I’ve begun placing reflections on Substack. I feel a strong need to add layers to my voice, alongside what already lives on my website. I keep wondering about an end goal. I don’t actually know what it is — and for now, I’m at peace with that.

What I do know is that I am loving this chapter of my life: expanding my voice outward, meeting similar and not-so-similar minds, and letting the work travel a little further than before. There is something quietly freeing about writing without needing to arrive anywhere in particular.

I feel ready to share the whispers of my soul beyond the confines of myself — to let them find their place in the world, and in my own life, as they unfold.

It has taken me a lifetime to sift through beliefs from the world, from teachers, media, and even well-meaning family members, to figure out what happiness and achievement mean to me.

I remember in my youth wanting a big double-storey house. Now, I can’t think of anything worse. I imagine going up and down the stairs all day — and then the cleaning. Don’t even get me started. I think I’d go batty at some point.

I realise now that simplicity is an uncomplicated life — and an uncomplicated life is a peaceful one.

I want just enough money to roam this world doing what I love, and to be surrounded by love.

Love is really the only thing that makes sense — the reason to get out of bed each day and to keep breathing in and out until the very last breath.

I am currently holidaying in Moree, in NSW, Australia. Situated on the fertile black soil plains above the Great Artesian Basin, Moree has invited me into a slower rhythm. I’ve been spending generous time in the artesian pools – resting, decompressing, and, for me, gently settling my nervous system.

Moree has been particularly kind in this regard. It is a small town of fewer than ten thousand people – little traffic, minimal modern noise, and very little light pollution. In this quiet, I’ve found myself returning to my books with a depth of attention that feels nourishing rather than effortful.

One of the books I’ve been reading is Shame by Joseph Burgo. I’ve read several works on shame over the years, but this one resonates most deeply. Burgo does not frame shame as something inherently toxic to be eliminated, but rather as a roadmap – one that can lead toward authentic self-esteem. That perspective speaks to me profoundly.

I have never been comfortable with flattening emotions into categories of “good” or “bad,” or with bypassing their nuance and complexity. That approach has always felt like a subtle form of gaslighting – a retreat from genuine self-awareness in favour of moral neatness or emotional avoidance. Feelings, to me, are teachers. They ask to be understood, not managed away.

So it feels quietly affirming to encounter a voice that honours this depth – one that resonates not just intellectually, but at the level of the soul.

Thank you, Dr. Burgo.

Today I am feeling sad. I don’t always know why, only that it rises as a quiet awareness – a reminder that the human journey asks for constant gratitude and presence. I’ve never found comfort in comparing myself to someone “worse off,” because that implies another’s suffering should make me feel fortunate, and that logic has always felt at odds with love.

So instead, I simply allow my sadness to be here. I let it speak. And in that space, I find insight and a strange, steady peace.
Sadness has always been one of my greatest teachers.

I’ve been thinking today about how grateful I am for my life. I carry a sense of belonging now that I never knew when I was young. Back then I felt unrooted, drifting, strangely lost in ways I couldn’t name. But one of the quiet advantages of reaching my autumn years is the ability to shut out the noise that doesn’t matter and to walk a path aligned with my soul.

It also helps that I am, proudly, a reformed people-pleaser. I love being able to say that out loud – it feels deeply earned.