Nicolas Boulenger

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.

The beginning of wisdom is when we're tired of it.

You're communicating out of order.

Literally.

You're trying to hang the tinsel before 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 set up a mechanism that lasts.

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 the public 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 bigger and bigger resources into a sharper and 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 handling your clients.

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.

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.

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

Noticing throughout the day those moments that exist for no reason at all.

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.

Imagine a small administrative employee, 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 little employee.

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

And for that person, this employee 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.

Because of a single gaze.

That is love.

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

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

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

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

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

But in some cases, the obstacle is an excuse. And a shield.

Not: "I can't manage 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 our place to judge, for anyone else, whether something is an obstacle or an excuse. What do we know?

But for ourselves, it matters to investigate.

Because we can easily get drawn into the game.

The game of stagnating because it's comfortable. Because we have the perfect excuse not to do the work that scares us.

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

Over the years, the story gets polished. Becomes something like armor.

After all, if we manage to convince others, why wouldn't we believe it ourselves?

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

I think the question that breaks this spell isn't:

"Is it true?"

But: "Is this really what we want?"

Because the more we tell ourselves we can't, the more we end up unable to.

We kill what was possible in us.

Never knowing what we might have done if we'd told ourselves:

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

That's what makes us unhappy.

When we want something, when we await 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.

The ray of sunlight and the pleasant surprises alike are ignored.

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-correction systems" 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. The enemy must constantly be reminded of why they are 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 networks 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 is the continuation of social networks.

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

Where networks simply want to create 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 Panique dans l'Espace 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 the foundation of marketers 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 accounting is up to date.)

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.

On the contrary: 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.

Before looking busy. Before what 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 later!")

But the exact opposite happened.

Morning clarity multiplied everything, personally and professionally.

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

I said it: 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 takes on a much bigger place 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! 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 get to be a maker again, in the literal sense.

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 share your thoughts.

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, good 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. The...

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

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 went against 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.

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 director 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 every single one of the next.)

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 learned by the hopefuls, 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 director'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 director 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 for months:

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 not letting myself get stuck chasing "beauty".

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 the legitimacy to coach people on anything other than communication.

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

I'm not legitimate there either. But it 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 a few rare letters).

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 watercolour.

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

Poem #1

But the second one, no.

I thought it was deeply 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 uncrumpled it.

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 paralysed by the pursuit of quality before. "It's not good enough, it's not beautiful enough."

I redo it until it "clears the bar".

Then I give up.

I realised 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 centring 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 original sales.

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

I stand by it. And I 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 entirely disappeared.

I no longer feel in competition with anyone.

It's possible that, in the past, when I heard about a filmmaker my age releasing a feature, winning a prize, or pulling something off, a part of me would sting.

Why them and not me? It's unfair, it's undeserved!

Their film isn't even good!

If the film was really good, it eased me a little.

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

But most of the time, I found everything to be mush, everything looked alike, and in that indistinct mass, I couldn't see how I was going to stand out.

Now, it's better.

I no longer try to stand out.

What's become truly 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 stolen from me.

And most of all, I don't need anyone.

The goal, back then, was to find the means.

A producer, grants, a distributor...

All of that required fitting into a certain frame, belonging to a certain scene.

And I think that was the hidden objective: belonging to a scene.

Being recognized by certain people in a certain field.

Existing in the world of cinema.

That ambition has completely disappeared.

I can't find it anywhere in me anymore.

My only desire: to make things.

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

Not to make a mockup or a proof of concept that will serve as a "business card" for what comes next.

No: to make something I like. Now.

For me and for those who will like it too.

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

I've realized that's not true.

What I have to say, when I dig deep, is never tied to resources, to lighting, to sets.

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

Aren't we kind!

Two things bother me about this idea.

First, actions aren't usually independent.

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 back into line those who don't do as we do.

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

We make great sacrifices, and we can't stand to see others flaunt their carelessness 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 do sports or you'll 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 sports, 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 everywhere 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 my verticality more, which makes moving the head easier.

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 non-sports lesson in all this, 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.

A new episode of "Panic in Space!" is out this morning. But it's in very bad taste:

Panic in Space #2: Watch What You Wish For!

Don't say we didn't warn you.

My latest video on procrastination generated a lot of questions that fell into two categories: examples and solutions. So let's get into it:

Examples

Some people had a hard time understanding what I was talking about.

What is this "underlying problem" that we wouldn't address and would rather avoid by "throwing ourselves into pointless action"?

Three examples off the top of my head:

1. Diving into work to avoid confronting your career choices. You picked your job by default, or because mom and dad pushed you, or just for the money. You try to ignore the daily signals that you're on the wrong track by numbing yourself with work, routine, or outside addictions.
2. Starting a project to avoid an emotion or a situation. I felt anger, jealousy, sadness, fear, grief. When I saw that emotion coming, rather than accepting it and living through it, I set in motion a whole plan of action whose only (hidden) goal was to avoid being alone with it. As soon as it comes back, I speed up.
3. Solving surface problems rather than underlying ones. Since childhood, I've had an issue with money, or with love, or with food. And rather than finding the source of that tension and healing the root cause, I spend my time finding new costly solutions (in energy, time, or money) to manage the symptoms as they appear.

There would be others.

Solutions

Always the same one for me: presence.

Find it however you want – for me it was meditation and journaling – but there are plenty of ways.

The goal, roughly, is this:

When you feel an emotion, a tension, a discomfort, or an obstacle rise up, don't immediately take refuge in action.

If every morning, the same fear comes back. If with every task, the same resistance rises. If every day, the same anxiety appears...

Work, projects, and busyness aren't necessarily the answer.

This isn't about stopping what you're doing. Not at all.

Just: spend a little time with those emotions.

One minute. Five, if you have the time.

How do they show up? Are they tied to a tension in the body or a pain? Are there recurring thoughts or ideas that come with them?

That's it. Carry on with your day.

Many of the things you do in life are probably reactive.

Meaning you put them in place at some point to avoid a problem or an emotion.

By taking a few minutes to grow familiar with what's happening inside, you'll feel less need to set up pointless solutions outside.

And as I always say: this isn't intellectual work.

There's nothing to figure out. No big decision to make.

It's just a habit to develop:

Contemplate for a few moments the emotion that rises up instead of trying to resolve it right away.

Observe the resistance or the anxiety for a minute before trying to chase it away.

That's all.

The rest takes care of itself.

My relationship with communication shifted when I understood and absorbed what I call the first rule of design, which, in my view, holds everywhere:

Always put the most important thing first, and very, very big.

It's not very complicated, and yet everyone gets it wrong.

It's built on a simple idea: people don't care.

About your site, your business, your idea.

I once read this advice in an article on website design:

Imagine your visitors will spend seven seconds on your website, and that they're blind drunk.

So anything that isn't very, very clear, and written very, very big, is going to fall through the cracks.

Then I realized it applied everywhere else.

In articles, notes, posters, drawings, speeches, presentations, relationships...

In fact, that's one of the main goals of my professional coaching: helping people who are very good at what they do find those two sentences.

Make no mistake, the bulk of the work isn't there.

The real work is the years of construction it took to build the foundation of knowledge and craft they offer.

And yet, without those two sentences... all that work can go unnoticed.

And remain a dead letter.

That's the connection I made this morning with prophets.

Prophets are often accused of lying.

"He said one thing to this person, and the complete opposite to that one. He's not consistent, he's lying!"

But what scholars explain is that the prophet tells each person the truth they need to hear at that moment.

Not everyone is at the same stage of development. Not everyone has the same defenses.

The prophet's role is to move the person in front of him to the next level.

To do that, he uses the right words. Words that only work for that person. At that moment.

Just as a math teacher doesn't explain vectors the same way to a middle-school class as to a graduate seminar, the prophet adapts his speech to trigger action.

It's a problem that fascinates me.

Knowledge isn't enough. Truth isn't enough.

If you drop the full, naked truth on a passerby's head, you knock them out. And they'll resent you for it.

Even if that truth is good for them. Even if it could save their life.

Truth has no value in itself. It depends entirely on how it's delivered.

In that sense, we're all a bit like prophets.

We've all understood something that could help our neighbor.

But often, we don't know how to communicate it.

We're blinded by the idea that the truth speaks for itself.

That once laid bare, it will dazzle everyone and be unanimously embraced.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Everything plays out in the relationship, in the moment.

In the choice of the two sentences I'm going to say.

To help this particular person.

Here and now.

One morning, I had the following realization:

I care too much about the opinion of people who aren't in my life.

Listening to the people around you: of course!

It's not about jumping when they say jump, but about taking them into account.

That's often what happens when I make a film: since I'm easily influenced, the people on the crew really leave their mark on the project.

And I find that very healthy.

I'd even say it's the essence of presence: letting yourself be touched by what's there. Not staying sealed off from things.

On the other hand, there was a (long) period of my life when I realized that I was stopping myself from doing things because I feared the judgment of people who weren't there.

That last part is what matters: these people weren't in my life.

I didn't run into them in the morning, we didn't call each other in the evening.

Ghosts. Disembodied presences I kept alive in my imagination.

Sometimes without realizing it.

I'd want to do something because I was curious, excited, motivated, and then I'd feel something like a block.

"I shouldn't. It's wrong, not funny, not appropriate, not smart, not..."

So I wouldn't do it.

When I started meditating and keeping a journal, I looked for the source of these obstacles.

And I realized that I was projecting onto my actions scraps of judgment I had internalized.

Coming from old teachers, family, old friends, celebrities (some of whom I'd never even met) but who had said something on TV.

These pieces of advice from strangers had become, without my realizing it, rules to live by, barriers to action.

The most striking thing is how you can unconsciously follow the instructions of people you don't even admire.

It's not about trust, it's about authority, admiration, fear.

"No part of me wants to become like this person, and yet I'm doing what they say."

That's what I realized.

It's now a question I ask myself regularly before taking on board any advice, judgment, or criticism.

Do I admire this person? Is there something shining in them that I'd like to see shine in me?

But above all:

Is this person in my life?

My web series launches today!

Panic in Space #1: The Racist of the Future

Then a new episode every Friday at 10am.

There is no barrier. There never was a barrier.

A line from Osho that I often repeat to myself.

Sometimes, I'm in panic mode.

I haven't slept enough. I have an obligation I can't avoid. Something hurts. Etc.

I've gotten myself into this mess and I need to get out of it.

There's a kind of underlying guilt: I see it as my fault. I deserve what's happening to me.

In those moments, being present is very hard.

Meditating or finding clarity isn't the priority.

No time. No bandwidth.

"First, I need to fix the problem."

It's for those moments that I keep this line close at hand:

There is no barrier. There never was a barrier.

In other words: no obstacle is stopping me from being present right now, whatever the situation.

It doesn't require any work, any time, any training.

By becoming aware of the emotions running through me, I become present instantly.

No need to meditate for hours. No need to "take a moment". I cross over in a split second.

As if I took a step to the side and, with a simple decision, I could observe my emotions from a distance.

Suddenly, I'm no longer swept away by the current. I see the flow.

The panic is still there. The anxiety hasn't disappeared. But they no longer overwhelm me.

That's what presence is: this step to the side that changes the perspective.

It's not chasing away the emotions you don't want.

It's not feeling as free and available as on the "good" days.

It's not silencing intrusive thoughts to find clarity.

It's simply becoming aware of what's there.

The stress. The confusion. The sadness. The good and the bad.

And it's absolutely immediate. Absolutely effortless.

It's a decision. One you can make at any moment.

Because there is no barrier. There never was.

This is probably the method that has helped me grow the most...

Even if I couldn't really explain it.

Sometimes, I meditate "without me".

I hear my thoughts, my desires, my worries.

But it's not me. They aren't mine.

I'm aware that they come from my brain. I know that, if I wanted to, I could take them into account, act on them.

But no.

They are content with no more importance than the rest.

They are on the same level as the flickering light or the blaring horn: phenomena that I perceive, yes, but that don't belong to me. Over which I have no control.

Buddhists call this Anatta: not me, not mine.

Nothing that arises is tied to me.

Or rather, for a moment, I reconsider my link with my thoughts, my body, my emotions.

And I realize that this link is a fabrication. A habit.

That the relationship of ownership and belonging is an illusion.

What's more, when I look for that famous "me" during meditation, and a truck drives by in the street, I find nothing inside but the sound of the truck.

For ten seconds, I am that sound. And that's all.

Then I become the birdsong. The tension in the elbow. The thought about my work. The smell of the floorboards...

There is no more me.

And it's deeply restful.

The entity that had all those problems no longer exists.

The person who carried that anxiety, who handled those responsibilities, who suffered from those insults, that person has dissolved.

They can no longer be hurt.

They've become the wind, the storm. The sound of water. The smell of bread.

A succession of experiences with no center.

That cannot be wounded. That is no longer early or late for anything.

That can no longer be blamed for anything.

That is here. That's all.

Without me.

The way you do anything is the way you do everything.

I've known this for a long time. But recently, I've been realizing just how true it is.

A few examples.

In a shop or a restaurant, when something goes wrong, it's rarely the only problem. It's usually the first in a long series. On a TV show, a critic visiting a hotel once said there are only two kinds of establishments: those on the way up, and those on the way down. And in both cases, it shows everywhere. The front door that sticks is often a sign that the receptionist will be unpleasant and the room will be dirty.

When someone loses their temper, turns violent, or lashes out — no matter how many apologies follow — you can be certain it's neither the first nor the last time. That's also why the person who nearly runs you over is probably going to yell at you too. Their driving isn't the only thing they do badly. It's part of a life pattern that shows up everywhere.

When you watch a film, a play, or a series, if the opening lines are flat, if the first interactions feel artificial, it rarely gets better. This is especially noticeable in shows written by writers' rooms: an episode that starts badly almost never recovers. Whereas one that hits right in the first minute often ends in something extraordinary.

And in my own life, there is no one who showed up late to a first meeting with whom things ever went well afterward. That first delay announced all the ones that followed — and I'm not just talking about schedules.

I've also come to realize how true this is within a single day.

The way I get up, the way I handle my toothbrush or my coffee, the rush or the calm with which I walk down the street — all of it reveals where I'm at.

Every small gesture exposes my state of mind, and therefore the rest of my day.

When you understand this, you realize that everything matters.

Every action. Every thought. Every small interaction.

If I'm not present now, I won't be ever.

And the reverse is also true: if I want to change my life, I can — and must — start with the smallest detail, and do it extremely well.

Which will become the reflection and the model for everything else.

If we don't try to move fast, are we doomed to move slowly?

If we don't chase a goal, are we bound to stay idle?

On the contrary.

Speed, like action, is seized.

It's caught on the fly.

By being present, alert, free.

Neither distracted by the past, nor blinded by the future.

Detached from the film of one's own thoughts.

Attentive.

Accepting of inaction.

Then a path appears.

A sudden alignment between outer circumstances and inner availability.

That wasn't there a second before.

That no one else sees.

That's meant for you.

You go for it.

No speech. No plan.

It's not about starting to think.

Because the road isn't laid out.

It reveals itself as you move forward.

There are forks, false leads, traps.

But the route always becomes obvious.

As long as you keep moving.

As long as you don't think about the destination, or the next step.

Truth appears in action.

At the last moment.

Seen from the outside, some will say you move fast.

Seen from the outside, some will say you have a goal.

Some will say "I wish I could move fast like him."

Some will say "I wish I had a goal like her."

So they'll focus on the goal, on the speed.

They'll think about means, about solutions.

They'll look for the same path as you.

Which was never meant for them.

They'll ask themselves questions.

"Should I improve? Transform myself?"

They'll be lost in their heads.

It's fine.

There are infinite paths.

Everywhere. All the time.

When they come back to the present, they'll see theirs.

Just as you might see yours in this very moment.

In front of you.

Right behind your thoughts.

I've stopped thinking of myself as a "director."

It isn't a job.

I make films, yes.

But I don't necessarily feel close to other directors.

Using a camera, lights and the whole kit isn't a strong enough common ground to create a sense of community.

What interests me is the subject. What people have to say. Their process as artists.

Which, in the end, doesn't depend on the job.

In that sense, a director who only makes cooking films would feel closer to me to a cook or a food critic than to another director.

The filmmaker obsessed with crime would have more to say to a novelist or a police officer than to a director of comedies.

As for the one who bets everything on improvisation, on organic creation, he probably wouldn't have much in common with the one who storyboards every scene down to the millimeter.

I meet plenty of directors I have nothing to say to.

I watch plenty of films I couldn't care less about.

Which surprised me, at first. We do the same thing, don't we? We're part of the same world?

But actually, no. Not at all.

And I think this is true for many jobs, especially in creative fields.

Using common tools to produce works that go by the same generic name doesn't guarantee compatibility.

Between two writers, two painters, two artists, there can be a world of difference.

Unless you really talk shop.

"What software do you use?" "What camera?" "What brush?"

But very quickly, the conversation stops because on what matters, there's no connection.

The artistic equivalent of talking about the weather.

What's stopping you?

"Well, first I need to..."

"I can't start until..."

"I have to wait until I have a..."

External obstacles are only the visible manifestation of your inner barriers.

If you were ready, you wouldn't need anything.

If something is missing, it means inner work is needed to align you.

Nothing justifies delaying that work.

It requires nothing.

It won't get easier with time.

Every condition is already in place.

You could do it right now.

In fact, that's the real work.

Everything else – getting started, execution, collaboration, promotion... – is just a consequence of this inner work you could do right now.

No matter the scale of the task.

No matter how important it is in your life.

The first step, the most important one, is immediately accessible.

It's the only one that counts.

And it requires nothing. Nothing!

So, what's stopping you?