It feels like forever since I’ve written properly. Allowed words to come tumbling out, to express themselves in whichever way they please. There is often writing involved in my work, but it’s constrained. Shaped by other people’s wants and needs. Filled with expectations and requirements. I miss writing for me.
I shared this with a friend yesterday, when her post landed in my inbox, and I felt a blend of inspiration and envy. At this collection of words that she’d crafted, and how effortless and perfect they seemed. I found myself longing for a version of me that poured words out like that. The Linzi that gives herself permission to just let it flow, to write about whatever is fizzing inside, no matter whether it feels good enough or like the ‘right’ thing to share. Somehow, over the last couple of years, my creativity has felt impaired - or more accurately, in short supply. So I saved it up for projects I knew needed it, treating it as if it were a finite resource.
Writing without judging the words has felt like a muscle I haven’t flexed in a while. I only have to look at my screen to see Grammarly’s red pen scratched over the page, telling me all the ways I haven’t followed the rules. But that’s what I miss the most, writing without the fucking rules. Writing for me. Writing as a form of expression, not a form of productivity. Not caring whether you’ll like it, whether it aligns with what you think I should write about. Just sharing what’s taking up real estate in my head and having the process of writing be the very reason for doing it in the first place.
And so, this morning, I wanted to share a collection of moments from the last couple of weeks that have joined together to form something worth thinking about.
A lyric at the Xavier Rudd gig last week in Italy.
A tree expressing herself for those who care enough to see.
Stumbling on an Instagram account that made me think differently about a place I’ve known forever.
And leaning into the work of the kindest meditation teacher I’ve ever come across.
All nudging me towards presence, paying attention, and self-compassion.
Let me unpack them with you.
The gig, a full circle moment - watching Xavier Rudd - someone who belonged in another chapter of my life, share his magic with a few thousand other humans, singing together, feeling the energy in the space and the alignment of his lyrics with every fibre of my being.
“Oh, you know we′re picking up the pieces of the old school ways. Tryin’ to come together, tryin′ to make some change. Tryin’ to find ya centre in the old rat race. Tryin’ to set intentions for a better way. You know the apple never seems to fall far from the tree. People tangled up from head to toe in wants and needs
Yes, there is so much magic all around us. On this island we call home. Surrounded by the sea. Never completely recognising simplicity. Never completely noticing the colour of the trees.”
This line - “Never completely noticing the colour of the trees”. The words buzzed around in my head in the very best way. A wholehearted yes in my body. Why are we not paying more attention to the trees? How is it that so many people have stopped looking around them, stopped seeing the magic? Tangled up in wants and needs.
Which brings me to my tree. Almost every day, I walk down a track to a reservoir and into the green. This space is so known to me that each tree feels like a familiar friend. But this one tree in particular has been doing magic things over the last few weeks. Putting on a spectacular show for anyone who takes the time to pay attention. In that autumnal celebratory way, her leaves changing colours almost daily - sometimes I wonder if I sat for a few hours, I’d see them change before my eyes.
This kind of reverence for nature is something I’ve been lucky enough to grow up with - it’s been ingrained in me since I was a kid. With parents who still, to this day, stop what they are doing to walk to the end of the field and watch a sunset together. Who send me frantic messages to make sure I’ve gone outside to look at the stars. It is one of the things I am most grateful for and never want to take for granted.
And I guess that connects to the Instagram account - ha, bear with me, I promise I’m not taking you from Xavier Rudd and beautiful trees to the cesspit that is social media. I just want to tell you about this guy’s work. I’m not sure how I stumbled on it, a rare moment of the algorithm actually pointing me in the right direction.
He shares these beautiful little films about Brittany. It is a part of the world I know very well. My mum is French, and this is the region of France I know most deeply. The place I spent many, many childhood days. My grandparents’ home, a house filled with colourful, chaotic and magical memories. The small town of Dinard has been the location for so many pages and chapters of my life.
And yet, when I was 15, and first travelled to the south-west, I experienced a summer crush. The surf, the pine trees, the dunes. The glistening lake, the smell of the forest, the warmth of the sun and the proximity of the mountains. I fell hard. My allegiances shifted. I had a new favourite place to be in France. It is a love affair that has had its ups and downs, but to this day, it has carved out a space in my heart.
And so what happened to Brittany? Somewhat forgotten and dismissed. I told myself it was grey, windy - too similar to home. Every now and then I would see glimpses of its beauty, but for the most part, it was a dusty, nostalgic remembering.
Until this little film popped up on my screen. Thomas Polini was romanticising this place. Helping me see it through the eyes of someone who loved it dearly. Who saw the magic. I found myself scrolling through his films, watching one after another with tears running down my face, thinking, how did I forget this beauty?
It’s made me question where else I may have forgotten to romanticise my own life and surroundings.
Which brings me to my final moment to share - I guess it’s less of a moment and more of a discovery. Like many of you, I’m sure, I have a handful of podcasts I listen to regularly. My go-tos. But now and then I find myself seeking something new, something fresh - and I dip my toe into another world. Recently, I’ve been learning and leaning into mindfulness and meditation through the lens of Buddhism. I’ve felt like a little kid hiding in the corner of the room, listening in when I should probably already be in bed.
But there’s one space that felt so welcoming and so humble that I stayed for a while. Dan Harris’s podcast, 10% Happier, has been a gentle invitation, a playful and curious journey into a world that I previously knew very little about. It feels like he’s one of those people who just know how to translate something seemingly complex into words that make sense (a rare and vitally important skill in my opinion). And it was through his podcast that I was introduced to Vinny Ferraro - the kindest meditation teacher I’ve ever come across.
This interview was my introduction to him - and immediately I wanted to hear more. He doesn’t fit the squeaky-clean, quintessential meditation teacher vibe, and I think that’s why I resonated with him so much. He’s been on a gritty journey. He’s dealt with hardship, and yet somehow, he’s come out the other side softer.
I’ll leave you to discover his beautiful work in your own time. I promise you won’t be disappointed. His guided meditations have been such a gift for me in the last few weeks. It’s the first time I rushed to pay for a Substack subscription so I could get access to a whole heap of beautiful (and downloadable) tracks to listen to.
There’s a kindness in his voice that feels hard to describe. An invitation to consider what it would mean to be that kind to yourself. I feel like he’s modelling true self-compassion, and at times, it’s brought me to my knees. In a world that feels sharp and fast and always ready to criticise, his words have stopped me in my tracks in the most gentle way.
Congratulations if you made it to the end of this long and winding ramble. Thank you for sticking with me - I cannot tell you how good it feels to write again. These words are a reminder that you should never try and keep your creativity in a container. Or believe you’ve only got a certain amount of it. Perhaps the whole point is to just let it all tumble out, and the very act of expressing it will hopefully generate more. Who knows.
When I think of these connecting dots - the gig, the tree, the remembering and the kind meditation teacher, they just feel like a beautiful reminder to slow down a little, to pay attention to the magic that is all around you, and to give yourself permission to express that wonder and love in whatever way feels good to you.
I’ll leave you with the beginning of an interview with Vinny, where his simple answer to the most common question felt like one of the most profound things I’ve heard in a very long time.
Vinny: “How are you, dude? “
Interviewer: “I’m okay. How are you? “
Vinny: “Yeah, I’m good, man. You know, it’s a good life every time I let it be.”
Linzi this took my breath away and they gave it back to me in the most beautiful way…. Thank you for the reminder of letting it be… xx