The Gentle Rebel Podcast

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I pick up on points made in our recent Kota discussion, touching on some physical, emotional, and creative interpretations of the phrase, I shall not be moved.

What does “I Shall Not Be Moved” mean to you? What comes to mind when you hear those words?

We spoke about it as a mantra of determination underpinning the refusal to waver or abandon a chosen path, even in the face of adversity.

Gandalf popped his head in. His iconic declaration,“You shall not pass!” on the bridge in Kazakh-dûm. Interestingly, the movie changes the line from “you cannot pass” to “you shall not pass”. Is there a difference here? And what happens when we through “you will not pass” into the mix?

Do will, shall, and can all mean the same thing or are the subtle differences?

Do “I shall not be moved”, “I cannot be moved”, and “I will not be moved” sound different? I explore this question because I think they do.

I love the idea of nature as a rebel. It finds a way and it surprises us with the way it refuses to move as we expect.

The Ginkgo Tree: Known as a “living fossil,” the ginkgo trees that survived the Hiroshima atomic bomb represent resilience. This species, nicknamed “the bearer of hope,” remains unmoved by history’s trials, a true testament to survival.

Unwanted Weeds: Weeds push up through concrete, embodying the persistence of life in the most unexpected places. Nature does not always evoke feelings of grace!

The Power of Water: Water exemplifies resilience through flow and adaptability. It always finds a way.

Glacial Erratic Boulders: Erratic boulders are seemingly impossible to budge, yet they are not exempt from the truth that “everything moves”. It’s all a matter of perspective and timing.

Natural Pathways: People and slime mould are not so different after all.

When it’s a choice vs a pattern

If it feels safe, I am free to choose whether or not I want to express my emotional response. This happens when I don’t react to the pressure to fit in or please others. I don’t feel “watched”, “observed”, or “judged”. My feelings can move freely like slime mould. They will find their way through me and go where they need to go.

We watched the section in Coming To Our Senses (Belonging), where Ania talked about reconnecting with herself through bodily movement. Her beautiful photos from Uist document a progressive unshackling from the story, “I can’t dance” to one of “my body wants to move”.

“The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person.” – Czeslaw Milosz

Everything moves and everything changes. We considered Bob Dylan’s first electric tour and the backlash he received in its face.

His guitarist, Robbie Robertson talked about how they got together during the tour and listened to what they had been doing. They realised their new music was good, and the audience was wrong. I love this!

The audience is a mountain – it feels unmovable right now, like it will never change. But it will. It won’t remain one person. People will come and go, others will stagnate, and new people will arrive. That’s OK. Don’t let fear dictate the direction when you know which path you want to take.

We shouldn’t expect people to stay the same. We always grow, we change, we move.

Creative Support: Dylan also received support from other artists, such as The Beatles, who encouraged him with the direction he had taken. Creative confidence is about knowing who to listen to and what you are unwilling to compromise.

Who are the supportive people for you? Those who know YOU and get what you’re about. Those who you respect and trust to give quality, meaningful, good faith feedback.

Rebecca Faulkner is an award-winning poet and managing director of Reasons To Be Cheerful, who collected reader responses to the question: “No matter who wins, __.” She turned some of the responses into this poem.

We might use this as an anchoring prompt, applying it to various uncertain outcomes (beyond our control). For example:

“I shall not be moved” can mean reaching for slow, steady, intentional anchors in the face of uncertain prospects.

In Coming To Our Senses, we thought about Rebels Who Refused To Move. People who didn’t yield to external pressure or power. Who or what comes to mind when you think about rebels who refused to move?

Perhaps you have personal experiences and there are times when YOU have been that rebel.

Whether through the fear of threats or the allure of a pay off, these people are unshakable because of a deeper strength. Something that matters more to them than their own survival, prosperity, comfort, or peace of mind. We might think of examples such as, the movement for Civil Rights, the Suffragettes, environmental groups etc.

Being resistant top movement can lead to self-sabotage, holding us back when we remain unmoved or inflexible.

Resilience is not the same as building a wall and refusing to listen. A stubborn “I shall not be moved” can lead to isolation when we shut out others’ perspectives. Solid boundaries, on the other hand, might be thought of as choosing whether or not to respond once we’ve heard what is said.

Resilience involves knowing when to hold firm and when to bend or adapt.

Thanks to Tuula, we finished with this video of me trying to glide down an ice slide. My trousers were resolute in their protest. “Nope, I shall not be moved,” they said, ” even by ice.”

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In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I crack open the words “Well Worn”, our most recent Kota exploration in The Haven.

What comes to mind when you hear those words? An established footpath, a threadbare object, or a pair of shoes that have served you well?

“Well” can be about health, satisfaction, or abundance. Yet it can also signify something done with care and purpose. “Worn,” on the other hand, evokes the passing of time, established use, and tiredness. It’s about what we put on, what shapes us, and what degrades over time.

All of my life, I have been wearing them,
the hand-me-downs, the pants too long,
arms of sweaters stretched longer than mine,
sleeves of shirts I rolled up like newspapers,
those shoulders that would never stay in place,
always remembering: we are here to fit in.

And the very shoes that narrowed on my feet,
I gave away or traded up for other people’s soles.
I have thought somewhere there must be men
whose socks don’t shrink, whose buttons stay put,
whose shirts never wear out at the elbows.
I paid for what other people gave away.

All of my life I wanted to stand tall,
but as I grew up my clothes kept wearing out, when
in my child’s heart, I only wanted the comfort of corduroy,
a face that didn’t need ironing, a crease that would stay put—
these labels I hoped wouldn’t rub off.
—Michael Magee

The prompt evoked a bunch of areas to explore in our gathering. I have attempted to touch on as many as I can remember in this episode. It took us in some helpful directions where we were able to think about our relationship with creativity, sensitivity, and the stuff that matters most in life.

We talked about how skin can tell a story of our lives through callouses, scars, and the marks of time. We considered how thick skin is earned through persistence and repetition, not something you simply “have”.

I shared my love for how dents, stains, and wear give character to things. They signpost us to memories and stories in ways perfection can’t.

We thought about analogies like sanding down wood, a tree’s established tension wood, and knocking in a cricket bat as examples of how wear enhances strength, potential, and longevity. It helps us go further, sustain longer, and refine our abilities.

Life will throw setbacks and surprises our way. What does it mean to wear these punches well?

We discussed the meaning of this phrase and whether it’s possible to wear your heart on your sleeve well (or poorly).

Well-worn habits, rituals, and traditions for individuals, relationships, and communities can help us connect with meaning and creative presence. But they can also grow stale and stagnant. How can we tell the difference?

When words are overused, their original meaning can be diluted and impotent.

We discuss the balance between repairing what we value and knowing when to let go of what’s no longer serving us.

Items we love show the marks of time, love, and use. Their value transcends markets and money.

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Do you enjoy journeys to imagined lands?

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, you will hear a special issue of Coming To Our Senses. I’d love you to join as I share my postcards from Serenity Island.

Serenity Island is an imagined world representing life’s many very real terrains, landscapes, and environments. I wonder how it will look, sound, smell, feel, and taste to you…

If you enjoy the postcards from Serenity Island, you’ll love the full course. Learn more at serenityisland.me

Read the PDF version of Coming To Our Senses

People end up on Serenity Island for many reasons. For some, it is a refuge during times of loss. For others, it provides an anchor when things feel unstable. And for some, it’s somewhere to explore the voice of curiosity and intuition, which may be nudging them towards change.

I wonder what you might find here.

“Serenity Island is filled with so many different pathways to experience change from the inside out. It opened my eyes to a wider world of possibility in a way that nothing else ever had. It is filled with music, story, practical information and advice, play and creativity, and best of all, wonder. All my senses are engaged and I create a Serenity Island that is all my own. I can’t think of a better gift to give myself than that.” – Zoie

The Lake of Tranquility is in Serenity Island’s region of personal health. It represents our emotional well-being and is somewhere to think about how things currently are, how we want them to be in future, and what we might plant around this part of our island to support that desire.

The Movement Waterfalls represent elements of our physical health, such as sleep, nutrition, and exercise. Use the trails for walking, running, and cycling, practice yoga overlooking the Lake of Tranquility, and find physio rooms, courts, pitches, and studios for anything you can imagine using that helps you give your body what it needs.

“If you don’t know where you are going, you will probably end up somewhere else.”

– Lawrence J. Peter

You find what you need in the Curiosity Caves to help you consider and care for your intellectual well-being. Networks of interweaving tunnels and passageways will stimulate your mind in meaningful ways that keep you engaged, interested, and growing.

The Owl Park has spots to camp, hang out, and create new memories with our favourite people. It’s the part of the island where we think about the nature of our relationships with family and friends (including the friends we haven’t made yet) and how we want those connections to look and feel.

In The Mystery Mountains, we can encounter the awe and beauty of the island’s vastness. It’s where we go to connect with the transcendent and spiritual. We can plug into the scale and magnitude of life in the company of the great teachers, literature, and practices from throughout space and time.

“I so appreciate the questions in The Return to Serenity Island—they make me wonder if I haven’t been focusing on the wrong thing all this time. I’ve started cooking things I used to love again, I got my old sewing machine out for the first time in years, I’ve been swimming in the river, and I’ve been getting outside in the early morning in bare feet.

Life has had its ups and downs, but each time I remember there’s this island where you can feel the sun and smell fresh coffee, I relax and smile.

It’s a bit like having a warm secret inside, and it’s just made me slow down and try and find the beauty in the small things. I realise that for many years, I‘ve been so on autopilot trying to get somewhere that I haven’t been able to do that. I’m now letting go of trying to get anywhere and enjoying being here.” – Louise

The Overlook Treehouses are spaces in the forest canopy. They represent our relationship with younger generations, who might be our own children/grandchildren, nieces, nephews, godchildren, anyone else we have a connection with, and those who aren’t yet born. Who do we want to be for them? How do we want to support the next generation? What would it look like to collaborate with them to build a more desirable future?

The Forest of Plenty represents our relationship with money and financial well-being. The forest impacts the soil quality and potential for sustainable growth and development across different areas of the island.

The Peninsula of Purpose represents our work, career, and vocational endeavours. We can explore satisfaction levels and options for pivots, developments, and growth in employment, volunteering, and business.

“Oh my word, it is incredible! A really unique mixture of sound and sensory experience, coaching, imaginative play and informal, companionable talks. I’m absolutely hooked. I just did a module and cried like a baby cause I felt so safe and seen. It is really special. That kind of cry you do when you’re a kid, not because you’re afraid anymore, but because you’ve been PICKED UP, and the relief just comes flooding out.”

– Josie

Two Ships Bridge represents our romantic relationships and connections. It’s somewhere to consider ways to maintain, nurture, and support existing relationships and explore hopes and desires for the future.

The Play Trail Maze beats at the heart of fun and adventure on Serenity Island. It represents our creative projects and play-fuelled activities. It’s where we can be ourselves, experiment with things that catch our attention, and see what might emerge.

Many who have travelled through The Return to Serenity Island have said it feels more than a course. While it takes you through a concrete process for exploring change and setting meaningful intentions, it is also described as a safe haven, a place of rest, and a playground. It is designed to help you experience different areas of life as parts of the greater whole and help you bring your imagination to life in a variety of ways. The intentionally gentle approach allows exploration without pushing the limits of what feels comfortable, appealing, and manageable.

Rather than being a prescriptive course, the different tools, cues, and invites aim to provide scaffolding to ignite and inspire your imagination and creativity. Every island looks, feels, sounds, tastes, and smells unique to each of us. Furthermore, through the sequence of musical and meditative audio narratives, you will deepen your sense of belonging to your island. It will feel like yours.

I listened to the first soundscape and tears were streaming down my face as I imagined myself in my lodge filled with memories. It felt like I was coming home to myself and finally accepting (and loving) who I am. I’m currently designing my island – I’m an artist so I might be at this step for a while. I love that I can go at my own pace (which is very slow) and that you haven’t put a timeline on any of it.”

– Sophia

Learn more about The Return To Serenity Island. Join us for a future voyage.

You’ve probably experienced tiring shifts when moving between tasks, environments, and social contexts—from work to home, solitary to social, and stress to calm.

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I explore how slip roads, rest stops, and bridges can help us match the pace and rhythm (speeding up and slowing down) of situations and environments.

Twenty years ago (😦), my friend Dave and I started a temporary tradition (three or four years) of meeting at Oxford Services on the M40 on New Year’s Eve. We drove there for a photo shoot, and Dave took the cover photo for The Final Scene (my first Atlum Schema album).

Without any practical reason, we decided to return the following year and drop a general invite to anyone who wanted to join us. A few people did. Then we did it again. Even more people showed up the year after. No one knew why we did it, but it became a playful, meaningless-yet-meaningful tradition. We would meet, have a coffee, chat, and then leave for our separate plans.

What I love about places like service stations is their “in-between” quality. They are not destinations but transient spaces—everyone is passing through. Like airports and train stations, they are filled with a unique type of energy because of this constant flow of people moving to different rhythms. I find them inspiring and exhausting.

Slip roads allow vehicles to match the traffic speed of a busier road to merge onto it more smoothly. Transitions between tasks or environments can feel like changing roads. Sometimes, we’re expected (or expect ourselves) to jump into new situations at full speed, with no time to ease into the flow. These abrupt shifts can feel jarring for highly sensitive people, leaving little room to mentally or emotionally adjust.

This idea could help us consider the pressure we put on ourselves when moving between contexts. It can also give us some options for smoother transitions between different environments, situations, and activities.

One of the things we do in The Return to Serenity Island is consider where to add rest stops and wilderness huts (kotas) around the map. These are not just spaces for physical rest, but they are places for soul-nourishing encounters with others. I think of these as fireside moments, times between “the action” when we transcend the busyness of doing and occupy a place of being, which can seem unproductive and inefficient use of time, especially when we have been trained to see everything as needing an obvious purpose.

Much like Oxford Services, it’s often the places that look devoid of purpose where meaning is made. It’s not the action but the pause that allows for transformation.

These ideas build on my post about Bridging Our Boundaries, in which I discussed how boundaries sometimes need absorbent space to feel good rather than being hard starts and stops. These bridges provide space for preparation and recovery.

Deb Dana also uses the language of bridging to show how our nervous system moves between states. Rather than clicking our fingers to think our way back from stress to safety, seeing it as a journey back through and upwards to where we want to be is more valuable.

I also like using a map rather than a GPS to conceptualise personal development and progress. Growth is not about following one straight line up and to the right. Life is full of contours and landscapes to familiarise ourselves with and improve our navigation.

I finish this episode with an exercise from Anchored (Deb Dana) that explores the “stretch-stress continuum.” It resonates with what we do in The Return to Serenity Island. I hope it will be a practical tool you can use (if it resonates).

I used to end each year by following a course that helped me set goals for the next twelve months. However, by the end of 2020, it stopped working for me. The image of goals as destinations in a GPS felt alien and inhuman. This was when I began using maps to reframe my energy and desire for change in a less linear, start-with-the-end-in-mind way.

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I build on what we explored last time and look at how seeing life laid out on maps can be much more meaningful than thinking of it as little more than a linear experience.

In contrast to GPS systems, maps stand out because they don’t dictate anything. Instead, they invite you to explore the many possibilities and make decisions based on what matters to you. You become part of the process rather than a passive follower. A GPS, on the other hand, narrows down your choices to one: the fastest, most efficient route. It thinks and chooses for you.

A GPS might give you the option to avoid highways or toll roads, but you don’t get much more input than that. And during the journey, you might not notice the places you’re passing or where the route is taking you. A map, however, reveals more depth and detail, and you get to see where you’ll be going and decide if there are any appealing detours along the way.

I’m not suggesting we abandon modern technology to plan journeys (I am VERY grateful for it). But when it comes to metaphors for life, are we aiming to cut down journey time and get to the destination as quickly as possible? Or is there more value in taking the slower, more intentional route?

In this episode, I explore what we lose with a GPS mindset and what we gain by using a map to guide our personal growth and life planning.

There’s a close connection between this map metaphor and the concept of play. Playfulness isn’t driven by purpose or outcomes. It thrives on unpredictability, spontaneity, and curiosity. It doesn’t ask for a reason beyond “Just because.” When we approach life in this playful way, we can follow what feels right, move with curiosity, and trust the flow of things.

But this approach can be abruptly interrupted when viewed through a GPS lens, where the questions are:

The GPS mindset is purpose-driven, always seeking usefulness and efficiency. It doesn’t always understand or appreciate the value of play. Even if it recognises the value of what we’re doing, it often critiques how we’re doing it, pushing speed and efficiency as the highest measures of worth.

This voice says, “Don’t do it like that. It’s quicker this way. Trust me, you’ll save time.”

Many of us have experienced frustration when someone offers unsolicited advice on being more efficient and doing things quicker. It’s not always the advice that irritates, but rather the implicit value system, which comes across as a universally applicable truth: speed = good.

This highlights a clash in values, revealing that what matters to us may be less about efficiency and more about presence, quality, or the joy of the process itself.

Many goal-setting systems use the GPS metaphor, which can be helpful, but it’s worth examining what we lose when prioritising efficiency and speed above all else. The GPS mindset encourages growth that’s bigger, faster, and stronger. But why do we internalise this as the only way? Why should we grow as big as possible, as quickly as possible?

When we adopt these values without question, we often lose sight of the heart of things—the core reasons why something mattered to us in the first place. This is why so many companies and services decline in quality as they scale. As we move up and to the right on the linear growth chart, we drift away from the foundational values that made something special to begin with.

Contrast this with the map approach, which allows for winding paths and cornerstones that keep us connected to our core values. Growth doesn’t have to be a straight line. It can be circular, organic, and full of twists and turns that reflect the richness of the experience.

This idea of a non-linear journey is closely linked to how we experience time. Moments through time often fit better on a map than on a timeline. Think about those moments when you haven’t been somewhere or seen someone for years, and then when you return, it feels like no time has passed at all. I call these “folded page moments”—two points on the timeline fold together as if the time between them is irrelevant.

This happens with activities too, like hobbies we enjoyed long ago. When tied to a linear understanding of time, the gap between “then” and “now” can feel too wide to return to those old passions. But when we see time mapped out like an island, it becomes easier to return and pick up where we left off. A map shows how elements connect and interweave, whereas a GPS takes us through the terrain, filtering out irrelevant details and leaving us without a sense of where we fit in the bigger picture.

I was reminded of this difference between a GPS and map mentality by the tweet I mentioned last time:

“There’s a woman on my Edinburgh to London train just doing the journey raw. No book, no laptop, no music. She scrolls her phone for a few minutes every hour or so, but otherwise just looks out the window. Incredibly powerful and kind of terrifying.”

This speaks to the heart of what I love about maps. Looking out the window on a train, we’re grounded in the world we’re passing through. Even though it’s just a glimpse—only the part of the world next to the tracks—we see where we are. We’re present. But when we keep our heads in our phones, we might feel disconnected, floating through space, disembodied.

Looking out the window while travelling can help me feel anchored in space and time. It helps me connect with where I am in this moment. I don’t want to get there faster—I want to feel grounded in the world as I pass through it. I want a spirit of adventure and connection, not efficiency and productivity.

In this spirit of slowness and reconnection, I imagined my life as an island and my goals or desires for change as seeds of treasure planted around it. Instead of climbing the ladder of productivity and chasing linear growth, I began to view life through this lens as an island where desires, hopes, and dreams grow from the inside out rather than being rungs on a ladder to strive up.

A movie night in The Haven at the end of that year further influenced this adventure when we watched Hook. I was reminded how much I love treasure islands and the endless possibilities of enchanted forests, lagoons, canyon rope bridges, and treehouses. These magical landscapes and maps swirled through my mind as I reimagined my goal-setting process in a completely new way.

After the initial launch of The Return to Serenity Island, I discovered The Atlas of Experience by Louise Van Swaaij and Jean Klare. This book presents human experiences as a topographical elements on a series of maps, with places like the Isles of Forgetfulness, Boredom, Streams of Consciousness, and many other symbolic landmarks.

It was powerful to see the landscapes of everyday human experiences, feelings, and situations represented this way. I also enjoyed how the book is an invitation rather than a blueprint, inviting exploration without dictating a path.

These ideas and approaches form the foundation of The Return to Serenity Island, an immersive coaching experience designed to help you reconnect with what drives you. It’s about breaking free from the linear narratives we’ve absorbed and embracing a playful, imaginative approach to exploring who we are in all our beautiful complexity.

This course invites you to chart your life on maps, define the shifts that matter most, and partner with your creative spirit. If you’re in a season of change or feel the call of adventure whispering to you, I invite you to join me on this journey. It’s a chance to explore how and why you want to do what matters to you and release the pressure to perform.

Do you get worn down by the pressure and need to perform for others (and/or yourself)?

What tells you you’re performing?

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we differentiate between the characteristics of performance and play. We examine the consequences of mixing them up and assess how they affect who and how we are in our achievement society.

Performance is defined within parameters. As such, it takes energy to remain in that state and can take a toll if we become stuck there.

Have you come across the “rawdogging” trend? This is when people fly (on planes) without entertainment, snacking, moving, or sleeping.

At its core, elements of this idea could be somewhat positive, potentially helping us notice how and when we mindlessly reach for certain objects to fill life’s in-between moments. It could show us what we do in the face of boredom, and invite us to choose creative ways to respond instead of consuming. I can imagine doing it as a personal experiment or challenge for that reason.

However, as far as I can tell, this is not the direction it takes. As is often the case with experiments that become trends, it’s taken a performative turn with contrasting justifications. For some, it’s about proving your toughness; for others, it’s painted as a mindfulness practice; and for others it’s simply a way to get attention. For many, it has evolved into a competition, with participants taking it to more extreme (and dangerous) limits.

Why does this happen? What causes play to turn into a performance in so many areas of life? And what can we do to gently rebel against the apparent pressure to compare ourselves with others as we seek to perform higher, faster, stronger, louder, richer, feats?

Join me to explore these questions in the episode.

The Return to Serenity Island is relaunching soon. It’s an immersive, self-paced course for anyone who doesn’t enjoy setting goals. It offers space to explore your values and desires within a spirit of play (and beyond the pressure to perform). So, if you’d like to make changes in your life, such as work, relationships, health, creativity, finances, etc., but the “high performance” drive lens doesn’t resonate with you, this provides a meaningful alternative approach..

It follows a gentle narrative arc with soundscapes, creative prompts, and exploratory videos to inspire you to think of your life as an island rich in potential and promise. We will be meeting for six online weekly picnic sessions as a group during September and October 2024.

To learn more about the course and picnic dates, and get notified when the doors open, visit the website: serenityisland.me

Has anything resonated with you? Where have you been in performance mode this week? Drop me a message through the website, leave a comment below, or connect via social media.

Would you say you have fire in your belly? What does it burn for?

I love exploring this question with highly sensitive people, many of whom have a deep, smouldering fire within. This fire is often linked to our values, beliefs, and personally compelling principles. I love helping people explore and (re)connect with this inner fire, supporting them to figure out how to harness it in unapologetic ways.

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we will consider what this fire looks, feels, and sounds like. We’ll also explore how it can sometimes get extinguished, hidden, or even escalate beyond control.

We think about how to fuel, harness, and express our inner fire in ways that resonate with us as individuals. What does it mean to have a fire in your belly, and how can we express it without conforming to others’ expectations?

As Dorcas Cheng-Tozun said about social justice for the sensitive soul, we don’t have to fit into anyone else’s boxes when it comes to expressing ourselves. The fire in everyone’s belly burns differently, and how we process and turn it outwards is equally unique

It’s usually a compliment when we say someone has fire in their belly. It speaks to a visible energy, enthusiasm, and sense of purpose that radiates from within. But this phrase doesn’t always account for those whose fire burns deeply and quietly and isn’t as immediately apparent as the big, bright flames we might associate with explicit passion. For highly sensitive people, that inner fire is often potent.

If you search for definitions of “fire in the belly,” you’ll often find it described as a strong determination to succeed, emotional stamina, and an intense drive to achieve or accomplish something. These definitions highlight a particular kind of fire, focused on personal goals, winning, or attaining power and glory. They don’t tell the whole story, especially for those driven by values and principles (how and why) more than outcomes (what)

For many sensitive people, the fire in their belly is not about achieving for the sake of achieving. It’s not the pursuit of bigger, better, faster, or stronger in a conventional sense. Personal achievements matter, but they are often most compelling when they resonate with a broader purpose or have a meaningful impact on the world around them.

The fire in our belly can go missing when we seek safe, predictable, and comfortable ways to navigate life. For example, the desire to avoid conflict can cause that fire to dim or even disappear over time.

For highly sensitive individuals, the inconvenience their passions might cause others can feel too jarring, especially when there’s a perceived incompatibility with others’ views, values, or beliefs. The fear of judgment, criticism, or rejection can be a powerful motivator to keep that fire hidden. Standing up for something we care deeply about can feel risky when it threatens to create friction with those around us. This fear can lead to the suppression of our inner fire, keeping it tucked away where it feels safer but also less alive.

Perfectionism is another factor that can dampen the fire in our belly. When we express our passions, we open ourselves up to the uncertainty and unpredictability of creativity. There’s a vulnerability in allowing our fire to rise, in letting it breathe and take form, because we can never be sure what might come from it. The desire for perfection can keep us from taking those risks, leading us to stifle our fire rather than face the unknown.

And when others throw cold buckets of water—through criticism or dismissive comments—it can make us hesitant to let our fire show again. Caroline McGraw’s shared how an offhand remark snuffed out her passion as a child. It’s a reminder that the wrong words at a vulnerable moment can lead us to shrink back and hide ourselves.

Expressing the fire in our belly can indeed feel risky, especially for highly sensitive people. Yet, keeping that fire locked behind glass can pose an even greater risk. By allowing our inner fire to smoulder unexpressed, we risk dampening the vitality that makes life meaningful and rich. The challenge, then, is to acknowledge the fire within and find ways to let it burn in a way that feels good.

To keep this fire alive, HSPs can surround themselves with people and places that spark, support, and fuel their passions. Just as a fire needs oxygen to thrive, our inner fire needs the right environment—spaces where our ideas are encouraged, and we feel safe to explore and express ourselves without fear of judgment. We can’t expect this everywhere, but we can find it somewhere. These environments and connections act as the breath of life to our inner flame, helping it grow stronger and more defined. Whether it’s a supportive community, a trusted friend, or a creative space, these sources of oxygen fan the flames of who we are.

However, for it to be sustainable, the fire must be appropriately contained and maintained. This doesn’t mean stifling or suppressing it but giving it the structure it needs to thrive without causing harm. Like the flame on a stove or a campfire, our inner fire needs boundaries to serve its purpose without burning out of control. This requires us to be mindful of how we channel our passions, ensuring they are expressed in empowering and manageable ways so that our fire continues to fuel our lives without overwhelming us.

At the end of the episode, I shared a clip from Coming To Our Senses, issue two (Inspiration). I revisited our conversation about sad songs and rainy days in relation to Bittersweet Melancholy. Listen to the latest edition of the zine.

https://youtu.be/6bx-_NryLGg

We leave things in many places for a variety of reasons. The questions we explored in our Kota this week were: what is being left, where is it, who is leaving it, and why? These ideas can help shed light on how we might build favourable conditions for the world we want to live in.

It started when I saw an ironing board on the pavement outside a house. “Who left that there?” I wondered to myself as I continued my walk to the shop. I imagined the conversation that led to this moment. “Let’s leave it there; the scrap metal collectors will take it”.

Those words kept bouncing around my head. It was a classic Kota prompt with many potential ways to explore it. So we opened up the hive mind, and it was fun to see what emerged.

Things get left in all kinds of strange places…

They sent a photo
Your parcel was delivered
That is not my door

A haiku about the keyboard I ordered: it was delivered. But where?

“I’ll leave it there; I’m sure it will find its way to the correct destination eventually”, I imagined the driver reasoning to themselves.

Why do people leave things where they do? Laziness, boredom, fear, forgetfulness, moving on, letting go, baiting, passing on, shame, paying forward, and handing over.

What prompts someone to leave their swede in the supermarket freezer? Were their hands too full, and something else came along? Did they suddenly decide they could live without it after all?

We say those words when we reach the end of a conversation, a relationship, and a meeting. It might come at the right time, an anchoring point when things make sense and feel clear. Or it might be crowbarred into the situation before we feel ready to finish.

Do we decide together to leave it there, or does one person have the power in the conversation? Is it a response to the signs of escalation, where if we don’t leave it there and walk away, it will become personal, and things will occur that we will later regret? We see these tipping points on social media. Some people can’t help themselves.

Have we reached an impasse? Maybe it’s time to walk away for now. Or is this a more definitive door to close behind us?

Did we give up on it? Maybe we regret how we left it, wishing we had done things differently.

When we want a new habit to stick, we can choose to leave whatever will simplify the desired outcome. For example, we could take the guitar out of its case, leave the journal on the bedside table, and fill the bowl with tasty-looking fruit (and put it where we will see it).

By leaving the right things in helpful places, we can create the conditions for change so that we are not relying on willpower to do the work.

Sometimes, leaving it in the right place can be a great reminder. On other occasions, we might leave it in an obscure place that doesn’t occur to us to look. Even if the idea makes perfect sense in the context and at the time of its conception, as the situation falls from view, so too might our ability to remember.

How do you know when to say “enough is enough” and let go of the project, preparation, or product? What tells you it’s okay to leave it there? A decision made from an anchored emotional state. Trust your judgement and know that it’s good enough, even if you come back later (in a state of tiredness, panic, and worry) and say, “I need to tinker a bit more.”

When the inner critic arrives, we need ways to say, “Let’s leave it there for now; I’m not going to make any decisions until tomorrow.”

I owe myself an apology.
For all the times I promised to forgive myself,
only to bring it up again later.
For clipping the wings of my own dreams before
they even had a chance to take flight. For
thinking so little of myself
at the very moments I should have been
standing up for myself.
For the lies I swallowed
while starving for the truth.
For withholding from myself the same grace
and second chances
I so freely give others.
For allowing the world to convince me that my
heart was both too much and not enough.
For all the days wasted pretending to be
someone I hoped you would accept.
For not living my life more on my own terms, simply
because I was afraid of making a mistake.
For punishing myself for far too long.
For believing love was bloody and painful,
and that I didn’t deserve better.
For every time I looked in the mirror
and hated who I saw.
I could sit here listing every reason and way I
was wronged by others, but maybe more than
anything, I owe myself an apology for not valuing
this one, beautifully precious life of mine enough
to know I’m worthy of greatness, the very best of everything.
And for that,
I am sorry.

Whisper words of wisdom; leave it there and let it be. What do we need to allow to fall from view as they were without elevating, escalating, or amplifying? What if this didn’t need to become a business? Maybe we don’t need to do this more often. Perhaps this was necessary for now, and that’s enough.

Leave kernels of the world you want to live in for others to find. Messages, gifts, and interactions can leave a flavour of acceptance in the mouths of those we encounter. What do we want to leave in our wake for others to pick up and pass on?

Sometimes, we can get in the way of the natural path—the pond where life will organically arrive on its own timeline, rhythm, and pacing. Once things are in place, we might learn to stop checking, stop interfering, and stop trying to control and micro-manage the situation—whatever that situation is. Another’s life, another’s choices, another’s path—they will follow in their own way.

These words are heavy when it’s time to call it a day and walk away. You realise that it’s not going to work in the way you hoped it might. Or perhaps the road ended sooner than you thought it would, but you’ve done everything possible.

Where the sunk cost fallacy has you clinging on to the thing that has cost so much money, time, and energy, these words bring you back to a place of power and choice. Take your knowledge of those costs out of the equation for a moment. They are but a story you’re telling yourself. Maybe the weight can be lifted, the door opened, and the option of leaving it and walking away is on the table.

We all need to hear, feel, and embody these words occasionally. “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.” The reassurance is that the time for working, striving, and stretching doesn’t last forever. Permission to be, to rest, and to know we’ve given ourselves to the moment and whatever the outcome, we are welcomed home, accepted, and valued. Not for what we did but for how what we did reflected who we are.

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Welcome to The Gentle Rebel Podcast, where we explore the intersection of high sensitivity, creativity, and culture. In this episode, we take a creative lens to the phrase “Let’s leave it there,” inspired by a recent live Kota gathering in The Haven.

This simple prompt opened up a rich bucket of ideas, and I’d love to share a few of the layers we started peeling back.

It began with an old ironing board that I noticed outside someone’s house on an evening stroll. It sparked a chain of thoughts: Who left it there? How did it end up there? Who is it for?

My walk was consumed by thoughts of the many potential ways to look at the phrase, “Let’s leave it there”.

As well as physical objects like ironing boards and root vegetables (don’t ask) we often use to signal the end of something—a project, an argument, a meeting. It’s a way of acknowledging that we’ve reached a natural stopping point or closing something down, even if it’s unresolved.

In our Kota gathering, we explored how these words apply to creativity—for example, setting conditions for desirable habits and practices to happen without constantly tweaking and meddling. Being patient and trusting the process can be challenging when primed to expect instant results. However, impatience can lead to unnecessary tinkering, which might sabotage the natural rhythms and pace.

Whilst “build it, and they will come” is not always true, we can create conditions (in suitable environments) that make the desirable thing a simpler and easier option.

We also discussed the joy of making creativity accessible. Leaving tools and materials out, ready to use, can make a huge difference. It’s less likely to occur to us to play with something in its case and tidied away than if it’s obvious and available.

It can be hard to leave it there when it comes to sharing our creative endeavours with the world. We talked about literally leaving things in spaces for others to find, like hiding tiny storybooks, drawings, or poems in public places for people to discover and pass on.

Finally, we talked about knowing when to stop and trust the process. There are moments when, even though we might not feel ready, we know at a deeper level that we’ve done enough. We need to trust the part of us that made that decision and avoid the temptation to open up and run it “one last time”, especially from a state of anxiety or fear, which might lead to new mistakes and unnecessary bonus panic.

If any ideas we explored in this episode speak to you and you’d like to dive deeper with me, you can book a Pick The Lock call. If you’d like to peel back the layers on future prompts with me and our gentle hive of like-spirited folk, I’d love you to join us in The Haven.

Even if you aren’t aware of its particular elements, you are familiar with the hero’s journey. It underpins many of our favourite stories, used in PR and marketing, and informs the narratives around sports and celebrities.

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I explore the personal and cultural impact of the hero’s journey. We’ll explore how it shapes self-worth, personal value, and the pursuits we deem meaningful. By contrasting it with elements of Kishōtenketsu narrative structure, which Kendra Patterson helped us explore in our recent Courtyard workshop, we will begin to consider different ways to perceive and respond to life’s unexpected events.

Joseph Campbell suggested that all mythic narratives throughout history and across cultures are variations of the same story—a hero’s journey archetype.

This concept picked up mainstream momentum in the 70s and 80s, after it influenced George Lucas in creating Star Wars. This was a tipping point for the monomyth, as it started to PRODUCE culture rather than deriving FROM culture. In other words, it went from being a description of the patterns Campbell concluded (cultures tell stories with similar archetypes) to a prescriptive model (here are the universal elements for telling a story). The textbooks started flowing and the hero’s journey became ubiquitous. We see it in fields of psychology, marketing, and personal braining as well as books, TV, and film (including documentary-making).

In this episode, I explore some of the implications of using the hero’s journey to frame, perceive, and judge ourselves. We will spot some examples in culture. Including England’s recent Euro 2024 disappointment, the story of Diana Nyad’s swim from Cuba to Florida, and the tropes we see in some of our favourite TV shows.

My intention isn’t simply to poop on the party. But rather to become more sensitive to the hero’s journey. When we recognise it, we can choose whether it’s useful to us or not. We can then spot it being used to manipulate us into spending money, energy, and trust on bad actors.

We will consider Kishōtenketsu as an alternative way of relating to the story we embody and tell with our lives. Rather than using conflict as a necessity for change, what happens when we relegate it to tangential and contingent parts of life that we choose our response to instead?

Listen to Kendra’s episode about calming effects of Kishōtenketsu on Stepping Off Now

Learn more about the Haven Courtyard workshop

For further reading on Kishōtenketsu, check out Adeline Bindra’s article.