The Gentle Rebel Podcast

This post elaborates on the sensitivity research section of The HSP Owner’s Guide. Differential susceptibility is a key concept in high-sensitivity research. In simple terms, it means that the more sensitive you are, the more your environment impacts you. As a highly sensitive person (HSP), you might notice that some people thrive in situations where you feel discombobulated. Conversely, when conditions feel right, you may experience more intense joy, connection, and growth than others. It’s the idea that some people are more responsive to their environment—for better or worse. For HSPs, this heightened responsiveness is a defining trait linked to their depth of processing, shaping how they experience life. However, it’s important to remember that not all HSPs are the same. Sensitivity is just one part of who we are, and how we respond to our environments can vary widely. https://youtu.be/GIIKRuy5TOw What is Differential Susceptibility? Differential susceptibility means that the more sensitive someone is, the more influence their environment has on them. We might think of it like a spectrum of responsiveness. On one end, some people are like sturdy structures, able to adapt to a wide range of conditions without much change. On the other hand, many HSPs are finely tuned instruments that process their environment in depth. This can allow them to thrive in supportive settings but may also make them more vulnerable in harsh ones. For many HSPs, this means they are deeply affected by their upbringing, current environment, and the people around them. In favourable conditions, they may flourish more intensely than others, finding creative flow, experiencing strong empathy, and having deep insights. In unfavourable conditions, they might struggle more than others, feeling overstimulated or drained, unable to utilise the and share the fruits of their high sensitivity. This heightened responsiveness isn’t a weakness—it’s a unique way of engaging with the world that comes with challenges and strengths. That said, again to reiterate, not all HSPs will respond the same way. Sensitivity interacts with other aspects of personality, life experiences, and individual differences. How Does Differential Susceptibility Shape Our Lives? Differential susceptibility shows up in tangible ways for many HSPs. Here’s how it might play out, maybe you recognise your own experiences in these examples: Growing Up: The Impact of Early Environments Supportive Upbringing: If an HSP grows up in a nurturing environment—where their sensitivity is understood and valued—they are more likely to develop strong emotional intelligence, creativity, and resilience. Challenging Upbringing: If an HSP grows up in a less supportive environment—where their sensitivity was dismissed or criticised—they might have learned to hide their true self, leading to feelings of disconnection or self-doubt. For example, imagine an HSP who grew up in a chaotic and unpredictable household. If there is constant noise or tension, that person’s nervous system is more likely to be dysregulated, overstimulated and seeking safety from unsafe sources. They may assume the “tiny adult” role, feeling responsible for trying to keep the environment ‘in balance’ by fawning, people pleasing, monitoring moods (over empathy). But if that same HSP had grown up in a calm, supportive home, they might have thrived, using their sensitivity to connect deeply with others and appreciate life’s beauty. Adulthood: Creating Nurturing Environments Favourable Conditions: When HSPs are in environments that honour their sensitivity—like a peaceful home, a supportive workplace, or a close-knit community—they often bring incredible strengths. They may notice what others miss, create spaces of warmth and connection, and approach challenges creatively and empathetically. Unfavourable Conditions: In overwhelming or unsupportive environments—like a stressful job, a toxic family, or a sensory-heavy space—HSPs may struggle. They might feel drained, overstimulated, or unable to express themselves fully. This can lead to burnout. For example, picture an HSP working in a fast-paced, noisy office. The constant buzz that others overlook might leave them exhausted and unable to focus. But if that same HSP does the same job in a calm, flexible environment, they might shine, bringing thoughtful ideas and a deep sense of care to their work. The Strengths HSPs Bring When They Feel Safe When HSPs are in environments that support their sensitivity, they often bring unique gifts: Deep Empathy: Many HSPs are highly attuned to the emotions of others, making them compassionate friends, partners, and colleagues. Creativity and Insight: Their ability to notice subtleties and make connections can lead to innovative ideas and solutions. Thoughtful Leadership: HSPs often approach challenges with care and consideration, creating spaces where others feel heard and valued. Appreciation for Beauty: Whether it’s art, nature, or human connection, many HSPs have a unique ability to find and create beauty in the world. In Unfavourable Conditions What happens when HSPs are in environments that don’t support their sensitivity? Empathy:HSPs might feel overwhelmed by others’ emotions, absorbing stress or negativity. This can lead to emotional exhaustion or withdrawal.Example: In a toxic workplace or social situations, an HSP might avoid interacting with others to cope with constant conflict. Overthinking or Paralysis:Their ability to notice subtleties can turn into overanalysing, making decisions or taking action difficult.Example: An HSP on a high-pressure project might procrastinate, worried about mistakes or others’ opinions. People-Pleasing or Avoidance:Their desire to create harmony can lead to prioritising others’ needs over their own or avoiding leadership roles to escape stress.Example: An HSP leader might say yes to every request, risking burnout to avoid disappointing others. Sensitivity to Chaos:Their appreciation for beauty can make them deeply unsettled by clutter, noise, or negativity, disrupting focus and peace.Example: An HSP in a noisy, cluttered space might feel on edge, struggling to relax or concentrate. General Responses: Physical Symptoms: Stress may show up as headaches, fatigue, or digestive issues. Emotional Sensitivity: They might react strongly to criticism or conflict, taking things personally. Binging on Solitude: Craving alone time, they might hoard or overindulge in isolation when overwhelmed. How to Nurture Your Sensitivity (No Matter Your Past) If you’re an HSP who grew up in less favourable conditions, it’s never too late to create an environment that honors your sensitivity. This isn’t about adding more to your plate or forcing yourself to change. It’s about gently exploring what helps you feel safe, seen, and supported. Here are some ways to begin: Create a Safe Space: Imagine having a little corner of the world that feels like a sanctuary—a place where you can breathe deeply and feel at ease. This might mean adding soft lighting, calming colors, or items that bring you comfort and joy. Honor Your Boundaries: It’s okay to say no to situations or people that drain your energy. Start small—maybe it’s turning down an invitation when you’re feeling overwhelmed or setting aside quiet time for yourself each day. Seek Supportive Connections: Surround yourself with people who understand and appreciate your sensitivity. This might mean working with a professional therapist/coach/mentor, joining a community, or building friendships with other HSPs. Be Kind to Yourself: Your sensitivity is not a flaw—it’s a unique way of experiencing the world. Treat yourself with the same compassion you’d offer a dear friend. Advocate for Your Needs: Speaking up for yourself can be challenging, especially if you’ve been conditioned to prioritise the needs of others at the expense of your own. Begin by envisioning yourself advocating for someone you genuinely care about—such as another HSP or someone whose needs are frequently overlooked at home, work, or social settings. Embracing Your Sensitivity Despite Differential Susceptibility Differential susceptibility isn’t about being “too sensitive”—it’s about the relationship we share with the world within, around, and between us. It offers a unique opportunity to enhance our experience of life and thrive in ways that others might not. Naturally, the flipside of this is that difficult environments can leave us struggling. However, with a bit of awareness to recognise our needs and the people around us who understand us, we can create lives that truly support and sustain us. Over to You What about you? Have you noticed how your environment affects you? Can you think of an environment or aspect of life where your sensitivity feels like a hindrance right now? Come and join the conversation in the forums.

May the road rise to meet you. My note from a slow coach this week reflects on Baltic endorphins, some internal torment due to a decision made by my past self that my present self didn’t appreciate, and a poem contemplating whether adventure is always just around the corner. It’s an excerpt from a journal entry a couple of weeks ago when I was in Finland. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_VzkTNi53E I’m still feeling invigorated from last night’s dip in the Baltic Sea. I don’t know if it’s the exhilaration of spending 90 seconds in 4-degree (Celsius) water or the satisfaction I feel from following through on my intention. Something caught me when I looked across the water a few days ago—a pull I couldn’t ignore. The idea of getting in the water was great. Until it was time to do it. What was I thinking? The two hours leading up to my plunge were filled with antsy-pantsy pacing and flip-flopping. I was not amused by my decision. Still, I knew that if I didn’t go through with it, the regret of missing this opportunity would far outweigh the momentary despair of doing something I knew would be wildly rewarding (once I resurfaced and was safely ensconced in the sauna—my happy place). This morning’s inner calm is a blend of satisfaction and physical aliveness. The sauna not only offered a delightful reward for completing my challenge but also enhanced the experience. The contrast of fire and ice creates a unique sensation. Forever on the horizon This morning, I am returning to the list of phrases and ideas we developed at the start of our month of “Adventure” in The Haven. I had intended to use one each morning in my journal practice, but it hasn’t happened yet. No problem, I am up for it today. Now. I spin the wheel, and it throws “Adventure is waiting just beyond view” onto the screen. I don’t think it’s a saying, but it feels familiar. Similar to the idea that adventure (or growth) lies on the other side of your comfort zone. I’ve always had a complex relationship with these platitudinal sayings. They carry kernels of truth for particular situations but are often espoused as universal, all-encompassing statements of fact. May the branch rise to meet them My eyes are drawn through the window. My first coffee of the day is on the cabinet beside me. Adventure is waiting just beyond view. Those words feel coarse to me here. Itchy. Like an irritant on my skin. I can see a squirrel moving effortlessly through the trees and a crow perched on a breeze-flexed branch above, and I wonder if they ever wonder about these things. It’s tempting to get caught up in the assumption that everything good is just beyond view. It’s the engine of consumer culture, the ideology of endless striving. Like a perpetual mirage, we see the reward, but it moves further as we get closer. “Just a little further” becomes a mantra in the meditation of hustle. Advice is cheap and contradictory. I am interested in how we can develop a more nuanced and healthy relationship with growth, purpose, and flow in life. If adventure is forever around the corner, what am I overlooking right here? To feel settled without settling and expectant without expecting. Isn’t this moment the adventure that was just around the corner from that previous one? I think of the old blessing: “May the road rise to meet you.” Maybe that’s the real adventure—the road meeting us where we are. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjJXAL40MC4 May the flow rise to meet you From the edge of this perch,I strain my neck to watch a squirreldart, weightless, certain of the branchesthat will reach out and catch herwith every flight, twist, and descent. Is it true that I can find anAdventure waiting just beyond view? If I round the corner.If I push the button.If I make the call.If I am patient.If I lead.If I trust the process.If I take a step.If I listen.If I dare.If I follow.If I let this grow.If I am brave.If I am gentle.If I put it out there.If I stop forcing it.If I let go.If I pick up.If I let come.If I go forth. A blackbird offers its weightto a quietly accommodating branch.I notice nowmy body perched on this old horizon. I will rest here a while,inside this adventure,once beyond view.The next one takes care of itself. The sauna’s heat and the sea’s shock—slow out-breath against sudden gasp. My nerves crackled right up to the edge, then dissolved into the oldest rhythm: stillness after motion, motion after stillness—no need to choose. Just take the step and let the flow rise to meet you.

In a world obsessed with productivity, competition, and the “hero’s journey,” Natsu Miyashita’s The Forest of Wool and Steel shines a quietly revolutionary light on something altogether different. This book is a balm for those who’ve felt out of step with society’s narrow definitions of success or crave a deeper, slower, more meaningful way of living. In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I explore what I took as its key themes and why they feel so radical in today’s hustle culture. Beyond “Finding Your Purpose” Society often frames purpose as something we discover “out there” – a preordained destiny waiting to be unlocked. But The Forest of Wool and Steel shows us something subtler: purpose isn’t discovered in that way; it’s woven through our responses to chance encounters. The protagonist, Tomura, stumbles into piano tuning after a random school errand. What captivates him isn’t some grand mission but a moment of sensory awe: “His whole body trembled. It was like hearing colour.” This moment isn’t about the piano giving him purpose; it’s about how the piano helps reveal what was ready to resonate within him. The novel suggests that any object, experience, or moment can become a doorway to the forest if we’re listening. High Sensitivity as an Ordinary Feature of Humanity Unlike narratives that treat sensitivity as a flaw or a superpower, Miyashita normalises it as simply part of being human. Tomura and his mentors experience the world with a depth of processing. One tuner feels exhausted by public telephones, billboards, and the dirt on the road. He has learned to recover through a metronome’s rhythm. Tomura often needs time to process decisions, rejecting opportunities before slowly embracing them – a familiar experience for many HSPs. The book’s quiet power lies in its refusal to pathologise or glorify sensitivity. Instead, it shows how deep attunement – to sound, environment, and subtlety, is the source of growth and meaning. The Question of Success Tomura’s apprenticeship defies every expectation of the “hero’s journey.” There are no villains, no competitions, no triumphant climax. Instead, his growth is slow, iterative, and deeply personal: How long until I can make that sound I heard on that first day? The novel suggests that true mastery isn’t about conquering a craft but collaborating with it and understanding with more than the mind. In a culture obsessed with optimisation and “levelling up,” the seasonal, non-linear approach we witness here feels quietly radical. Outgrowing Hustle Culture The book gently critiques society’s obsession with measurable success. When Tomura’s brother mocks his belief that a piano’s sound contains “the whole world,” it mirrors how modern culture dismisses wonder in favour of utility. Yet the novel celebrates the “useless”, the wasteful, and the ordinary: Knowing the names of trees The taste of olive oil-drizzled eggs The way light glistens at dawn These moments aren’t “productive,” but they’re where meaning lives. As Tomura reflects: “It felt to me as though nothing was a waste, but at the same time, everything was on some level a colossal waste.” This paradox is the heart of the book’s rebellion: what if the “small” things are the big things? Why We Resist Slowness (And How to Stop) Critics call the book “slow” or “uneventful”, but that’s the point. Our discomfort with its pace reveals a deeper truth: we’ve been programmed to equate speed with value. Tomura’s mentors teach him that people assume “brightness” is a synonym for better. But it’s not that simple. Similarly, the novel invites us to reflect on our relationship with depth and darkness: Are we afraid of stillness because it confronts us with ourselves? Do we mistake urgency for purpose? What if the “forest of wool and steel” (the unseen, sensory world) is where real creativity lives? The answer isn’t to “do more” but to tune in. Entrances to our Forest of Wool and Steel The Forest of Wool and Steel isn’t a manifesto. It’s an invitation to notice, trust, and follow the intuitive sensitivities that take us beneath the noise and towards our sound. As Tomura learns, there are entrances to the forest everywhere. The question is: can we slow down enough to notice them? Over To You Have you read the book? I’d love to hear your thoughts through the form below. Any responses to what I spoke about in this episode? Drop a comment or send me a message. Notice: JavaScript is required for this content.

When you receive help, do you perceive it as a transactional burden or as a gift? How do you support the people, ideas, and art you admire? Do you feel disappointed when they go against your views, or do you willingly allow them the freedom to grow and evolve into whatever they might become, despite potential disagreements? https://youtu.be/Ueyw7nSI6jc Last year, during a Haven Phrase Maze exploration around the prompt “The Money Changed Everything,” we discussed what makes a gift a gift. We asked whether, once given, the giver of a true gift can have any justifiable feelings about what is done with it. Or if a hope or expectation turns a gift into a conditional transaction. For example, when we give someone a present, we might expect them to use it in a particular way (and not to sell it on, exchange it, or give it to someone else, for an acceptable time at least). What impact does this obligation have on the receiver? How does this relate to our engagement with artists, public figures, and one another? Conditional vs Unconditional Support Are we conditional patrons, offering support only when we agree with the other person? Or are we unconditional patrons, standing by them because we believe in their how and why, even when we disagree with the substance of their particular “what”? This is on my mind because of a comment I received on a recent YouTube video. Someone explained why they disagreed with something I had said, which is fair enough. But I was struck by the intended sucker punch at the end of the comment… “Unsubscribed.” That word was like a weapon; it felt like an attempt at punishment and behaviour modification. It focused on the surface rather than the source. I know that subscribing isn’t a gift, but I couldn’t help but wonder if a similar mechanism exists in the distinction between conditional and unconditional gift-giving. This is why I don’t tend to ask people directly to subscribe to my podcast, videos, or social media. I want it to be a choice, not a favour or transaction. I leave it for people to come and go as they like, with no pressure either way. If the time comes for us to go separate ways, that’s fine. It happens. We don’t owe one another anything. We’ve just had a nice ride along together for a bit. Unconditional Patronage and Disagreement Do we tie our support for people to WHAT they think or HOW and WHY they reach their conclusions? Think about the creators, artists, or figures you follow and admire. Do you find yourself withdrawing support when they say or do something you disagree with? What would it look like to support them unconditionally, focusing on their how and why rather than a particular what? Over the years, I have come to support people whose WAY of thinking I respect and value. Most people I follow express views I disagree with occasionally (in some cases, a lot), but I sincerely appreciate the how and why behind their ideas. The process inspires me as much as, if not more than, the outcome. It’s only if their values (the drive of their why) change that I tend to consider whether or not I want to continue supporting them. It can happen. There is a flip-side to this coin… “Subscribed” It can feel validating when someone agrees with something I say and tells me they are subscribing or following me because of it. However, there is a subtle pull that can occur here. The connection between the statement they agreed with and their choice to subscribe creates a conditional presence. I might feel the pressure: “To keep them happy, I better keep saying similar things.” This can lead to a slippery slope toward mediocrity, self-censorship, and audience capture – forces we see in abundance today. When we engage like this with people, we subtly encourage them to appeal to the crowd, avoid risks, and conform to expectations (to appease followers and provoke adversaries) rather than exploring new possibilities and navigating the nuanced space between our desire for a simplistic understanding and life’s complexities. This pattern also applies to our interpersonal relationships. We seek safety in our social bonds, and when we recognise that something pleases another person, we are more inclined to continue that behaviour. Have you ever held back from expressing an opinion or taking a creative risk because you feared losing support or approval? How might unconditional support change that? Unconditional Patronage and Accountability Unconditional patronage isn’t about unquestioningly supporting someone. It’s about making our support broader than agreement and focusing on a person’s character and approach rather than the particular conclusions they reach with any given topic, project, or situation. What I admire in artists is how they dance with their creative spirit, allowing it to guide them to potentially unexpected places. It might lead them to create works that I don’t enjoy or take directions that miss the mark for me. But that’s great – if I trust how and why they do what they do, I’m not overly invested and demanding about the outcome. I may very well come to appreciate it over time. After all, just because I don’t “get it” now doesn’t mean I won’t understand it later. That’s par for the course when engaging with artists, visionaries, and prophets. Unconditional patronage involves creating conditions that allow individuals to be themselves and grow from that space instead of casting a shadow over them and instilling fear about the consequences of making mistakes. It does not mean granting unrestricted freedom to act or speak as they wish, with the promise of our unwavering support regardless of their actions. Instead, it provides them a secure foundation to explore, create, and develop their ideas. Do you follow anyone whose approach you admire, even if you don’t agree with everything they say? Or have you received unconditional patronage from someone else? What difference did it make to you? “So that You Know…I’m Unsubscribing” While unsubscribing, unfollowing, and walking away are always valid options, announcing it raises questions about motivation. It is often a performative act. This puppetry is a way to assert control or signal disapproval, sometimes saying more about us than others. Are we punishing them for not meeting our expectations and saying what we want them to say (or reproducing the TV show, album, or book we already have a love for)? How do you choose to do it when you need to step away? What do you value when it comes to leaving well, and how might your approach reflect those values? The Space For Creativity When people create out of fear of losing support (or hoping to gain it), we risk stifling creativity. This dynamic doesn’t just limit individuals; it dampens the rich pool of creative potential within us as a species. This pressure often shows up in subtle ways. For example, imagine receiving praise, a gift, or help from someone who makes it clear they’re supporting you because they liked something particular. While their intention might be positive, it can leave you feeling indebted, pulling you away from your creative voice and into a people-pleasing cycle. Can you think of a time when you felt pressured to reciprocate something you didn’t ask for or when you felt obligated to meet someone else’s expectations? How did it make you feel, and how did it shape your choices? I’d love to hear your response to this post. Drop a comment or send me a message if you have anything to share.

People may fear giving credit because they worry it will diminish their status. But research shows the opposite is true: sharing credit actually boosts respect and trust. This paradox lies at the heart of status insecurity, a psychological trap that drives maladaptive behaviors and undermines relationships, careers, and personal wellbeing. In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we explore the vicious cycle of status insecurity, its impact on individuals and society, and how we can gently rebel against its allure. We’ll also consider the story of self-help author Mel Robbins refusing to acknowledge poet Cassie Phillips or the pre-existing “Let Them” movement in her recent book. Does this move reflect elements of status insecurity? What Is Status Insecurity? Status insecurity arises when individuals feel their social standing is unstable or at risk. This can stem from comparisons with others, societal pressures, or personal failures. According to research by Katherine Hoff, Derek Rucker, and Adam Galinsky, status insecurity triggers a self-perpetuating cycle: Status Insecurity: Doubts about one’s social rank or standing. Compensatory Consumption: Buying luxury goods or status symbols to “prove” worth. Financial Strain: Overspending leads to stress and anxiety. Reinforced Status Insecurity: Financial and emotional strain further undermines self-worth. Cycle Repeats: The individual doubles down on status-seeking behaviors, worsening the cycle. This cycle is particularly prevalent in consumer-driven cultures, where status is often equated with material wealth and individual achievement. The Reluctance to Share Credit Status insecurity is fueled by the fear that acknowledging others’ contributions will diminish one’s own standing. Yet, studies show that sharing credit increases respect and trust. As Adam Grant shared on Instagram: “Sharing credit doesn’t detract from your success. It displays your character. 17 studies show that when people feel insecure, they hesitate to celebrate others—and fail to earn respect.” Ironically, withholding credit can damage credibility over time. When individuals prioritise image over integrity, they risk eroding trust and undermining their long-term reputation. The Mel Robbins Controversy: A Case Study The recent controversy involving self-help author Mel Robbins and the “Let Them Theory” may illustrate the dangers of status insecurity. Robbins presented the “Let Them Theory” as her own idea, omitting any acknowledgement to Cassie Phillips, whose viral “Let Them” poem and tattoo movement led to Robbins’ discovery. This decision may have stemmed from the pressure to maintain her status as an innovative thought leader in a competitive industry that celebrates stories of “self-made” figures. Yet, as the truth has emerged, her credibility has been questioned, with many followers expressing disappointed and even feelings of betrayal. Robbins’ experience is a cautionary tale: prioritising status over transparency doesn’t go down well in the long run. Honesty about the theory’s origins could have enhanced her reputation, demonstrating humility and collaboration—qualities audiences value. The Broader Implications of Status Insecurity On Individuals: It leads to stress, anxiety, burnout, and self-sabotaging behaviors like overworking or people-pleasing. On Relationships: It fosters competition, jealousy, and transactional interactions, making genuine connections harder to form. I once knew someone trapped in this mindset. Every conversation turned into an opportunity to boast about their achievements and experiences. Over time, the group grew exasperated, and this person was inadvertently left out of the proverbial weekend brunch invitation. Their presence created tension and unease because they believed that name-dropping, one-upping, and status-signalling were ways to impress rather than frustrate us. Breaking the Cycle: Gently Rebellious Alternatives We can avoid the dangers of status insecurity by recognising that the harder we fight for it, the worse it gets. To address it, we might adopt practices that prioritise collaboration, authenticity, and collective well-being… Give Credit: Acknowledge others’ contributions. This doesn’t diminish your worth—it enhances trust and respect. Change the Conversation: Focus on non-status topics like hobbies, values, and the stuff that you’re enjoying. This can strengthen relationships, reduce unhealthy comparison, and foster collaboration potential. Celebrate Collective Success: Shift the focus from individual achievements to team or community accomplishments. Define Success on Your Own Terms: Reflect on what truly brings you fulfillment, beyond societal expectations. Reshaping Our Definition of Success Status insecurity is a symptom of a culture that equates worth with external validation. By redefining success in terms of collective well-being, collaboration, and personal fulfillment, we can break free from this vicious cycle. The Mel Robbins controversy serves as a reminder: prioritising image over integrity can backfire, while honesty and humility build lasting trust. How might we challenge the systems that perpetuate status insecurity and create a culture for all of us? Over to You Have you ever felt the pressure to prove your worth or status (or been around someone who was caught in this way of thinking)? How did it affect you? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Drop a comment or send a message. https://youtu.be/jkKeK-gdxao

I know I’m not the only one disturbed by the scenes of Donald Trump and J.D. Vance publicly dressing down Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky in the White House. I was saddened and sickened by the bullying behaviour of those entrusted to know and be a whole lot better than that. The lack of empathy, the attempts to humiliate and intimidate, and the smirking childish arrogance was embarrassing to witness. Especially from individuals holding the highest positions of political leadership and responsibility. It presents us with a question. Do we accept it? Does it reflect the world we want to create together? https://youtu.be/lKk-Fp_nqaE The Ripple Effect of Bullying This kind of bullying affects not only its direct targets but also those who witness it. Many people felt the sting of observing that incident for various reasons. So, how ought we respond when we see and hear things like this, which might have particular personal resonance for those who have been on the receiving end of power abuses themselves? Growing up, I was taught that bullies tend to operate from a place of insecurity. They mask their inferiority with a facade of superiority. The hypocrisy in the accusations about disrespect struck me. It’s a classic charge from someone who feels insecure. They questioned Zelensky’s clothes—a choice he has openly described as a show of solidarity with fellow Ukrainians during wartime. In doing so, they displayed ignorance, wilful or otherwise, of the traumatic reality his country had thrust upon it from an invading force. Bullies don’t respect the humanity of others. They smirk, berate, and belittle rather than empathise, understand, and connect. Encountering Bullying Many of us have encountered or witnessed bullying in different areas of life—a boss who publicly humiliates or undermines an employee, someone who sabotages others by withholding critical information or setting them up for failure, or a family member who uses emotional blackmail or guilt to coerce and manipulate. The dynamics are strikingly similar. A pathological need to dominate, a pattern of intentionally misrepresenting someone’s words, obsessively pulling apart everything someone does, and active enjoyment from causing a person harm or distress. Arrogance or Confidence A bully arrogantly attempts to humiliate and intimidate. This is not a show of strength but a reflection of deep-seated insecurity and weakness. This reflects a distinction we might make between arrogance and confidence. Arrogance, as I see it, is insecurity dressed up as superiority. It’s the need to dominate, to belittle, and to control. Confidence, on the other hand, is secure in who it is and the path it’s on. It doesn’t need to tear others down to feel strong. Responding To The Quiet Rage This incident stirred a quiet rage within me. Something was disturbing about watching a leader like Zelensky, who had shown immense courage and grace in the face of Russia’s invasion, be treated with such disdain and disrespect. So, what do we do when we witness events like this? It’s easy to get caught up in the emotion and stay there. But it’s more important to pause, process, and channel those feelings into constructive actions. Acknowledge Your Emotions: Feeling angry, sad, or disappointed is okay. Express the energy of those feelings in non-destructive ways—scream across the sea if you need to, take it out on a drum kit, exercise your body, or throw something. Connect with Others: Seek out people who share your values and can offer emotional support. Temporary venting and ranting with people you trust can provide healing catharsis, as long as everyone is comfortable with it! Turn Pain into Active Hope: I spoke with Cindy Gale, who shared a framework for processing thoughts and feelings in a changing world. The four stages—gratitude, Honouring Our Pain, Seeing with New Eyes, and Going Forth—can guide us toward constructive action. The World We Create This incident is not just about politics; it’s about human behaviour and the world we create through what we tolerate, amplify, and emulate. What kind of example do we want to set, promote, and adhere to? Strong and healthy leadership protects the weakest, respects differences, and fosters a spirit of collaboration. It listens and learns, communicates with clarity and honesty, and is guided by foundational collective principles that transcend ego, pride, and selfish ambition. We should demand these qualities from our leaders in every walk of life as we strive to embody them for ourselves. A Call for Maturity As I reflected on this situation earlier, an email from Sage Justice with the subject Maturity landed in my inbox. She shared an excerpt from a poem in her Freedom Book One. The poem beautifully captures the foundations from which this situation has arisen.

We just finished reading Wintering by Katherine May in the book club, and it has prompted me to reflect on the parallels between the book’s themes and the foundational values underlying ​The Return to Serenity Island​. https://youtu.be/NoGFVIuAPJk Katherine May describes Wintering as “a season in the cold. It is a fallow period in life when you’re cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider.” We’ve all experienced these times in life, but wintering is a quiet act of defiance in a world that never stops. It is an example of gentle rebellion in the face of the perpetual demand to be productive and useful. It’s choosing rest over empty hustle, care over competition, and creativity over endless productivity. May suggests that we often treat these winters as something to hide or ignore. However, embracing them is “a radical act—choosing to slow down, letting spare time expand, and getting enough rest. If you shed this skin, you’ll expose all those painful nerve endings and feel raw. But if you don’t, the old skin will harden around you.” This resonates deeply with what we do in ​The Return to Serenity Island.​ What Is Serenity Island? Serenity Island is a slow and immersive experience, and perfect for those navigating, preparing for, or healing from a season of wintering. Whether you’re in the aftermath of a crisis, have identified a gradual drift in a part of your life, or you simply feel the burden of life’s demands on your shoulders, the course offers a space to pause, reflect, and reconnect with the things that matter. You are invited to… Rest and listen: Discover tools to help you embrace stillness and notice the unexpected wisdom waiting in the spaces between. Illuminate the path: as the snow falls, it brightens the world engulfed in the darkness of short winter days. Serenity Island helps you find your footing more clearly and softens the harsh edges of life. Rediscover your voice: As May reminds us, despite beliefs entrenched by popular culture, to view singing as something for the talented is to misunderstand it as a natural and necessary part of human expression. On Serenity Island, you will reclaim your sound and find the courage to explore your voice, regardless of what anyone else thinks of it. Move with the seasons: Life isn’t linear, and neither is healing. With maps and imagination, Serenity Island helps you embrace a cyclical and three-dimensional understanding of growth. What You’ll Find on Serenity Island Wintering is not just about survival—it’s about transformation and enduring growth. May writes, “Every time we winter, we develop a new knowledge about how to go back into the world.” On Serenity Island, you will: Gain clarity on what matters most and how YOU want to approach this next season of life. Identify and gently release the things you no longer want to spend your finite resources (resilience, energy, time) on. Anchor in the present by embracing and enjoying life’s imperfect and bittersweet endings, letting go of perfect hero’s journeys and wishful thinking. Slow down, rest, and be yourself alongside others in the folded-page moments of our picnic sessions, where there is no pressure to perform or deliver. Build your toolkit for life by using the course templates and ideas. Develop your own practices, rituals, and metaphors to carry you through future seasons. Ready to Join Me on Serenity Island? Maybe you’re in a Wintering season like this and would like some company as you navigate it. Or perhaps you want to be more prepared to embrace your next winter when it arrives. If so, I invite you to join The Return to Serenity Island. This course is designed to meet you where you are, offering a space to explore, reconnect, and grow from the inside-out. Sign up for The Return To Serenity Island “I would encourage everyone to engage with this fantastic experience. The course is a first-class prescription for wellbeing” – T.W.

In our February Book Club, we met to discuss ‘Wintering: The power of rest and retreat in difficult times‘ by Katherine May. Here are my notes on the book. Book Notes Katherine May describes “Wintering” as “a season in the cold. It is a fallow period in life when you’re cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider.” Through a sudden crisis, the loss of something or someone, or a gradual drift, Wintering is about allowing rest and retreat to come. Rather than fighting it, pretending it isn’t happening, or wishing it away, Wintering is an acknowledgement that we can actively partner with the season and find healing, not despite it, but within it. “After all, you apply ice to a joint after an awkward fall. Why not do the same to a life?” September – Indian Summer We treat each winter as an embarrassing anomaly that should be hidden or ignored We may never choose to winter, but we can choose how Wintering is a moment when you need to shed a skin. This is a radical act – choosing to slow down, letting spare time expand, and getting enough rest. If you shed this skin, you’ll expose all those painful nerve endings and feel raw. But if you don’t, the old skin will harden around you. What are some of the default ways we resist and fight this process? October Making Ready The problem with doing everything is it ends up feeling like nothing. It’s a haze of frantic activity, with all the meaning sheared away. Katherine talks about “cooking Autumn into the house” after being signed off from work with severe abdominal pain. The preparation of food provides anchors in space and time Preparing for Winter before it is with us – In Finland, the winter arrives suddenly, and you don’t mess with it (having the wardrobe stowed away for when it comes) Daily routines keep us on an even keel All this time is an unfathomable luxury, and I’m struck by the uncomfortable feeling that I’m enjoying it a little too much Can I justify a walk when everyone else is doubling up to cover my job? The things that make us well are sources of guilt and shame (rest and healing are perceived as luxuries) Hot Water Katherine decided to cancel her big 40th birthday trip to Iceland – she didn’t think she was physically strong or steady enough. But the biggest fear was judgement – are you even allowed to go on holiday when you’re signed off from work? What would people think if they found out? But the doctor gave a YOLO permission slip and told her to go In moments of helplessness, I always seem to travel north. I find I can think straight, the air feels clean and uncluttered “In sauna” – Hanne is not talking about a building, she’s talking about a state of being. For Finns, sauna is more than having a sauna, it’s a cornerstone around which life is built – birth, death, deep conversations, and a ritual cleansing of body, mind, and soul Ghost Stories Halloween represents an invitation on the calendar, to acknowledge the present absences and absent presence of those we have lost It is also where we can occupy the liminal space between worlds, thoughts and feelings – where fear and delight become inseparable, life and death, inside and outside November Metamorphosis Amid the transformation of winter – the unwelcome change – is an abundance of life We meet Shelly, who tells her story of recovering from life-threatening bacterial meningitis – it’s not a heroic tale of triumph over illness, there is no path or methodology, she just waited it out and carried on with life…she didn’t witness it, she didn’t have to look at her daughter in a coma (it was not her wintering – that came later when she was in a state of sofa surfing limbo after her parents moved to America and her relationship broke down) – she began a new creative project that on reflection represented a process of her own healing and regrowth The needle breaks the fabric in order to repair it – you can’t have one without the other Slumber Winter is a season that invites me to rest well and feel restored, when I am allowed to retreat and be quietly separate Waking up in the middle of the night, the precariousness of my life bites me hard. Its teeth in my gut. I am nothing. I am no one. I have failed. We should sometimes be grateful for the solitudes of night, of a winter. They save us from displaying our worst selves to the waking world Roger Erkich argues that, before the industrial revolution, it was normal to divide the night into two periods of sleep: first (dead) sleep and second sleep with the “watch” in between, a borderland space between wake and sleep, with dreamlike conversations and slow meandering connection Sleep is not a dead space, but a doorway to a different kind of consciousness – one that is reflective and restorative, full of tangential thought and unexpected insights My midnight terrors vanish when I turn insomnia into a watch: a claimed, sacred space in which I have nothing to do but contemplate December Light Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is most prevalent in countries like the UK, where the changing seasons bring about marked differences in light exposure across the year Saint Lucy didn’t cure me. I didn’t dance back up the aisle, having miraculously found my way. But she brought a little light. Just enough to see by. Midwinter The winter solstace at Stonehenge brings an almost bewildering mix of cultures…we’re interlopers here but I’m not sure what interloper means in this context…the crowd is too diverse for us to stand out “We have turned the year” I find that I’m drawn to moments like this: an uplift in the monotonous progress of the year, and a way to mark the movement to the next phase Druids follow the eight-fold Wheel of the Year, which is a useful period of time…we have something to do every six weeks. It creates a pattern through the year. In mainstream culture we have Christmas and maybe a summer holiday, which leaves far too long between festivals This expresses a craving many of us will recognise – rituals that anchor us in time The loose communities that we find in spiritual or relivious gatherings were once entirely ordinary to us, but now it seems like it is more radical to join them. Congregations are elastic, stretching to take in all kinds of people, and bringing up unexpected perspectives and insights. We need them now more than ever. If we resist the instinct to endure those darkest moments alone, we might even make the opportunity to share the burden, and to let a little light in Epiphany Some winters are gradual. Some winters creep up on us so slowly that they have infiltrated every part of our lives before we truly feel them. Happiness is our potential, the product of a mind that’s allowed to think as it needs to, that has enough of what it requires, that is free of the terrible weight of bullying and humiliation. As children we tolerate working conditions that we’d find intolerable as adults: the constant interrogation of our attainment to a hostile audience, the motivation by threat instead of encouragement (and big threats too: if you don’t do this, you’ll ruin your whole future life) You’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on. And in return, it’s our responsibility to listen to those who have wintered before us. It’s an exchange of gifts in which nobody loses out. I make a new ritual for the Christmas period this year, in those twelve days that I always struggle to fill meaningfully. It starts at the solstice and ends on New Year’s Day January Darkness There is nothing showy about the northern lights, nothing obvious or demanding. They hide from you at first, and then they whisper to you. The Sámi are a people whose territory extends across the north of the peninsula where Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia now join, although they have continuously inhabited it for close to ten millennia I simply had no defence against the changes that were happening in my life. I was missing my antlers. I had skittered over to a different country to convince myself that I could carry on just as normal, but instead I only saw my own desperation, mirrored in the ice. But it was there, too, that I came to a kind of acceptance: of my own limitations, and of the future that lay before me. I have learned to walk at these moments. I have learned to walk until the heat goes out of it. Hunger Wherever we want to denote the hunger of the cold season, we turn to wolves. They are the enemy we love to hate, offering us a glimpse of feral intelligence. In the wolf we are offered a mirror of ourselves as we might be, without the comforts and constraints of civilisation. Life never does quite offer us those simple happy endings. Marianne’s story has a bittersweet ending. She put her head down and gradually chipped away at her debt, and was able to pay it off after three years, following an unexpected windfall. But the years of worry have taken their toll on her mental health, and now, after several missteps and a redundancy, she has accepted a pay cut to get a simpler job, which is as much as she can cope with…Marianne may not be able to see immediate relief in her future, but to me, she has achieved something extraordinary, which is to be able to talk about her wolfish leanings without feeling shame. And nor should she. Perhaps the wolf is such an enduring motif of hunger because we see in them a reflection of our own selves in lean times. In winter, those hungers become especially fierce. February Snow A snow day is a wild day, a spontaneous holiday when all the tables are turned The white witch in Narnia carries a suggestion of Christmas: the sweets and food, the promise of gifts, but also the way that it forces children to dance with their own greed for a season, encouraged to desire worldly goods, but also scolded for wanting them too much, and with too much alacrity She is the adult half of Christmas, perceived through a child’s eyes, that slightly bitter edge which they can’t help but notice as the grown-ups lecture them on the need to modify their demands In children’s literature, snowfall is the trigger for tables to turn. It creates a moment in which the usual adult protectors are easily incapacitated, and introduces a world in which children are agile and wild enough to survive. The snow was doing nothing now, except making our lives more difficult. “I want the snow to end”, said Bert. “Yes”, I said. “A couple of days was plenty.” Päivi says of life back in Hamina (Finland), “When the snow comes, it’s actually a bit of a relief at first. With the short days, everything is so dark. And then snow falls, and it’s like someone’s turned on the lights.” My tendency to think of snow as a bit of light relief is a privilage. To those who live with it, snow is plain hard work Cold Water Gazing back at the water, I had the urge to do it all over again, to go back and exist in those few, crystalline secons in the intense cold For Dorte, who received a diagnosis of bipolar, it was the first time someone had ever said to her: you need to live a life that you can cope with, not the one that other people want. Just do one thing a day. No more than two social events in a week. Her doctor said, “This isn’t about you getting fixed…it’s about you living the best life you can with the parameters that you have”. She was free from the decade-long wait for the medication to mend her. The pivotal change came when she stopped believing it could. When I’m in the water, I’m just laughing and laughing. All my automatic thoughts switch off, and I’m just in the water. We are completely enchanted by our own bravery, by the way that we’ve stepped out of the everyday world and into this alternative space. The cold sea, hovering between 5 and 6 degrees Celcius. I, who generally prefer to do everything alone if I can possibly help it, came to see how this was only made possible by a contract between us. The fear of stepping into the water – of even getting to the beach in the first place – never subsided, but having a partner in crime made it harder to avoid. March This part opens with a reflection on Aesop’s fable of the Ant and the Grasshopper – During the summer, the ants diligently gather and store food for the winter, while the grasshopper spends his time singing and playing, believing there’s no need to worry about the future. When winter arrives, the grasshopper, starving and cold, begs the ants for food. The ants, having prepared for the harsh season, rebuke him for his laziness and refuse to share, teaching a lesson about the importance of hard work, planning, and responsibility. Survival The truth is, we all have ant years and grasshopper years; years when we are able to prepare and save, and years where we need a little extra help. Our true flaw lies not in failing to store up enough resources to cope with the grasshopper years, but in believing that each grasshopper year is an anomaly, visited only on us, due to our unique human failings When you think about bees, don’t treat them as individuals. A colony of bees is a single superorganism. They act as one. In a mere slip of the pen, I could fall into the tired old trope: the bees are models of industry. Be more like the bees. Mussolini was fond of evoking the beehive to describe the ideal functioning of Fascism Let us not aspire to be like ants and bees. Humans are not eusocial; we are not nameless units in a superorganism, mere cells that are expendable when we aave reached the end of our useful lives. We are not consistently useful to the world at large. Some of us make highly visible, elaborate contributions to the whole; some of us are part of the ticking mechanics of the world, the incremental wealth of small gestures Usefulness, in itself, is a useless concept when it comes to humans. I don’t think we were ever meant to think about others in terms of their use to us. We channel our adoration towards the most helpless citizens of all – babies and children – for reasons that have nothing to do with their future utility. We flourish on caring, on doling out love. It’s how we thrive. Our winters are social glue. Song The works of winter are more intricate than the simple storing up of supplies, which are then run down until the summer replenishes them. Winter is a time for the quiet arts of making A robin sings in winter because it can, and it wants the world – or at least the female robins – to know it. But he is also practicing for happier times. My voice had waned alongside my confidence, and asserting it again was like asserting my rightful part in the adult world. I was gabbling out my words because I felt I had to get them in before I was interrupted Women’s voices are always contested in a way that men’s never are. If we speak too softly, we are treated as gentle mice, if we raise our voices to be heard, we are shrill Within four lessons, I had remapped my voice, bringing it lower and louder and softer and slower. In twenty-first-century Britain, we’ve linked singing with talent, and we’ve got that fundamentally wrong. The right to sing is an absolute, regardless of how it sounds to the outside world. We sing because we must. Epilogue Change will not stop happening. The only part we can control is our response The subtext of the endless Facebook memes with unsolicited advice on how to cope with a crisis (hang on in there! you got this! you are stronger than you know!) is clear: misery is not an option. While we may no longer see depression as a failure, we expect you to spin it into something meaningful pretty quick…This is the opposite of caring. I am beginning to think that unhappiness is one of the simple things in life: a pure, basic emotion to be respected, if not savoured. If we don’t allow ourselves the fundamental honesty of our own sadness, then we miss an important cue to adapt. At its base, this is not a book about beauty, but about reality. It is about noticing what’s going on, and living it. That’s what the natural world does: it carries on surviving. Not just once in the hope it will one day get things right once and for all. It winters in cycles, again and again, forever and ever. To get better at wintering, we need to address our very notion of time. To imagine our lives as cylical rather than linear. Every time we winter, we develop a new knowledge about how to go back into the world. You know, we learn about our tastes and preferences. We learn about what makes us happy. What Did You Think of Wintering? Drop your thoughts below and I will use it for our community review. Join the conversation in our forum and watch the replay of our Zoom discussion. Notice: JavaScript is required for this content.

Have you ever been told to come out of your shell? It’s a phrase many of us have heard, especially if we’re introverted, sensitive, or reflective by nature. But what if this idea misunderstands the role of a shell? What if, instead of seeing it as a limitation, we saw it as a space of protection, growth, and creativity? In this week’s episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we will explore the idea of shells—not as barriers to break free from but as integral parts of who we are. Whether you’re an introvert, a highly sensitive person, or someone in a season of healing, your shell might just be one of your greatest strengths. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYb2V3ngrh0& Misunderstanding The Shell’s Purpose Growing up, I heard the phrase “come out of your shell” a lot. Teachers used it in reports and at parents’ evenings, describing me as shy, reserved, and needing to be more outgoing. It was a story I absorbed about myself: that being quiet or cautious was something to overcome. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve seen my shell differently. It’s not a cage—it’s a sanctuary and a studio. Where I retreat to process, create, and recharge. It’s where I feel connected to myself and what matters most. And I’m not alone. For many of us, our shells are vital tools for navigating the world in a way that feels true to who we are. The issue with the phrase “come out of your shell” is that it assumes being quiet, sensitive, or introverted is a problem that needs fixing. It subtly implies that we must conform to the extrovert ideal—seeing loud, visible, and gregarious as the barometer of normality, against which behaviour is judged. But what if your shell isn’t hindering you? What if it’s enabling you to thrive? Or at least it has the potential to if you see it as a source of strength rather than a flaw. Shells in Nature: A Metaphor for Growth Nature offers us countless examples of shells, each with different roles and characteristics. Let’s explore a few and see how they might reflect our own experiences: The Egg Eggshells are temporary. They protect us during vulnerable stages of growth or transformation, like a baby bird developing the strength to face the world. An eggshell might represent a period of healing, learning, or self-discovery for us. It’s a space where we process experiences, feel safe, and prepare. Eggshells aren’t meant to last forever, but hatching can’t be rushed or forced. When we’re ready, they crack naturally, and we emerge. The Turtle Unlike an eggshell, a turtle’s shell is permanent. It’s not just a home—it’s part of the turtle’s identity. And it’s a tool to help them dig. Turtles don’t leave their shells; they carry them wherever they go. For introverts or highly sensitive people, this might resonate deeply. Your shell isn’t something to come out of—it’s a sanctuary and a tool that allows you to navigate life on your terms. The Hermit Crab Hermit crabs don’t grow their own shells—they find new ones as they grow. This symbolises adaptation and evolution. For us, it might represent a process of ongoing self-discovery. We might let go of old beliefs, communities, or creative expressions and try on new ones that fit who we’re becoming. The Snail Snails carry spiral shells that grow with them over time. Each new layer represents a stage of growth. This might resonate with artists, writers, or anyone who sees their life as a slow, steady journey of self-expansion. The shell isn’t a barrier—it’s a space of creativity and transformation and their body of work. The Oyster Oysters transform irritants—like grains of sand—into pearls. Their shells are hard and protective but also create beauty from adversity. This might symbolise turning pain or challenges into art, wisdom, or connection. The Clam Clams have two-part shells that open and close in response to their environment. This represents the balance between connection and solitude. Like clams, we can choose when to open up and when to retreat, depending on our needs. The Nautilus The nautilus has a spiraling shell with chambers that it seals off as it grows. Each chamber represents a chapter of its life. For us, this might symbolise how our past experiences contribute to who we are today. Breaking out of this shell would mean losing touch with everything that has shaped us. The Shell Is a Source of Strength The truth is, we don’t need people to “come out of their shell”. For many of us, our shells are essential. They’re where we prepare, play, create, and connect. They’re spaces of protection, creativity, and transformation. So, let’s stop seeing shells as limitations. Instead, let’s celebrate them as the incredible tools they are. After all, some of the most beautiful things grow inside shells—pearls, art, wisdom, and even ourselves. Let’s Explore Your Shell Together If this feels alive for you and you’d like a sounding board to bounce ideas off, I’d love to invite you to book a Pick The Lock call with me. Together, we can explore the characteristics of your particular shell—how it protects you, what it enables for you, and how you can work with it to make life feel more aligned with your natural needs and preferences. Maybe you’ve never thought about things this way before, and you’d like to see if this metaphor resonates as you reframe your story. Sessions are choose-your-own-price because I believe coaching should be accessible to everyone. Find a time that works for you.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “the end justifies the means.” But in this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I want to turn it inside out and explore this idea from another angle. What if, for some people, focusing solely on the outcome as the ultimate goal can lead to a dissatisfying and alienating approach to life? This question struck me as I emerged from a week-long rabbit hole. In the previous episode, I talked about unexpectedly diving into research about a self-help influencer and the questionable details surrounding their latest book. At first glance, it might have seemed like a distraction—a detour from what I “should” have been doing. When I sense myself going off the deep end, it’s almost like slow motion. I can feel it happening but there’s not much I can do to stop it. Once something stirs inside me at a deep level. So, despite my logical brain yelling, “Andy, no! You don’t have time for this. Stop. Close that webpage. Put your phone away!” I find myself slipping into the rabbit hole anyway. “OK”, rational brain continues. “See you in a week or so? Remember to eat! Bye.” The Path is The Inspiration This has happened many times over the years. There’s often a nagging voice of judgment, telling me it’s a waste of time, that I’m being pulled in a million directions. But recently, I’ve noticed a shift. Over the past two or three years, I’ve started to see these moments differently. Instead of dismissing them as irrelevant distractions, I’ve begun to ask new questions that help me stay focused. It’s partly about mindset and my relationship with the subject, but it’s also about the spirit I bring into the rabbit hole. And that’s where the idea of “the means justify the end” emerges. For me, it’s about trusting the process. I don’t always know where I’ll end up, but I know it will be okay because of how I choose to travel there. Experimental vs. Conceptual Approaches This reminds me of economist David Galenson’s research on creativity, which I first encountered through my friend Kendra Patterson. She highlighted the distinction between experimental and conceptual innovators in a podcast about late bloomers. As William Landay writes in his article Experimental Writers vs. Conceptual Writers:“Experimental innovators are seekers. They’re characterized by persistent uncertainty about their methods and goals. They’re often dissatisfied with their current work but have only vague ideas about how to improve it. This dissatisfaction drives them to experiment, moving tentatively toward imperfectly perceived objectives. No matter how much progress they make, they rarely consider their work a complete success. In contrast, conceptual innovators are finders. They’re marked by certainty about their methods, goals, or both. This clarity allows them to work methodically toward their objectives, often feeling they’ve fully realized their vision in a particular work.” For conceptual innovators, the end justifies the means. But for experimental innovators, the means justify the end. It’s more about the journey than the destination. The process itself brings the “end” into focus, even if it doesn’t feel complete. It’s a waypoint on a road to nowhere, anywhere, and everywhere. Are You an Experimental Type? When I first heard about this distinction at the end of 2020, it sparked something in me. I recognised myself in the descriptions of experimental creativity. My projects never turn out as I expect them to, and I feel restricted by SMART goals or rigid outcomes that demand a fixed course of action. Around the same time, I created The Return to Serenity Island, a project that became a way for me to creatively process this discovery and reshape my relationship with goal setting and personal growth. It was a departure from the “start with the end in mind” paradigm I’d been taught in coaching courses—an approach that assumes you’ll drift, waste time, and fail unless you know exactly where you’re going and take consistent action to get there. It was liberating to realise that while this approach works for many, it’s not universal. Some of us grow and succeed inductively, connecting dots as we go. We end up in places we could never have conceptualised at the start. I’ve often reached the end of a project and thought, “I would never have dreamed I’d end up here.” And if I’d stuck with my original idea, I would have missed so much of the potential that emerged along the way. Late Blooming Kendra wrote, “Part of the struggle for experimental creatives is that our culture is skewed toward a preference for the conceptual style. We don’t like working without a plan or appreciating products that emerge slowly and unpredictably. Experimental creatives thrive in uncertainty and ambiguity—conditions that scare the crap out of us collectively as a culture. In such an unwelcoming environment, it’s not uncommon for experimental creatives to struggle for years, if not decades, to develop their voice and feel confident in their process. If this is you, keep going! Your best work lies ahead.” This experimental approach also feels fundamentally different from the hero’s journey narratives we’re often fed, which are rooted in a quest for a specific purpose or destiny. In the conceptual sense, purpose is a pre-existing puzzle we try to assemble. In the experimental sense, purpose is the glue we use to build a mosaic, piece by piece. As Galenson notes, “Experimental innovators’ achievements usually depend on gradual improvements in their understanding and mastery. Their major contributions often emerge late in their careers. Conceptual innovations, on the other hand, depend on new ideas and typically occur early in a creator’s life.” Maps, Islands, and an Experimental Playground The Return to Serenity Island is the course I created to re-imagine goals through an experimental lens. It’s an alternative to traditional, conceptual goal-setting models. The project itself felt like an example of my experimental self taking the reins. It evolved into a narrative-driven experience with soundscapes, inviting participants to reconnect with their childlike spirit and navigate the adult fog to find their creative core. I’m currently launching our Spring Voyage back to Serenity Island. It’s designed to help you find calm, clarity, and inspiration—to make things work for who and how you are, not who you’ve been told you ought to be.