Tag: energy

  • The Burn-Out

    I couldn’t help but wonder… How many cities are actually designed to destroy us… and why do they never send a follow‑up apology email? I feel happy for my girl friends who found home in Milano, and how this city that’s my training ground and zen-testing, is somehow their happy place. 

    Some places drain you without remorse. The noise, the density, the emotional smog in the air; suddenly your body is clenching every muscle like you’re preparing for impact and didn’t get the memo.

    And then one day… Your upstairs neighbors decide they’re headlining an Italian R&B World Tour. Your other neighbors are reenacting Parliament: The Musical. Your coworkers are collectively stress-breathing like a broken espresso machine.

    And you catch yourself thinking, “can noise kill you or just spiritually assassinate you?”

    Turns out: neither, but it can make you question all your life choices and consider becoming a hermit in the Alps for a couple of weeks.

    So naturally, your brain does what any responsible adult brain does: It dissociates. You escape to the reality you want in your dream: You’re wandering through a cheese expo, sampling Swiss cheese like you’re the Queen of Lactose. Life is good. Your cortisol is on vacation.

    Honestly? I crave cheese the way some people crave stability. My dream house? Made entirely of different types of cheese so I can nibble on the walls when I’m stressed.

    And when winter hits…? Throw me into a lake of fondue. Let me backstroke through melted Gruyère like a happy little raccoon. 

    But reality hits like a cold shower: Your neighbors are still loud. Your job is still loud. The planet is still loud. Where am I gonna go? Live on a star? Although that was a childhood dream of mine, even my inner child got educated on science, biology, and space. 

    So you retaliate with the maturity of a seasoned adult: You BLAST your own music out of spite. You slam on your Beats like you’re performing a noise exorcism. You decide that inner peace means “no outside noise. Just me, my playlist, and maybe God if He’s quiet.”

    Meanwhile, your little sneaker who wants to sprint to Switzerland on the next train, is packing her tiny emotional suitcase like, “Enough. Let’s go where the frequencies are civilized. And calm.” 

    But no. Not this time. Because this era is called “You’re Not Outsourcing Your Emotional Stability and Your Zen-Mode to Switzerland.”

    No Bernsie. No Aare river emotional support field trip. No letting Switzerland do 70% of the energetic heavy lifting while you pretend it’s your breathing exercises.

    This season? Is radical sovereignty. It’s me choosing to be zen here, not just in a country that feels like a healing crystal (not everywhere, just in some places, for me.) 

    So it’s me. My cozy-ass home. My emergency fondue stash (obviously). My music. My energy. Me, regulating myself like a tiny enlightened bouncer at the door of my own nervous system.

    And somehow… It’s working. Just not every single day. But guess who catches me when I burn-out? Me. 

  • Little Nudges, Big Love

    I used to “complain” about how, whenever my energy dipped, it was on me to raise it again. No random nice surprises. No someone magically fixing it for me. Just me. Alone. Picking myself up, brushing off the low vibes like crumbs from last week’s cookies.

    Since March, that’s changed.

    It started with a tiny male bee. A little creature, seemingly tossed from his hive, struggling on the sidewalk while I was rushing home, fifteen minutes earlier than usual. I picked him up. Gave him sugar water. Found a resting spot on my balcony. While I was lounging on the couch, a gentle nudge told me to check on him. And then he flew away. Free. And somehow, watching that little rescue soar, I felt alive again.

    Since then, the universe has been dropping love-coded breadcrumbs everywhere I go. During my solo trips, gentle nudges lead me to things I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise: a ring and a white rose from the Aare, a mustard-yellow backpack, a playful dinosaur postcard, a 9 of hearts card, a pink rose, the moon rising behind the Alps during sunset. If I hadn’t followed the little voice inside me telling me to go to Kirchenfeldbrücke, I would have been wandering around Altstadt missing the most beautiful moonrise I have seen yet. Bern has this way of loving me back. 

    Sometimes it’s dragonflies dancing around me, landing on me. A cricket hopping onto my pinkie. Spiders weaving their tiny, intricate homes across my swimsuit, my phone, me. Occasionally, it’s a lost subway insect I release, or a stranger I stumble upon who needs help at the exact moment I’m there to give it.

    Other times, it’s quiet moments: a baby smiling on the train, a dog locking eyes and wagging like we share a secret, crows getting strangely friendly.

    The last one? A spider landing on me right as I sat on the ground, followed by the discovery of a great horned owl down feather. A tiny reminder: look. Pay attention. Be open.

    Often, we don’t need grand gestures to lift ourselves. We just need to notice the little things. The universe whispers, we just have to listen. And sometimes, it’s these tiny nudges that remind us: yes. You are alive. You are seen. You are loved.