A Good Team

Dear fellow travelers,

A few days ago, we were in the mountains. We went on a beautiful hike to the Falkenhütte. I had suggested the idea and booked the overnight stay. My boyfriend then picked out a loop hike—not just up and down, like I would have done.

On the first day, I reached my limit. It was hot. I was tired. I had to go to bed right after dinner and missed the beautiful alpenglow. Luckily, my boyfriend woke me up briefly just as it was at its most beautiful to show me the breathtaking view from our window.

The next morning, I woke up early, went outside, and danced in the first rays of sunlight with the mountains all around me. And instead of sleeping in, my sweetheart also got up early, got everything ready for the hike, and asked me about my morning meditation, as if dancing in the mountains were the most normal thing in the world: “Are you done? Oh, great, then we can have breakfast.”

Along the way, we saw thirteen chamois. A marmot. A fox. We chatted with the only person we met: a local dairy farmer who had just completed a six-hour hike in the mountains before lunch. And we had that feeling of a real adventure.

Then it was my boyfriend’s turn. We were on the scree. We could feel the uncertainty setting in. I gave him one of my hiking poles. He took it. We were sweating. We were nervous. We crossed a mountain stream and got wet. And we made it to the bottom together, our knees trembling slightly.

We toasted our successful adventure with a lemonade and realized: We’re a good team. Not because everything was easy, but because we supported each other and overcame this challenge together.

*

Back in the city, everything suddenly felt heavy. The heat. The air. My thoughts.

Old memories came flooding back. Fears. Questions about the future. The worry that, in the end, no one would understand what I was creating.

In the past, I would have tried to push those thoughts out of my mind. This time, I did something different. I made myself some warm morning soup. I lay down on the sofa with a blanket. I played a long sound bath. And I rested.

Not five minutes. Not just a break between two tasks. But for real.

At some point, I realized: My subconscious is cleaning things out right now. Like someone who opens old drawers and says, “We don’t need any of this anymore.”

Perhaps that is precisely the true power of deep calm. Not that it makes problems disappear, but that we stop constantly straining against everything—including ourselves.

*

Over the past few weeks, I've had the chance to experience a few sound baths. During one of them, I spent the whole time fighting the urge to fall asleep. I thought I had to stay awake. But falling asleep would have been perfectly fine.

Only now do I understand: It wasn't the singing bowls that were the key. It was the permission.

The freedom to not have to do anything. To not have to experience anything. To not have to do anything right. Just to be there.

Maybe that's exactly the kind of space I want to create myself. Not the perfect sound. But a place where people can convince their bodies once again that it's safe to let go.

*

I've noticed that this is a recurring theme throughout my entire life. When I dance. When I write. When I hike. When I make love.

Less and less do I ask, “Am I doing this right?” More and more often, I ask, “What do I need right now?”

And, surprisingly, that's exactly where the most beautiful things come to life. A love letter. A spaceship. A dance. Or simply a deep afternoon nap.

Perhaps that is exactly where trust begins. Not when we finally stop being afraid, but when we stop fighting against every inner state.

And slowly realize: Peace and quiet is also part of life. Not as a break from it, but as life’s best friend. Only together do the two become unbeatable.

With love and a deep breath,
Jeannette