Everything’s already in nature and animals
We always think we need to go far to find some deep, complicated answers… when sometimes all it takes is watching a cat.
Yeah, a cat.
Or a tree.
Or a turtle.
Nature doesn’t sit around asking itself a thousand existential questions.
It grows, it lives, it dies, it starts again.
In silence.
In rhythm.
With a humble wisdom that’s been here forever.
One of the keys to our inner peace is right there, under our eyes, in this living world we’ve pushed aside.
Coming back to nature is coming back to yourself.
Walking barefoot on grass or sand is literally plugging back in.
Earth isn’t just ground: it’s a charger.
And all of us are running on red battery mode.
Seriously, it’s one of the simplest and most powerful joys I know.
Just feeling the ground, the earth, the sand or even the little rocks reminding you that yes, you’re alive…
It’s like plugging the cable back in.
Instantly connected.
To the earth.
To yourself.
And let’s be real: feet are made for walking, right?
Not just for sweating inside overpriced sneakers or getting trapped in high heels sharp enough to be weapons.
I live on some of the most beautiful beaches in the world.
Every day, I walk barefoot.
Morning, evening, after coffee, before working or meditating.
And every day, I see people, often fresh tourists, literally getting their feet shaved down by local masseuses for a few bucks.
The goal?
Remove the callus.
That ugly, horrible, awful callus treated like a defect.
But wait… callus is evolution...
It’s your body saying:
“Congrats buddy, you finally walked the way a human should. Here, gift: a natural sole.”
And no, walking barefoot doesn’t make you some poor bum, a washed-up vagabond, or a crazy hippie you should avoid on the street.
On the contrary: it makes you a grounded rebel, a metatarsal revolutionary, a fighter for real contact with the world.
So next time you see someone walking barefoot… don’t wonder if he’s lost.
Tell yourself maybe he just… got it.
And go for it.
Take off your shoes.
Try it.
You might get a huge smile and a wild urge to never put them back on.
The problem?
We’re children of concrete.
Born between four walls, raised with Wi-Fi instead of morning dew.
We kill a fly like it means nothing.
We crush ants without even noticing they had a plan, a super-organized mission, maybe even a tiny romantic date not to miss.
And the birds?
We still hear them sing, but we don’t really listen anymore.
They don’t stress about retirement, they don’t take supplements, and they migrate without Google Maps.
Animals don’t have our hyperactive minds.
They just live.
Eat.
Sleep.
Look after their own.
Sometimes play around with joy.
And sleep again.
A lot.
For long stretches.
The bear sleeps 6 months.
The cat, 16 hours a day.
And you, rushed human?
6 hours on an Ikea mattress between two bouts of insomnia.
Animals teach us one precious thing:
presence.
No multitasking for the hedgehog.
No existential crisis for the gazelle (ok, except when she runs into a lion, fair enough).
They know how to live in their body.
In their environment.
In the now.
What if we learned from them again?
Watching a bee work hard without ever whining about her hours.
Looking at a dog soaking up the joy of a single ray of sun on the floor.
Feeling the wind on your face like a forgotten kiss from the sky.
Nature is a silent encyclopedia.
Every branch swaying, every cloud passing, every wave pulling back, speaks to us.
You just need the ear.
And the open heart.
So… breathe.
Walk slow.
Look at a blade of grass like it’s got a secret to tell you.
And remember: you come from that.
You are that.
You are nature… in sneakers.
walking barefoot on grass, sand, rock or soil reconnects you with the planet’s natural vibes.
This connection, called “grounding”, has a real impact on the human body.
For example, when you land in some faraway country with heavy jet lag, walking barefoot in nature helps your energy sync with the new place.
It can cut down jet lag and save you from those nights where you wake up at 3am, wiped out at the wrong time.
And what about the sun?
The sun… that endless source of energy, the only thing that triggers vitamin D in our body, the one that’s warmed human hearts since the dawn of time and gives back strength and vitality.
And yet, what do we hear all day long? “Beware of the sun, protect yourself!”
Oh really? And who says that?
Maybe the sunscreen makers, sunglasses sellers, anti-UV clothing brands… with Big Pharma not too far behind.
Let’s be clear: without the sun, no photosynthesis, no trees, no flowers, no fruits… basically, no life.
And we should fear it?
What nonsense.
Sunscreens are a chemical trap.
They block vitamin D, mess with our hormones, and load us up with endocrine disruptors.
The sun is precious for all living beings.
It not only brings vital energy, but also joy, good vibes, strong bones, even longer life.
And isn’t it ironic that in some cities people pay for “light therapy” sessions?
Folks sit for an hour in front of a lamp pretending to be the sun.
Crazy world, right?
Another funny paradox: in Europe, the darker your tan, the more you’re admired – sign you’ve got time to chill in the sun.
In Asia, it’s the opposite: tan means peasant work in the fields, so the wealthy hide obsessively from the sun to keep skin as pale as possible.
Two opposite takes on the same star, but still driven by dumb social norms.
So, the sun: friend or enemy?
For anyone with a bit of common sense, the answer’s obvious.
Taking a sunbath, you don’t need “their pricey supplements”...
The dimension of time
When you stop… really stop.
When you take a real break, no screen, no noise, no goal to hit, no performance to reach.
When you take a deep breath, look around and feel your body in the moment… something shifts.
It’s like time, that big invisible tyrant, suddenly decides to chill too.
It slows down.
It stretches.
It yawns.
And it whispers to us:
« finally. you kept chasing me, I was done with it. »
Imagine you’ve got “all the time in the world” ahead of you…
Not because you retired on a thai island with a hammock (though hey, why not), but because you took back control of that sacred resource.
Time doesn’t slip away from us: we hand it over.
We let it leak out by always wanting to “do”.
Buddhists teach in temples for foreigners that at some point, you have to say « I have arrived ».
And it’s true: keep repeating that and something in your brain changes, everything calms down.
By believing we must earn our place here with packed schedules, we turn into machines ticking boxes.
And chasing minutes, hours, deadlines, we end up living none of them.
They slide off us like hot shower water when we’re thinking about the 11am meeting.
There are clocks everywhere.
On our walls, in our cars, our microwaves, our phones, our wrists.
Some even check their smartwatch to see if they’re sleeping right.
We invented the ultimate joke: being in a rush even while sleeping.
The truth is, this race is lost from the start.
It leads nowhere.
Just to more fatigue, more frustration, more “I don’t have time”.
But if you don’t take the time to live, then… why are you even here?
Learning again to do nothing, that’s a revolutionary luxury.
Letting yourself watch a cloud drift by, walk with no goal, lie down without guilt, breathe like it matters (spoiler: it does).
Taking back the dimension of time also means taking back yourself.
It’s not escaping the world. It’s coming back into it with more presence.
So, to all the rushed souls out there: drop your bag.
Take off your watch.
Walk barefoot.
And do something crazy: breathe.
The rule was simple: stay fully in the moment I was living.
And every time I drifted away, notice it and come back.
It was both hard and incredibly rewarding.
I discovered how much my mind was, almost compulsively, trying to escape the now.
My phone of course, but also a thousand other escapes: alcohol and drugs, shopping, useless spending, food and excess, or even self-criticism and negative thought spirals.
A whole arsenal of micro-escapes I wasn’t even aware of.
Coming back to the moment meant losing those anesthetics, facing what was hiding behind: boredom, sadness, anger, all those uncomfortable emotions I had dodged for years.
I also realized how many times - in a single day - I just wanted time to pass… instead of living it.
But by going through that face-to-face, I opened other doors.
I wrote, drew, sang.
I walked for hours in the city, just watching it like it was the first time.
I learned to keep myself busy like a kid, with whatever was there around me.
And most of all, I met parts of myself that had been waiting for years for me to finally notice them.
This experience showed me that, even if radical presence can’t become a permanent lifestyle—too demanding, too absolute—it gave me a key.
The key to bring more presence back into my everyday life.
And I took back a little more “possession of time”, just to live a bit more in every minute…
Clear space, create emptiness
It’s an old law of the universe, known forever: emptiness attracts fullness.
The universe hates emptiness.
As soon as there’s a hole, a crack, an opening, it sends something to fill it.
A meeting, an idea, an energy, an unexpected change.
It’s its way of saying: « ah nice, you did some cleaning, I’ll send something new. »
But here’s the catch: we keep everything.
We keep memories, old wounds, half-digested exes, old beliefs, clothes that don’t fit since 2007, files on the desktop we’ll never open… and then we complain nothing new comes.
Well yeah buddy, there’s no room.
It’s like trying to plant a rosebush in a pot already full of dry cactuses and stones from the past.
Clearing space isn’t just sorting closets or emptying your inbox (though that helps too).
It’s daring to make room inside.
Emptying emotions.
Dropping the thoughts spinning like a hamster on caffeine.
Sorting through relationships, habits, all the “I must” and “I should” that choke us.
And then… miracle.
Something happens.
A breath.
A clarity.
An openness.
The universe slips in.
It seeps into the cracks we opened, bringing gifts we didn’t expect.
But for it to work, you’ve got to dare to do nothing.
Yeah, you heard me.
Do nothing.
Not meditate, not read, not write, not scroll. Just… nothing.
Like a field left fallow, left in peace so life can take over again.
Because deep down, it’s not in the overload that we get powerful.
It’s in the space.
In that sacred emptiness where finally, something real can come in.
When you ask life to bring you something new, be ready to make space.
You want a better version of yourself?
New opportunities?
More money?
A different mindset?
Then be ready to quit a job that no longer lifts you, step out of your comfort zone to meet new people, try what you never dared to try.
Life always asks for an exchange: to receive, you must release what no longer belongs in your future.
And that’s where many get stuck, they want more without letting go of anything.
We often think: “when I have, then I can, and then I’ll be.”
The truth is the opposite: you are.
And because you are, you have.
And because you have, you become.
Redefine your needs
What if you took a pause… just to ask yourself:
what do you really need to be happy?
Not what society tells you.
Not what your parents hoped for you.
No, you.
You, here, now.
Grab a piece of paper.
Write it down.
What’s vital for you?
Drink, eat, sleep.
Ok, fair enough.
But then what truly comes from the heart?
- Having human bonds, real connections
- Moving, breathing, working out
- Laughing with your kids or your friends
- Feeling useful, creative, free
- Having a zen cat on your lap
- Or working 70h/week for a Rolex? (nope, that’s just your ego talking…)
And the rest?
All those objects piling up in your place?
That fancy couch no one dares to use?
Those clothes you never wear anymore?
That library full of books you’ll never read?
Does all that feed you… or weigh you down?
Be honest: maybe that overload is exactly what’s holding you back, what keeps you from starting fresh somewhere else, lighter.
So… what would you keep if you started from zero?
Yeah, I’m that kind of guy, most of the time barefoot, freaking people out.
For almost 3 years now “on the road” in Asia, I realized something: I need very little, almost nothing, to feel good.
My backpack? It’s my home on my shoulder.
It holds the essentials:
- A few clothes to switch up the look (sort of…)
- My mosquito net (a must against unwanted guests),
- A bit of string and some hooks…
- My laptop (well, gotta work somehow…)
- My cables and chargers (obviously),
- Vitamins and minerals to stay on top even after 2h of padel under the blazing sun.
21 kilos of gear, weighed and approved.
For 3 years.
I became a ninja of de-consumption: no plastic, no useless shopping, nothing to throw away.
And guess what? I sew too.
Yes sir. When shorts split or a t-shirt tries a textile escape, I take out my needle and thread, and boom, fixed.
Because hey, if you’re gonna live light, might as well do it with style… and a few stitches in the right place.
You knew the bling-bling, the big houses, the luxury cars, all those material goods… and in the end, none of it made you happy.
So you questioned it all, you dug deeper, and thanks to your work, leaving to travel was never really a problem for you.
And that’s what I wish for everyone: the freedom to do and love what they want.
There are fancy fortune tellers with fake nails and luxury cars, and there are “spiritual” folks snorting coke on weekends.
Doesn’t matter: everyone should be free, without being locked in a box. As long as there’s deep respect for others, for nature and animals, lots of love, and the will to become a better person each day, I see no harm in mixing worlds society calls “incompatible”.
For me, I sometimes struggled with watching my dad let go of everything, without really giving importance to the past or the emotional bond with objects.
As a kid, we moved houses almost every year.
The furniture, the wardrobes, everything followed that constant cycle of renewal.
On one hand, it gave me an incredible ability to adapt: I don’t depend on what I own to feel whole.
But on the other hand, there’s a desire in me: to have things that belonged to you, dad.
Objects brought back from your travels, carrying stories, material fragments of you, letting me discover you beyond your words or actions.
I know, and I’ve accepted, that it’s not you.
You’re too free to own, too much in motion to accumulate.
And I deeply respect that freedom.
But for me, I chose another path.
I don’t own much: a few boxes stored in Amsterdam.
But what they hold is precious.
Not for their material value, but for the memory they keep alive.
There’s the electric guitar signed by Kool and the Gang, mom’s meditation cushion, a baobab from Madagascar, a giant backgammon from Egypt, and some thrift shop clothes I hope one day will make my daughters smile if I ever have them.
These objects tell my story.
They tie my roots to my present, and maybe to my future.
I could live without them, sure.
But I choose to keep the stuff that really matters to me.
Because deep down, clearing out doesn’t mean erasing.
It means discerning.
And for me, these fragments are as much anchors as treasures.