That's an attachment.

Normally, we try to get rid of it through action.

Solving the problem at its source, by acting.

In meditation, you notice it and accept it.

And for me, accepting means:

4. Resting your attention on the body

You're sitting at a café table.

Have you noticed that, without moving, you could direct your attention to whichever part of the body you chose?

You can suddenly become aware of the tip of your foot. Your elbow. The top of your head. Your whole body.

(Which is rather magical when you think about it.)

For me, accepting a piece of mental content means directing my attention to how it shows up in the body.

Because attachments always have a physical manifestation.

A thought that isn't tied to a bodily sensation... passes.

So I never try to chase away the thought or the emotion.

I just rest my attention on the tension, the weight, the discomfort (...) in the body that goes with it.

I quietly watch it transform.

Without expecting any result.

5. Repeat

So my goal is never to feel better.

I simply become aware of the flow.

When the flow stops, I rest my attention on what's blocking it.

Not to solve the problem or unblock the situation.

But because, for me, that's what meditation is.

Mechanics. Not aimed at a result.

And yet, in the end, it helps.

Because the thoughts that torment you day to day are probably reactive.

Without realizing it, you set them up yourself to avoid emotions that scare you.

By learning to accept, you stop avoiding.

And the anxiety engine eventually runs out of fuel.

What does a day look like once you've "freed yourself from future obligations"?

I'm not saying I've nailed it 100% – far from it.

And yet my days now are very different from my days a few years ago.

First: I'm very active. From morning to night.

Provided you're willing to file "meditation" under "active".

But that's one of the main features of my days: there's no more "real" or "fake" action.

No more work on one side and rest on the other.

There's only "doing". "Acting".

And meditating, or resting, is doing too.

Each activity blends into the next.

Each morning usually starts in the same order: meditation, exercise, journaling.

Exercise is meditation continued through the body.

Journaling, meditation continued through the mind.

And from there, it never stops:

Writing, emails, editing, research, accounting, walking, rest.

No activity is forbidden, none is judged.

I do what I do, that's all.

Don't feel like it? Then I don't.

Feel like it? I do.

Had enough? I stop.

Tired? I sleep.

And yet: everything that needs doing gets done. The books are up to date. Deadlines are met.

And I'm much more productive than before.

Yes: the things I don't enjoy doing get done too.

How? Almost by magic.

When I don't feel like it, I don't. Then at some point, I do. Easily.

It all gets carried along in the flow.

And to set up this flow, here's the advice I'd give:

1. Don't judge the present action. I do what I do, and that's perfectly fine.
2. Don't plan the next action. It'll be decided naturally when the time comes.
3. Nothing comes? Do nothing. Stay calm. Accept the idleness. The right action will come on its own.
4. An activity keeps stalling? There's probably an alignment problem to look into.
5. And obligations? Appointments? Keep them, of course. But they become less of an obstacle over time.

In the end, I'm just giving the body (which includes the brain) more freedom to run life.

I'm not forcing it into some authoritarian, reductive logic.

I let it adapt to the real circumstances. Inner and outer.

And it's far better than me at handling everything.

UPDATE: Episode 7 of "Panic in Space" is out! Can the Bretons save the future?

That's what plenty of people replied to my video Freedom from the future.

"I'm going to empty my bank account!"
"I'm going to buy myself the latest PlayStation!"
"Does the taxman know about this theory?"

Some called me irresponsible.

That's because they didn't see the next video, where I tell everyone to "change nothing right away".

And didn't read my note Don't stop (the path to joy).

Or Your questions about action, goals and karma.

So let me sum up:

If your life is built on the stress of the future, chances are your pleasures are too.

Shopping, consumption, addictions...

None of it usually has anything to do with the joy I talk about so often and tell you to follow.

They're escapes.

When life isn't built on alignment, you have to make an effort all the time.

We justify that effort intellectually by the result:

"You've got to eat."
"You've got to earn a living."
"You can't live without money."

That justification is the keystone.

We don't much like it being questioned, since it's the main reason for all the effort we put in.

But to make up for that effort, you have to let go somewhere.

So we chase those pleasures. To relieve the pressure.

A drink. A cigarette. Buying clothes, games. Vacations.

And it's deeply unpleasant to be told you "should stop", that it's "not necessary", that it's "too expensive".

Precisely because we suffered to get it.

It's the only release valve allowed.

The only distraction in a life where everything is complicated.

So yes: if that's your situation, change nothing.

Don't take away the small pleasures that keep you going.

Don't dismantle the emergency measures you've put in place to survive.

Carry on. All of it.

But alongside that, five minutes a day, explore.

What if there really were a "joy" tied to nothing?

That requires buying nothing, going nowhere?

That you could bring up right here, right now, with no effort?

What would it look like for you?

An answer to that question, even a partial one, will transform you.

And once you're transformed, the changes will come on their own.

You can't pretend to be free.

If you have an appointment at 11 a.m. that you can't miss...

then there's no point meditating, relaxing, putting it all in perspective.

Well, there is: it can help you ease up a little.

But whatever the work, you'll still be facing that inner obligation, and it will create anxiety.

To free yourself from the anxiety, you have to free yourself from the obligation.

That's the only way.

Freeing yourself from the obligation doesn't mean not going.

It means acknowledging that you can't be certain of the future.

It means accepting that things might change between now and then, and that you'll take that into account.

It means realizing this appointment isn't that important.

Its importance rests on a story you've been telling yourself for weeks, for months. Maybe years. Maybe about yourself.

But it's still a story.

Because the material truth of things is this:

You can't predict the future.

You don't know what will be good for you later.

You're not bound to obey the demands of the past.

You can choose to. But it's still a choice.

You'll make that choice when the time comes, when you're there.

But in the meantime, I'm in the here and now.

I can make a statement of intent.

But I can't guarantee the future.

So we'll see.

In Buddhism, dukkha describes what is "not right, not satisfying."

In particular, it's used for the joys and pleasures of life that are fleeting and "won't be enough."

Without realizing it, we're always looking for a permanent solution.

"If I find the right person, I'll be happy for the rest of my life."

"Once I land the right job, I'll never have to worry again."

"If I buy this car, I'll be a complete person."

The brain keeps making us believe that the next step, the next purchase, the next desire will unlock everything for good.

And we fall for it every time.

Dukkha is the daily reminder that we're wrong.

It describes both suffering – which is inevitable – and the fact that fleeting pleasures are never the solution.

So saying that "something is dukkha," for a Buddhist, can mean two things:

1. This thing brings suffering. But suffering is inevitable. So it has to be accepted. It will pass.
2. This thing feels good. But the good is temporary. Once the effect fades, the same desire comes back unchanged.

It's the "unchanged" part that's the problem.

A "dukkha" action or pleasure leaves us in exactly the same situation afterward as before.

"But if we enjoyed ourselves for a while, where's the harm?"

The harm is the illusion.

Part of us truly believes the action will change everything.

Or at least that it will bring us closer to something better.

But it brings us closer to nothing.

It leaves us in the same state and, the next time around, we start all over again.

And again. And again.

This action "is not satisfying" because it sustains a perpetual cycle of craving and temporary satisfaction.

During which we never look for the "real" solution.

The one that could free us in the long run.

For example:

This morning, walking down the street, I caught the smell of the bakery.

A strong craving for a pain au chocolat – or a pain suisse.

In the end, I held back... but not through willpower.

That had nothing to do with it.

I just realized that after a pain suisse or a pain au chocolat... I'd want another one. And another.

My craving for sugar is never satisfied for long.

And so it became very clear to me that if I ate that pastry, five minutes later I'd find myself... in exactly the same situation.

If I could eat a pain au chocolat and be happy for the whole day... let's go! No regrets!

But no: the pleasure of a pain au chocolat is utterly fleeting.

It's not the solution to everything.

It's not even a step in the right direction.

Once the effect fades, I'm back in the same place.

And I have to go looking for the next fleeting pleasure.

A whole life can be spent this way.

Chasing the next pleasure that will solve nothing.

Wisdom begins when you've had enough.

You're communicating out of order. Literally.

You're trying to hang the tinsel before you've got the tree.
And it's Easter.

Now that things are working better for me (60k followers, 10 leads a week, tons of messages and opportunities), let me walk you through the steps I recommend.

Which are pretty simple, really:

1. Pin down your unique story

Nobody will pay top dollar for doing what everyone else does.

Sum up your unique value in two sentences.

These two sentences have to resonate with you 100% and build on your real strengths.

If you force it or fake it, even a little, you'll burn out.

And success depends on your ability to build something that keeps running over the long term.

2. Create a CTA and an offer

Yes: a single offer.

Very clear, very strong, fully aligned with your value.

With a button on the front page (Call to Action).

That button is your only metric.

Followers, feedback, pats on the back are all great.

But what we want to know is how many people click.

The ones considering paying for what you offer.

Those are your future clients.

3. Create content to spread your story

To exist (and to get clicks on your button), a stream of people has to come into contact with your story.

For that, you have to create content.

Otherwise, how would your audience know what you offer?

Yes, social videos work well today.

But your website, the people you meet, your articles, your talks are content too.

And every time, you weave in your story.

It's the repetition of your story that carves out a slot in the viewer's mind.

Your name, or your company's, gets tied to one specific subject.

That's why people call you.

4. Start a dialogue with your market

So far, you haven't defined your target. That's normal.

You've defined yourself and your offer.

Your target is the people who click the button.

You adjust your story based on their feedback.

You build your customer avatar from what they ask you for.

But never stepping outside what makes sense to you. Otherwise you won't go the distance.

Because the goal is to last.

5. Enrich your communication

You don't spend a fortune (or your energy) before you've found a story that works.

That is, a story:

• That works for you,
• That attracts paying clients.

Once you have that, you can step on the gas:

Articles, videos, newsletter, podcast, paid ads...

Whatever is easiest and most natural for you.

You put more and more resources into an ever sharper story, because you have proof it works (revenue, not compliments).

That's the key to long-term growth.

If you hit a plateau, it's because your story is too generic. Sharpen it.

Because before being a manager, an entrepreneur is a storyteller.

Management is the work of keeping your clients happy.

But you win those clients through your story.

Everything is connected.

My videos on "how to free yourself from the future and from your obligations".

The themes I explore in my web series: loneliness, the future, AI.

And this week, it all clicked during a conversation with Lalao.

A few months ago, she fell apart.

For the very reasons I often talk about in my videos.

And to climb back out, she had to learn to live differently.

Here's the incredible part:

• Lalao is an actress in the series,
• the episode she's in tells the story of a woman pushed to the breaking point by her obligations,
• the ideas that helped her are the ones I'm talking about in my videos right now,
• we hadn't spoken since the shoot, almost five years ago,
• I recorded our conversation almost by accident, and it's about all of this.

A lot of people tell me, "your videos are great but... how do you actually do it?? You should make a podcast!"

That's more or less what we did. Without planning it.

So you can take it all in, I've gathered everything here: the episodes and the podcast.

It takes about 30 minutes.

And unlike everything you consume on social media, this content converges.

It creates meaning instead of leaving you more lost.

And it happened by chance. Or not.

Episode 5

Because otherwise you won't understand the ending of episode 6.

But you won't regret it:

It's a funny episode, it won an audience award, and it's about AI and loneliness.

Episode 6

It's Lalao's episode, out today.

Which happens to be the fictional reflection of what she lived through afterward:

Podcast

No, it's not really a podcast.

It was recorded any old way; we didn't know we'd ever release it.

But it ties everything else together:

And to follow Lalao Pham Van Xua on social media, it's right here.

And the other episodes are here.

I get a lot of comments under my videos that say:

"So I stop paying rent?"
"So I stop going to work?"
"I stop picking up my kids from school?"

As soon as I talk about presence, about no longer living in the future, about not letting yourself be trapped by your obligations, people threaten to drop everything.

Ironically, of course.

Their way of telling me it doesn't seem viable.

They're not wrong on one point:

This is absolutely not about stopping everything right now.

Generally speaking, don't change a thing.

Because if you changed everything overnight, that too would be an intellectual decision.

One that would be no better than any other decision made to escape the past or improve the future.

It would be a means to an end.

Like everything else.

The goal is precisely to start operating differently.

To disconnect action from outcome. To stop doing things in order to be rewarded later.

To do for the sake of doing. Because it brings joy.

But a brain anchored in the future doesn't understand this.

It only thinks in terms of transactions, effort, investment.

It doesn't know present joy, only future reward.

So the first task is to reconnect it to the present.

Little by little. Without changing anything else.

Bringing small actions into daily life that aren't aimed at any result.

Spotting the moments in the day that aren't a run-up to anything.

Learning to live here and now, even for just a second a day.

And when that capacity to live in the present solidifies, when it starts to become part of who you are...

Life changes become inevitable.

Without having to decide anything.

What we often mistake for love:

• The desire to possess someone
• An all-consuming passion that must be satisfied
• Using someone to reach pleasure
• Wanting to fulfill yourself through someone else
• Needing someone to maintain your equilibrium
• Leaning on someone to reach a goal

I'm probably forgetting some.

I've been reading Osho's The Book of Secrets for a while now.

Whatever you think of him – he's a controversial figure – he's an exceptional spiritual writer.

And on love, specifically, two things he says have stayed with me.

First: lust is never love.

When you look at someone with carnal desire, that person is no longer a person.

You're not interested in the whole being, only in a part you want to use to satisfy a desire. A part you could find in someone else.

That's why lustful stares are unpleasant.

They objectify. They depersonalize. You become a function.

Real love, Osho tells us, is exactly the opposite.

The beloved feels whole, unique, distinct from the rest of the world.

Picture a lowly clerk, he says.

To the institution he serves, he's just a number.

The institution uses only a part of him. Again, he is an object.

If he dies, he'll be replaced by someone who can do the same thing.

And the world will keep turning.

Nothing in that relationship is love. It's utility.

But one day, someone falls in love with that clerk.

Not the colleague at the next desk, not the one across the hall. Him!

And for that person, this clerk is different from everyone else.

If he dies, it will be a catastrophe. Nothing will ever be the same.

He becomes irreplaceable.

Unique in the universe.

All because of one look.

That is love.

I'd love to do this work on myself, but...

"I'm held back by money."
"I have trauma to deal with."
"I have a disability that stops me."

Look hard enough, and we all have an Achilles heel.

And in most cases, it's a perfectly valid obstacle.

Some things really are harder for some people. The world is unfair that way.

But in some cases, the obstacle becomes an excuse. Then a shield.

Not: "I can't do it."

But: "I've stopped trying."

"For a reason you could never understand because you don't suffer from it. (So leave me alone.)"

And it's true, it's certainly not up to us to decide for others whether something is an obstacle or an excuse. What do we know?

But for yourself, it's worth looking into.

Because it's easy to get caught up in the game.

The game of standing still because it's comfortable. Because you have the perfect excuse not to do the work that scares you.

And every morning, you choose the routine. And every evening, you complain – because complaining is part of the game.

The years go by, the story gets smoother. It becomes a kind of armor.

After all, if you can convince others, why wouldn't you believe it yourself?

"I'm a victim of my condition, of life, of fate. That's how it is, there's nothing to be done."

The question that gets you out of this torpor isn't:

"Is it true?"

But: "Is it what I really want?"

Because if you keep telling yourself you can't, you end up unable to.

You kill what was possible in you.

Without ever knowing what you might have done if you'd told yourself:

"I can. It might be harder for me, but I'm going to keep trying."

That's what makes us unhappy.

When we want something, when we wait for an outcome, when we hope for a reward.

That's what spoils the present.

The same moment, with or without expectation, isn't lived the same way.

The same sequence of events, the same actions, the same outcome – felt in diametrically opposite ways depending on what we hope for.

This is probably the difference between the novice and the Zen master:

The master spots the slightest craving, the slightest inner attachment.

It's like ink in water: a single drop is enough to color the whole glass.

What we desire without admitting it, what we chase without thinking about it, colors every thought, every action, the whole day.

Expectation is what makes us irritable, impatient, envious.

We're no longer in the flow, because our eyes stay fixed on an imaginary line.

One that was perhaps unreachable from the start. Or guaranteed all along.

But in that moment, nothing else exists.

Sunshine and pleasant surprises alike go unnoticed.

There is only this goal.

One we sometimes aren't even aware of.

A remarkable podcast between Yuval Harari (Sapiens, etc) and Ezra Klein (New York Times).

If you don't have time to listen, or if English is a barrier, here are the key ideas I noted:

Cooperation is humanity's superpower

On my own, I can't take on a bear or a lion.

But humans have the ability to coordinate with other humans to achieve their ends.

Trade? Society? Progress?

All of it was made possible by cooperation.

The Trumpian vision of power

Trump defends a different vision that, on paper, also holds up – at first.

What matters is strength.

If the weak obey the strong, if the nation with fewer resources obeys the empire, that's a guarantee of order and peace.

The strong protect the weak. The weak pay a price. That's how it works.

So when the weak defy the strong – for example when Denmark refuses to hand Greenland over to the US – they're going against the natural order of things and threatening world peace.

The problem with power

This arrangement has two pitfalls, says Harari.

First, it pushes every nation to want to be strong.

Because living under the thumb of a power that can take what it wants whenever it wants is not sustainable.

Which leads to the second point:

Every country has an interest in arming itself more than the others.

War becomes the top budget item, ahead of social welfare, ahead of everything else.

And yet more weapons have never made people more at ease.

The problem with doctrines

The advantage of liberalism, according to Harari, is that it doesn't believe in an end of history.

We will never find a perfect solution.

That's why liberals always seek to build "self-correcting mechanisms" into their institutions.

We will make mistakes. We will get things wrong. Some will become too greedy.

So the organization we put in place today is open to question. We'll likely find better, or notice gaping holes.

We need to build into the system a way to evolve.

For Harari, this vision is captured in the opening words of the Declaration of Independence:

"We the People."

What follows is not set in stone. It's the best we've found so far. We'll have to adapt.

The exact opposite of the opening words of the 10 Commandments:

"I am the Lord your God, who declares that..."

Nothing is to be touched. God said so.

The power of fiction

To spark action, a story is a far more powerful tool than the truth.

A story can be made as simple as needed.

And as flattering: "Us good, them bad."

But if you want to push people to act, or to fight, you have to eliminate doubt.

A story can do that. The truth, much less so.

The search for truth is a spiritual pursuit. In politics, it's a liability.

Though the most honest approach is to admit you're using a story.

Because deep down, no one is fooled.

Hatred must be fed

After certain atrocities, it's hard to imagine how two peoples could ever like each other again.

And yet, when a few decades pass...

History shows us that peoples forget. That it's possible to ally, to rebuild.

So systems built on fear and hatred must feed those emotions. People must constantly be reminded why the enemy is the enemy.

The strength of Nationalism

For Harari, nationalism is a good thing.

Originally.

True nationalism is loving people you've never met because they belong to the same nation.

I'm willing to make sacrifices for people I've never seen because we share a language, a territory, a history.

Building national unity on hatred of the outsider before love of one's fellow citizen is new, and that's the trap.

Wars are never about survival

Almost no war has ever been declared because of food. Or lack of space.

Even in the Middle East, right now, there is objectively enough food to feed everyone.

And enough space to house everyone.

So war is not rooted in scarcity.

It is rooted in ideas, in stories.

Which become more important than everything else.

Anger, social media, and AI

The goal of social media is to maximize engagement.

Algorithms have found that the best way to do that is to generate controversy and excitement.

It's very likely that people today agree with each other more than before – more than in the 1960s, say.

Extreme positions have broadly converged.

And yet we've never felt more divided.

People feel far stronger negative emotions over far smaller differences.

That is probably the consequence of technology.

AI's next goal

AI picks up where social media left off.

It is now trying to reach a higher level: creating intimacy.

Where social media simply wants to hold your interest, AI wants you to believe it's your friend.

Be careful.

And I promise this wasn't intentional, but it's exactly the subject of the Panic in Space! episode out today:

Episode 5: 1000 Years of Solitude

It won an audience award at the Riom festival, and if you're interested in sci-fi or AI, I highly recommend it.

Ok, paradoxical question:

If I publish a book called "How to Become a Millionaire by Publishing a Book on How to Become a Millionaire", and I become a millionaire, were you right to buy it?

On one hand, the book isn't based on any prior knowledge.

Because, when I'm writing it, I haven't done anything yet.

So nothing to teach you.

But if it works, and I actually do become rich, then the book's premise is true.

In that case, why not buy it?

Yes, but: the book works precisely because you buy it.

In the end, it's your belief that makes the success possible.

A paradox we could sum up like this:

If you buy a marketing book that's bad, then it must actually be good.

(Since the purchase wasn't due to quality but 100% to marketing – and that's the real lesson.)

All this to say that marketing gurus often get rich by explaining how to get rich.

And it smells like a scam.

Get rich first. Explain it afterwards.

Except that marketers' whole foundation is communication.

That's what they do. It's their job.

And there's fundamentally nothing wrong with describing what you're doing in real time. It's actually pretty honest.

The real question is: why does it make you want to buy their book?

Because let's be honest: you really want to.

There's something in the way they speak, the way they convince... That defiance, that confidence.

We'd love to be able to do that.

We tell ourselves the answer might be in one of the chapters.

That by reading, we'll be able to do the same.

But no: the answer is in the meta.

Their strength, their confidence, their "je-ne-sais-quoi" comes from the danger.

A mix of pleasure and risk in describing the present as a certainty.

Surfing the wave in public without knowing where it goes.

Walking the tightrope above the crowd without knowing if it'll hold.

And at every step, explaining why it hasn't snapped.

Because if it snaps, there'll be nothing left to explain.

That's what's gripping. That's what makes us envious.

That absolute confidence.

When nothing is settled.

Spoiler:

It can't be learned from books.

Or maybe it can?

By the way, my book "Walking the Tightrope" is coming out soon and...

I'm kidding.

Happy Thursday.

When I can, I don't set an alarm – but I get up early.

I read nonsense on my phone while my brain comes online. About 15 minutes. Reddit or the New York Times.

Then, still in bed, I meditate for 30 minutes to an hour.

Lying on my back. Eyes closed.

No, I never fall asleep.

Unless I choose to, but then I roll onto my side and it's a conscious decision. Very rare.

("But ME, I can't just stay in bed! I have a job! Things to do!" – I know. Keep reading.)

The goal of my meditation: do nothing. Just be there.

When I'm overwhelmed by obligations and problems, I don't try to solve them.

I place my attention on how they manifest in the body: tension in the solar plexus, muscular restlessness, breathing.

Ideally, I don't get out of bed to do something: I push obligations to the background. Even the important ones. Even the urgent ones.

I'm not saying I always succeed.

Then I exercise.

The goal isn't to build muscle. It's an extension of meditation that includes the body.

Again, I start by doing nothing.

And I always come back to this: there is nothing to do.

No required movement. No routine. No decision.

Just standing, vertical, relaxed. Letting it come.

And action comes. On its own.

The moment I feel I'm forcing it or falling into habit... I return to nothing. Because there is nothing to do.

Yes, I know.

This is the part many people struggle with, and it's the heart of what I'm saying:

It sounds like an extremely privileged morning.

To recap: I get up when I want. I lounge in bed for an hour. Then I do "non-exercise".

And what follows is the same: I write in my journal over coffee without forcing any outcome. I let the next actions come.

Many will say:

"I'd love mornings like that! But I have a job! I have X, Y, Z to deal with!"

But that's exactly the point. That's the real insight – and there are actually two of them:

First, I'm extremely productive. More than before.

(And yes, I'm a dad, I run a business, and my books are filed on time.)

Better: if I compare what I do now to what I used to do, back when I set an alarm and was buried in obligations from morning to night – I get more done now.

And I'm starting to make a better living – even though it's a tricky transition period.

I realized that obligations – not all of them, but a portion – were bad for both my health and my finances.

Quite the opposite: the decisions that have improved my situation in recent years have always come in presence, while I had something else to do.

An idea I sum up like this:

The right action, simple, executed at the right moment, can have more impact on my life than weeks or months of work.

If you're not convinced, read it again.

It's the foundation of everything else.

Decisive actions change everything. For the better.

The goal, then, is to find (and really, to pick) these actions.

But for that, you have to be present. Listening. Available.

So yes: clarity is my absolute priority.

Ahead of looking busy. Ahead of whatever seems urgent.

Second: it's harder than it sounds.

Rushing out of bed to handle daily obligations is actually the easy path. The routine.

No need to question anything.

That's what I did for 40 years.

We drown anxiety in action, hoping that one day, by accident, we'll find the one that solves all our problems.

But it never happens – or never for long.

What's really hard is facing anxiety without adding more agitation.

It's calming the part of you that wants to dive into useless action to silence the fear.

The morning I'm describing is designed to do exactly that.

But it didn't happen overnight.

At each new step, I had to face social pressure and inner judgment.

For example: I rarely take morning meetings.

I realized the hours after waking up are the most creative.

So they're devoted to the most important activities, the ones that lead to clarity:

Meditation, journaling, writing.

But it took a real inner battle to accept this new rule.

I found it extremely self-indulgent.

As if I were granting myself a privilege I'd pay for later. ("Don't come crying to me!")

But the exact opposite happened.

Morning clarity multiplied everything, personally and professionally.

Every decision that allowed me to restructure my business came from there.

As I said: the transition is still tough financially. I'm in a period where I have to be very careful.

But the growth is there: I've gained more clients in the last six months than in the previous six years.

What I do matters far more in people's lives – I get tons of extremely positive feedback.

I make a living doing what's easy and natural for me.

I eat better. I sleep better. I have less anxiety.

I have better relationships with people in general.

I'm not saying all of this is because of my morning routine.

But this routine is the clearest reflection of my decision to focus on what matters.

Of course, not every obligation can be dropped.

It's not always an easy trade-off.

What's certain: if you don't start, it'll never happen.

It's not about stopping everything overnight – definitely not.

It's about realizing that anxiety often disguises small tasks as absolute emergencies.

If you let it run the show, everything becomes serious. Everything becomes urgent.

Quickly, you're a prisoner of your obligations.

You never have time to look underneath.

Yet that's always where the solution is.

The real one. The one that will change everything.

And make all those obligations obsolete.

Funny thing: the day I publish the note "Morning Routine and Transformation," everything transforms.

And in exactly the way I'd described:

I had obligations.

I didn't feel like it.

Rather than forcing myself (the easy path), I faced the underlying fear (social pressure).

For someone "serious" like me, that's the real difficulty. Not doing.

Instead, I analyzed what was blocking me.

I found, deep down, what wasn't aligned.

AND BOOM.

In a second, the anxiety turned into joy.

The procrastination turned into excitement for what's next.

Action came on its own.

Here's what's taking shape for me (and maybe for you):

We're going to do something together.

It's the way I've found to bring all my work under one roof and actually be useful.

My problem was this:

As you know (or not), I started out as a film producer and it was soul-crushing.

You make films that serve no purpose when every critical decision has already been botched internally.

So I went upstream: I started supporting founders and companies on narrative strategy, before production.

It worked very well, but I had the opposite problem:

People were convinced on the substance but didn't follow through.

Once the strategy was delivered and I was gone... they'd find an excuse to keep doing what they'd always done. Or to work around the problem.

Which is normal: resistance reveals itself in action. Not around a table.

And separately, I have this personal channel where that's all I talk about: action and alignment. How to act. How to do. Three videos a week. One note a day.

And I sell nothing.

People regularly ask me for personal coaching, which I turn down – I'm not trained, I don't want the responsibility.

And today: everything clicked.

I'm going to bring it all together into a single offering.

Strategy, presence, and action.

In other words: we'll agree on an action you're going to take. Public. One that scares you.

A presentation, a video, a talk, a live appearance.

It has to have a clear payoff: we don't stop at production, we release! We show! We face it!

And I'm with you from A to Z. For now, I see it in three stages:

1. Source and story The two-hour interview. You tell me your journey. Your goals. Your blocks. We look for what sets you apart. What you offer that no one else does. And that you've lost sight of from going in circles.
2. Presence and expression Then, what's keeping you from telling that story simply? From being convincing? Spoiler: it's never an elocution problem or because you fidget with your hands. There are beliefs paralyzing you somewhere. We find them together and we rehearse.
3. Action! We shoot the video, we give the presentation, we go live, we put on the concert! I'm by your side, I don't let you back down. Not because you have to force yourself – absolutely not – but because the deepest resistances rise up at the last moment. The ones we'll handle and that, once tamed, will transform you.

What excites me: I'm a filmmaker again – in the sense of making things real.

The goal is no longer to produce a PDF or a strategy, but to act, to produce something concrete.

Strategy and public speaking find their natural place again: turned toward an outcome.

And I no longer leave my clients hanging once the direction has been found.

Because I say it often enough: what matters is never intellectual.

True transformation always happens in action.

That's why today I'm proposing:

Let's do something together.

Does this speak to you? Now's the perfect time to tell me what you think.

This is probably the key to everything.

It's what blocks everyone.

It's also a chance to lay out my morning routine, because people ask about it often and I have to admit that – on the good days – it helps. It changes everything.

But before that, first step:

Do nothing.

There's nothing to do.

Breathe. Relax. That's it.

Yes, your brain isn't going to leave you alone: "There's that problem to deal with! That appointment not to miss! That..."

Let it chatter. It chatters all the time. It will never stop.

Yes, if you're late picking up a child, go!

But often your brain invents emergencies, invents tasks.

Notice it. Don't act on it.

Generally speaking, the right action is never intellectual.

In other words: it's never my brain saying "hey, we should do this" and me executing.

Unless it's an appointment, in which case my brain acts as a calendar. I'm not obeying a thought, I'm obeying an outside commitment. One I accepted at some point – for good reasons, hopefully.

But the rest of the time: no, the brain is not the one choosing.

Constructed thought is not what decides the next action.

Besides. There's nothing to do. Except relax and breathe.

We're no longer turned toward the future. We let the brain chatter.

Then... something rises up.

Not a thought, no: an urge, a gesture, an impulse.

We follow it without judging it, without thinking, without considering consequences.

Then we let the nothing settle in again. Because there's nothing to do.

A new gesture. A new urge. An image surfaces, unconnected to obligations: a grandmother we haven't seen in a long time, a landscape, a painting.

We observe this image without chasing it away or holding on to it. We feel it shift something inside. We let ourselves be transformed.

Then nothing. We accept this nothing. We embrace the inaction.

We let this nothing stretch out in time.

Because there's nothing to do.

Then a new impulse. Something we've never done. But simple, immediate. Something that requires nothing, demands nothing.

We act.

For me, that's real action.

The kind you don't think through.

And yes: I've done big things this way.

This blog, this site, the videos, the drawing, my recent films, my narrative strategy work that lets me earn money doing something natural to me...

All of these ventures started with immediate gestures that weren't built on any logic.

My brain never told me "this is a good idea, you should do this!"

But when I acted in the moment and got started, my brain followed.

It helped me.

That's what needs to be understood: constructed thought isn't a cure-all, nor is it an enemy. It's a tool.

Thought doesn't tell the truth. It explores intellectually whatever you put in front of it.

Logic isn't a compass. It's a guardrail.

Intelligence never accounts for the whole situation. It only works on the ultra-narrow summary you make of the situation.

On paper, that seems reasonable.

But it doesn't account for the richness of the moment.

For that, you need to trust the whole of yourself: the body, the instinct, the intuition, the emotion. The sum of who you are.

You need to plunge into the present.

Careful: I'm not saying that if you act on instinct, everything will unlock right away.

Freedom isn't acquired overnight.

It's learned, like the piano.

And even once you've got a bit of it, you have to maintain it. Practice your scales.

That's what I do with my morning routine.

But since this note has become extremely long, we'll do that in the next one.

See you Monday.

PS: Episode 4 from Panic in Space! is out today!

The goal of preparation isn't to predict.

It isn't to rehearse in advance what you'll do when the time comes.

It isn't to restrict your freedom on the day.

Quite the opposite.

The goal of preparation is to free yourself.

Because nothing will go as planned – you know it!

The moves you rehearsed won't be the right ones anymore.

The documents you prepared will become obsolete.

The schedule you planned down to the minute will fall apart.

Everything will go sideways.

And yet:

Your ability to handle the unexpected will depend entirely on your preparation.

The time spent rehearsing those moves, writing those documents, planning that schedule, will be the essential foundation for finding the right solution when the time comes.

Even if the documents themselves have become useless.

Better still:

The fact that nothing goes as planned will be your chance to shine.

To impose your vision, your signature, your story.

If all it took was following the plan, everyone would succeed.

But to find the solution no one imagines, the one that turns the obstacle into something greater, you have to have done the work.

You have to have immersed yourself in the subject.

You have to have fed your imagination, built the emotional connections.

You have to have had the vision. The one that moves people, that gives meaning.

To be able, on the day, to do something completely different.

This word probably means nothing to you.

It was coined by Henry Mintzberg to describe organizations that form around a one-off need.

Adhocracies don't rely on existing templates.

They don't lean on codified chains of command.

The organization is decided ad hoc (hence the name).

They take whatever shape they need to take to solve the problem they're asked to solve.

Then they vanish or change form.

Talking with a filmmaker today, I realized this is probably my new rallying cry.

All my projects are adhocracies.

(At least most of my old projects – the ones I like – and all of the upcoming ones.)

In other words:

First there's the project.

There's the crazy idea, the script, the challenge.

Then, layer by layer, we build the framework, the organization, the resources and the team to bring it to life.

At the start, there's no way to know what shape the work will take in the end.

All of it gets decided ad hoc, depending on the circumstances and the reality on the ground.

The form and the way it runs will mold themselves to the constraints.

Yes, it's the same idea I laid out about drawing yesterday: you discover by doing, and that's what makes it exciting.

The financial, human and material framework isn't a limit you fight against.

It's a wave you surf.

And that's where the pleasure comes from.

The organization is no longer a constraint but the tool.

The exact opposite of what I used to do:

You start with the script. You look for the producer. The co-productions. The broadcaster. The grants. The team.

All in that order. Each step after the other. Everyone under the authority of the one above.

It's an industrial setup where the machine "molds" the project.

Every step of the chain is known in advance.

All of them are learned by newcomers, in school or on the job.

And if your project doesn't fit, it's never the machine that gets replaced.

It's an intuition I've had for a long time. Back then, I already used to say: "directing is producing".

In other words, I clearly understood that the filmmaker's work didn't start at nine in the morning on the first day of shooting. Nor during prep or writing.

How the shoot is organized, the schedule chosen, the way partners are recruited, the financial and material framework...

All of that has far, far more impact on the film than any decision the filmmaker could make on set.

If you've recruited deadweight, or the prep isn't adequate, there's nothing you can say or do before rolling the camera to avoid disaster.

And yet, the more producers and directors I meet, the more films I see... the more it feels like the creativity of projects is being crushed by this machine.

It's quite handy for certain decision-makers who've managed to industrialize their process.

But I think it's lethal for everything else.

I found a new freedom in drawing.

In the end, all I did was apply the thing I've been hammering on about from the start:

I stopped focusing on technique and created the conditions to be freer.

Because that's what an artist's value is: their freedom.

Freedom drives technique. Not the other way around.

You sharpen one part of your practice because that's where the urge takes you.

And not: I learn some technique ad nauseam because "it's the basics" and we'll figure out how to use it later.

There's nothing to learn. Or rather: it comes by doing.

I no longer have a goal when I draw.

I no longer tell myself "I'm going to do this" – and then get stuck because I can't pull it off.

I make a first stroke. Without thinking too much.

Then it gives me an idea. I make another.

And it keeps going like that, all the way through.

With every stroke, I'm thrilled to find out which direction it's going to take.

And sometimes, because I feel like it, I do the same thing fifty times.

That's what we should call "practicing."

But I never force myself.

Except when I'm afraid.

Afraid of not being good enough. Of not doing well enough.

And there's another kind of fear I face regularly:

The fear of ruining the drawing. Of ruining the paper.

Sometimes I've spent time on something and I tell myself "whoa, I need to be careful not to ruin it all."

Then I remember: yes, I have to ruin it all.

The next stroke has to be free, strong, brave.

Otherwise, why am I doing any of this?

If you know exactly what you're going to do, what's the point of doing it?

Pablo Picasso

I've started a new "sketchbook" thread for my drawings where I'll try to post once a day.

I'll also soon put the "drawing of the day" below the "note of the day" on the homepage.

Maybe not celebrating ugliness, but at least no longer letting "beauty" hold me back.

I posted my second poem last night.

For several months now, I've been writing very short poems in English that pile up on my phone.

"Writing" might not be the right word: they just come to me, in English. They're very short, two or three lines.

Then one day, I thought: "why don't I share them?".

It tied in with this idea that I'd like to sell something.

On my personal account, I get a lot of requests for personal coaching, which I turn down. I don't feel I have any business coaching people on anything but communication.

But for a long time, I've wanted to sell art.

I have no business selling art either. But that bothers me less.

So when I saw I had nearly forty poems, I thought "how could I share this?".

The idea was that I wasn't just going to type them out (I have a typewriter that I use for the occasional letter).

I wanted to add "art". In one form or another.

And for the past two days, I've started posting poems typed on the machine, which I then scribble over with a fountain pen and watercolor.

The first one came out alright: I'd done a little drawing.

Poem #1

But the second one, no.

I thought it was really ugly. So much so that I started crumpling it up to throw it away.

Poem #2

Then at the last second, I said: "no". I smoothed it out.

The point isn't to make something beautiful. It's to make.

If I start asking myself existential questions every time, I'll never do anything.

I've been paralyzed by the pursuit of quality before. "It's not good enough, it's not beautiful enough."

I do it and redo it until it "clears the bar".

Then I give up.

I realized this physically as I was about to draw.

Because typing the poem out takes time.

Not only do I have to type each letter two or three times so it shows up clearly, but I often redo the whole thing for centering and layout.

So when I pick up my fountain pen to add a layer I won't be able to erase, a small fear sets in.

I have to do it well. I mustn't ruin it.

Except, no: I absolutely have to ruin it.

I don't want to be afraid.

So for the first two, I made this decision: I'm going to post them as is.

I'm not going to redo them. I'm not going to fall back into some absurd perfectionist quest.

I'm going to post them and move on to the others.

And yes: I'm going to sell them.

I'll soon be offering prints and selling originals.

Even if it's scribbling. Even if the paper wasn't made for watercolor and warps.

I stand by it and sign it. And sell it.

And that's that.

PS: Episode 3 of my web series "Panic in Space!" is out today! How do you solve an intergalactic mystery with a hangover? Watch the new episode here →

My professional jealousy has almost completely disappeared.

I don't feel in competition with anyone anymore.

It may be that in the past, when I heard about a filmmaker my age releasing a feature, winning an award or succeeding at something, part of me was raw.

Why them and not me? It's unfair, they don't deserve it!

Their film isn't even good!

If the film was really good, that calmed me down a little.

Another part of me was genuinely happy the film existed, and the jealousy faded behind a kind of gratitude.

But most of the time, I thought it was all mush, it all looked the same, and in that shapeless mass, I couldn't see how I'd ever stand out.

Now, I'm doing better.

I've stopped trying to stand out.

What has become really important to me is expressing exactly what I want to express.

And in that game, I'm not competing with anyone.

No one can do what I do.

Nothing can be taken from me.

And above all, I don't need anyone.

Back then, the goal was to find the money.

A producer, grants, a distributor...

All of that meant fitting into a certain mold, being part of a certain world.

And I think that was the hidden goal: being part of a world.

Being recognized by certain people in a certain field.

Existing in the film world.

That ambition is completely gone.

I can't find it anywhere in me anymore.

All I want: to make things.

I can start now, with the friends who are around.

Not to make a demo or a proof of concept to use as a "calling card" later.

No: to do what I love. Right now.

For me and for whoever likes it.

"But some films need money! That's why you have to go through the gatekeepers."

I've realized they don't.

What I have to say, if I dig deep enough, never depends on money, on lights, on sets.

I can tell it with what's here. With this prop, with this passerby.

Not only can I, but it's the only way to do it.

Everything else was an illusion from the start.

We all know perfection doesn't exist.

And yet, without realizing it, we let it poison our daily lives.

Take criticism, for example.

"Constructive criticism" is when you point out to someone something they're doing wrong.

So they can improve, you see.

And the idea is this: once they've fixed that, they'll be better off. Their life will be more pleasant. Their house will be cleaner. Their work will be more successful.

And once they're done, we can point to the next flaw.

That way, little by little, thanks to us, this person will reach perfection.

How kind of us!

Two things bother me about this idea.

First, our actions often aren't independent of each other.

You can't transform one part of life without affecting the rest. It's all connected.

The way someone handles one thing "badly" sometimes comes from the same source as another behavior people love.

They want the good without the bad.

I love that you're so strong but I wish you'd spend less time at the gym.

It's great that you're creative but it would be nice if you were more organized.

I love that you're alive but could you breathe more quietly and stop getting sick?

Second, why do we point out other people's flaws?

Out of kindness? Altruism? To make the world a better place?

At best, it's for our own comfort.

The noise bothers us. We don't like the mess. We find the conversation unpleasant or awkward. We'd prefer things to be different.

But often, it's a matter of control.

We want to bring anyone who doesn't do as we do back into line.

We need everyone to subscribe to the worldview we've chosen. Otherwise, it means there are others and we might have been wrong.

We make great sacrifices, and we can't stand to see others flaunt their carefree attitude without having made the same ones.

We've set up a very strict framework to regulate how others are allowed to be different. Some deviations are permitted, provided certain conditions are met.

But we don't do this for ourselves, of course.

We do it to help.

Because we love you.

I never really knew what the hell to do.

Jackie Berroyer once told me, "past a certain age, you have to exercise or you fall apart." He himself goes to the pool all the time.

So in the morning, I looked for a routine.

(No, this isn't a note about exercise, you'll see.)

Push-ups? Sit-ups? Jumping around like an idiot?

I bought dumbbells. Just to see. Like an idiot.

I watched videos online. You put one knee forward and lean in and pfff.

Then one Saturday morning, after a particularly deep meditation, I told myself it was like everything else in life:

You have to dive in and find out for yourself.

I'm going to do whatever makes sense to me in the moment.

First: can I stand up straight? Really straight?

It was harder than I expected.

But more importantly, I realized that to gauge how upright I was, my attention had to go to every part of the body. Feet. Thighs. Arms. Back.

That's when I realized I wasn't grounded. I planted my feet flat to really feel the floor beneath them.

I won't describe the rest of the session, but to sum it up:

I discovered the practice of "moving in presence".

Nothing is planned. No exercise is mandatory.

I just let my attention settle on whichever part of the body is asking. And I do what it asks.

I stretch it. I move it. I press into it.

I quickly realize that to stretch my arm, my shoulder has to drop, otherwise my back arches.

I realize that by slightly bending my knees, I feel more upright, which makes it easier to move my head.

I realize how each part of the body is connected to the others.

To feel and engage that connection, I move more slowly.

Then my eye catches a mirror:

I'm doing kung fu! Or Tai Chi!

I'm in one of those positions you see in films or in parks.

And here's the lesson in all this that has nothing to do with exercise, the one that has lit up my days lately:

Something happens when I stop thinking in terms of exercise or position.

When I'm present at every moment.

There's no more position A, position B, or transition.

Every gesture is a position of balance.

In other words: whatever I'm doing, if someone walks into the room and shouts "Stop!", I should be able to freeze in a position of perfect balance.

Without falling. Without resisting. It should be easy.

It let me experience in my body an idea I had already grasped in life: there are no transitions.

There are no "useless" moments between important ones. Everything is present. Everything counts.

Whatever moment of the day it is, if someone shouts "Stop!", I should be in a position of perfect balance.

Settled. Present. Without resistance.

I could stay in that moment indefinitely.

Even in the heat of the subway. Even in the discomfort of waiting. Even in stress or tension.

At every moment, I look for the mental micro-movement that frees me.

I look for the attachment that constrains me.

I look for the illusion that makes me believe this moment doesn't count.

And I let go.