Second Bloom

Dear fellow travelers,

Over the past few days, I've noticed something.

Not all of a sudden. Not like a flash of inspiration. More like a flower that slowly opens—and then, at some point, realizes: Oh. I’m already here.

A few days ago, I looked at the analytics for my rooms.

It was nice. Not because of the numbers. But because I could see that something had come together.

People leave my space. Others enter it. Some connections fade away. New ones form.

And for the first time, I had the feeling: My universe is no longer just in my head. It has become a place I can enter .

People can walk through it. Look into the mirror . Read "Love Letters." Listen to a meditation. Discover a book. Enter a room .

That's huge.

And at the same time, something even bigger is happening: I'm conforming less and less.

A friend wrote to me the other day. I was happy to hear from her. But at the same time, I didn't know right away what to say in reply.

Then it became really simple. I wrote the truth. That I've been going through emotional ups and downs lately. That I needed some peace and quiet. That I'm doing my own thing.

No explanation. No justification. No downplaying. Just the truth.

And the connection remained.

Maybe that's what the second bloom is really about. Not becoming less visible. But staying visible—without making myself smaller.

*

In April, I launched the Grow With Your Flow Space . And then I did something strange: I was almost the only one using the space.

I meditated. Breathed. Felt. Absorbed. Analyzed. Refined. Condensed. Repeated.

Just to get a feel for what these spaces are really like.

I was a participant. A facilitator. A researcher. A developer. All at the same time.

And in the meantime, a vision came to me. A spaceship. An outfit. Maybe a festival. Maybe a stage. Maybe the next form of something that has long lived within me.

I received. And I began to embody.

*

A while ago, I was asked if I could help out at a large gathering—as an assistant for a weekend.

I backed out. Not because there was anything wrong with it, but because my body said no .

Now I saw the program: The Royal Residence. A classical concert. Museums.

And suddenly I understood why I had so often felt out of place at events like that in the past.

For a long time, I thought I had to learn to like things like that. Maybe I'll catch the bug someday.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

I'm almost 44. And I've come to believe: No. The spark just isn't there. And that's okay.

Because I love art. I love music. I love culture. But I love art that’s alive—the kind I encounter on the street, in nature, at festivals, in stories, and in people.

I don't want to just watch. I want to dance. Laugh. Paint. Sing. Move. Connect with others.

*

Yesterday I went to a meadow. I turned on some music. And I danced.

Wild. Free. A little bit with my ancestors. A little bit with myself.

At some point, a little dachshund came running up. He just jumped up at me happily. His owner picked him up again.

I grinned. And kept dancing.

Sometimes I think that's exactly what freedom feels like. Nothing spectacular. Just a moment when no one needs to be convinced.

Just being there. Alive. Moving and free.

*

Maybe that will be the story of my third book, too.

For a long time, I thought it was a book about Brazil. Now I know: It's a book about a calling.

Brazil was the place. The call was history.

The title is now: *Called*.

And suddenly, it’s no longer about a country. It’s about the courage to follow what is striving to come alive within us.

Maybe this doesn't just apply to books. Maybe it applies to life as a whole. To relationships. To work. To art. To the question: Where am I truly drawn? And do I have the courage to answer it?

I think I'm in the middle of it right now. Step by step. Blossom by blossom.

With love and the courage to blossom,
Jeannette