October 31, 2024

A year ago, I took the leap. I sold what could be sold, left what could be left, and stepped back onto the path of purpose. I chose to adventure into the terrifying, liberating unknown that had always served me so well.

Fear had become a prison, and I had been pushed into a life I no longer recognised. For too long, I had lingered in this liminal space, bouncing between the old world and the new me that demanded to emerge. A life begging for opportunity is no life at all. I knew I had to become the architect once more. I had to create everything.

A dream once whispered to me: "life is one big train ride."

When your train runs too slow, you miss the moments meant for you. The destinations blur, the key passengers never find their seat, the fleeting stops are gone before you arrive. You must keep moving. Kinesis (movement) is the law of the soul.

Yet when your train runs too fast, you become blind. You are so focused on a distant target that the journey’s beautiful landscape is never really captured. The whole point lost. At night, the train’s lights show only a few meters of track ahead. You are asked to embrace the abyss, to find faith in the darkness before you. You steer yourself into the unknown with the deep trust that by maintaining your course, the destination will eventually appear.

People will leap onto your train. Friends, family, lovers. They will travel with you until they need to make their own stop. At some point, your train must keep moving. This requires its own art of farewell, a release without regret or complaint, knowing that all journeys are circular. Those who are meant to, will find their way back to your path. You apply the art of detachment, and know, that it is all fine.

This train, your vessel, is the only one you will ever have. It needs maintenance and respect. It will endure storms so harsh you feel the tracks loosen beneath you. It may be derailed by forces beyond your control. In those moments, you do not focus on the storm. You focus only on what you can control: the integrity of your own ride.

My compass is simple. As long as I am creating, I am on the right path.

If you feel lost, if you no longer know where your train is, go searching. It may be idling at a forgotten station where you grew too comfortable; a halt where certain passengers steered you away from your true north.

In the end, it is all a matter of balance. Find a speed that makes your heart beat a little faster, yet allows you to remain grateful for the ever-changing view from your window. This is the speed of the soul. It is found by tapping into yourself, and into the deep connections you forge with likeminded spirits that speak your language, and see your cosmos because it is also theirs. They are the ones who will ride with you until the end.

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

Yesterday, after a good day's work on my coming documentary Second Nature (stay tuned), I closed my laptop with a quiet sense of satisfaction. The work was flowing. The story was revealing itself.

Then, as I stood up to leave, it arrived. A familiar voice that felt cold and sharp.

"You still haven't finished?"

In the past, that question would have been enough to undo me. It would have erased the day’s joy and replaced it with an anxious sense of failure. But yesterday, I heard it differently.

I'm learning to see that this voice isn't a sign that I'm failing. It is the surest sign that I am succeeding.

It arrives when you are on the verge of a breakthrough, when you are stepping into a new version of yourself. It is the fearful echo of the person you are leaving behind.

And I realise that its only weapon is time.

My best work happens in a sacred, timeless space, a state of flow the Greeks called kairos. The voice of doubt, however, lives by the frantic ticking of the clock, the world of chronos. Its goal is to drag you out of the timeless workshop and into its hasty office, demanding to see a finished product. It wants to convince you that the journey itself, where all the discovery lies, is a waste of time.

I used to argue with it, to defend my process. But I’m learning a quieter way.

Now, I try to just notice it. "Ah, there you are."

I try to hear it not as a criticism, but as a compass, pointing toward the art that matters most.

And then, I try to answer it not with words, but with a single, small action. One more sentence written. One more edit made. A quiet vote for the sacred work, and for the person I am becoming.

The voice is just an echo. The work is waiting.

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

A ghost from 23 years ago, found in a box of old papers. A small portrait I had cut out myself, taken on my first day of secondary school. For the longest time, I couldn't remember why I kept it. But holding this picture of the boy I was, the memory returned, not as a flood, but as a quiet, familiar ache.

I was a quiet observer by nature, more comfortable watching the world than being at the center of it. On the playground, that stillness was treated not as a state of being, but as a problem to be solved. 'What's wrong with you? Are you alright?' The questions were constant, and their subtext was clear: your quiet is making us uncomfortable.

So, I learned to perform. I’d invent excuses, improvise a more 'acceptable' mood—anything to put others at ease. It was the beginning of a long lesson in self-abandonment, learning to quiet the voice inside me to appease the noise outside.

That habit of moulding myself for others followed me for years, a low-grade anxiety humming beneath the surface. I never had the words for it until, years later, I stumbled upon Susan Cain's book, Quiet. Reading it felt less like learning something new and more like remembering something I had always known.

Suddenly, a lifetime of feeling 'different' was reframed. I wasn't antisocial or broken. I was an introvert. And I had been navigating a world that, for centuries, has placed the extrovert on a pedestal. My experience wasn't a personal failing; it was a quiet collision with a culture that speaks a different language.

With this new lens, I started seeing it everywhere. Society operates with an unspoken bias for the extrovert ideal. It’s in the open-plan offices that celebrate constant collaboration, and in the classrooms that reward the quickest and loudest student. We equate leadership with charisma, and confidence with being the most talkative person in the room.

There is nothing wrong with this way of being; its energy is vital and builds much of our world. But in putting it on a pedestal, we have unintentionally cast a shadow over another, equally powerful way of existing. The quiet power of the introvert - the deep focus, the rich inner world, the observant creativity - is so often left unseen, waiting for the noise to die down.

So I'm keeping this picture on my desk. It’s a reminder of that boy who didn't have the words for who he was. It’s a quiet promise to him that he doesn't need to perform anymore.

And it’s a reminder to myself that the most valuable contributions are often made not in the spotlight, but in the quiet moments of deep thought. It's an invitation to honour my own nature, and perhaps, to create a little more space for the other quiet people in the room to do the same. We don’t need to change who we are, only find the courage to bring our true selves out of the shadows.

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

Five years ago, I was stuck in Sri Lanka during lockdown. My corporate job was gone. My relationship had ended. The life I thought I'd built had completely unraveled. I spent months reading every self-help book I could find, trying to think my way out of the emptiness. Gary Keller, Robin Sharma, Buddhist philosophy: you name it, I devoured it.

But here's what I learned: You can study meaning forever, but you can't think your way to purpose. All those books gave me knowledge, but they couldn't give me direction. I felt more lost than ever.

Then something shifted. Instead of reading another book, I followed a hunch. Portugal. I couldn't explain why, but I knew I needed to go there. So I packed my bags and left.

In Portugal, I took a job in carbon offsetting, thinking impact work would fill the void. It helped, but something was still missing. I kept writing: pieces about life, meaning, the journey I was on. One day, those writings caught the attention of a screenwriter named Becky.

After one of her workshops, Becky asked me a simple question: "Don't you want to write a screenplay about your life?"

Six months later, I was directing my first film in the heart of Lisbon with a team of 14 people. I had zero directing experience, but it felt right in a way nothing else ever had. The script I'd written in solitude in Sagres became a full production. What had started as a desperate hunch had become my calling.

That experience taught me something I couldn't learn from any book: our truest direction often comes not from planning, but from following the quiet voice that says "go there" or "try this." The hunch we're afraid to follow is usually the one that changes everything.

Today, when I sit with founders, creators, and visionaries to capture their stories, I'm looking for that same thing: the moment they stopped thinking and started trusting. The moment they followed their hunch and found their path.

We all have that moment. The question that changed everything. The hunch we almost didn't follow. What was yours?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

I took this photo at sunrise in Deadvlei. There is an indescribable feeling standing before these ancient camelthorn trees. Though they no longer live, they are not gone. They stand in a serene, timeless solitude, preserved for nearly a thousand years by the very desert climate that once tested them. Their essential form endures.

In their profound stillness, I found the perfect reflection of Apatheia—a concept the ancient Greeks described not as emptiness, but as a state of unshakable inner peace. It is the calm clarity that remains when the storms have passed. These trees embody that foundation.

This image, and the quiet power it holds, is the soul of what I want to explore with you. How can we, as creators, cultivate such a deep and resilient inner peace that it becomes the unshakable ground from which our life's work can flow? This is the true call to Kinesis.

The Creator’s Flow: A Call to Kinesis

Harnessing Inner Peace for Constant Motion

To walk the creator's path is a beautiful calling, a choice to turn inspiration into something that can nourish humanity. Yet this noble work can stir our inner world, and an untended soul can become turbulent even as we fulfill our purpose.

This is not a point of fear, but an invitation for profound growth. The ancient Greeks understood this balance well. They spoke of Apatheia, not as an absence of feeling, but as a serene state of mind, a calm clarity that emotional storms cannot disturb. This is the opportunity before us: to cultivate this inner peace through spiritual practice. It becomes our compass, allowing us to see reality with grace and meet obstacles with a quiet strength.

When we embrace this state of inner harmony, we unlock Kinesis: the principle of constant, fluid motion. We are no longer stuck or thrown off course. We move forward continuously, empowered by the very journey that once challenged us. This is how we truly serve our calling, creating from a place of both powerful impact and deep, unshakable peace.

Now, I would love to hear from you. Has a particular place in the world ever taught you a powerful, unexpected lesson about your own creative journey? I look forward to reading your reflections in the private members' discussion.

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

While filming in the South African wilderness for a larger project on a renowned conservationist, I met a young man named Divan Grobler. Our interview was meant to be a stakeholder talk, a supporting voice for another story. But within minutes, I knew I was listening to something else entirely. I was witnessing a different kind of compass in action.

Divan spoke of a rooted intuition; a profound self-belief that comes not from ego, but from a deep, reverent connection to the land itself. His philosophy is a powerful reminder: when we deliberately quiet the external world and reconnect with the natural one, we don’t just find peace. We tune into a different frequency. An inner voice, the "little hunch," begins to speak, showing us not a detailed map, but a clear picture of where we belong.

This Prelude is a testament to the idea that our truest direction is often whispered to us in solitude, a plan given to us when we finally stop trying to make our own.

My question for our community is this: Where is the one place, in nature or in solitude, where the noise of the world recedes and you can hear yourself think? And what is the one question you would bring to that place this week, if you gave yourself a moment of true quiet?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

The lie is that creation has an end date. That our dreams are meant for our youth, and that at a certain age, our role is to quietly manage what's been built, not to build anew. This story is a beautiful and powerful rebuttal to that myth, and it centers on two visionaries: André and Marijke.

With him nurturing the farm and her creating the home, they reveal a profound truth about legacy. Purpose isn't just about a single-minded drive; it is often found in the interplay between building and nurturing, between the external project and the internal sanctuary. Together, they cultivated more than just award-winning olives; they fostered a community.

A note on this film: This piece was born from a commission by LAHBS BV and Mardouw Olive Estate. Published here with permission, because its heart belongs to the larger story we tell at HunchMaker. I am grateful to them for the opportunity to tell this story, a testament to the fact that universal human truths can be found in the most unexpected corners.

Their journey is a testament that our most impactful work can be a shared creation, blooming in our later years.

My question for our community is this: We all have things we want to build (a project, a new skill) and things we want to nurture (a relationship, a community, a home). In your life right now, which of these two, building or nurturing, is calling for more of your attention? And what is one small act you can take this week to honour that call?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

My filmmaking is about knocking on unexpected doors until real human connection sparks. It’s a process built on curiosity, patience, and the belief that the most profound stories are found in the quiet, unguarded moments between people.

This reel is a collection of those moments. It’s a glimpse into the faces and stories that we will be exploring together in the coming months.

These are not just subjects. They are teachers, dreamers, and masters of their craft. They are the heart of HunchMaker.

Thank you for being here. The journey is just beginning.

If you haven't yet, subscribe to receive a new cinematic story every month. For care and consent of the people in our films, feel free to share the link, not the file.

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

There is an invisible script that governs our public lives. It tells us to keep to ourselves, to avoid eye contact, to let a moment of curiosity pass in silence. We follow this script because it feels safe. But safety is also a cage. The most transformative moments in our lives are rarely found inside it. They are found in the unscripted encounters that begin with a simple act of courage: the choice to connect.

This Prelude, "Reaching Out," is a meditation on that choice.

My work is driven by a core conviction that the greatest stories are not found in a plan; they are discovered in a person. They begin when we trade hesitation for vulnerability and allow our genuine curiosity to lead. This film is a quiet testament to that idea, a reminder that being proactive in reaching out is the first step toward finding the relationships that can redefine our path.

It is an invitation to break the script.

My question for our community is this: Who is the one person, a potential collaborator, an inspiring stranger, or an old friend, that you’ve hesitated to connect with out of fear or uncertainty? And what is the simplest, most honest opening line you could offer this week to break that silence?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

HunchMaker has its own sketchbook.

Before the cinematic Preludes and before the Monthly Films, there was a collection of writing: poems, profiles, and personal essays where I was searching for the themes that now define this project. These were my first attempts to articulate the ideas that you and I are now exploring together, like trusting the process, and finding the signal in the noise.

As a valued member of this community, you make the future of HunchMaker possible. As a small thank you, I wanted to give you private access to its past. This post is a living index, a key to the sketchbook, where you can browse the foundational texts that led us here.

The Artist's Sketchbook: A Curated Index

Foundational Profiles

These were my first attempts to find the universal lessons hidden inside individual stories.

• Patrick Horstmann: The Other Kind of Risk
  A portrait of choosing the wild on purpose. Patrick and Wandermut build a life around expedition, friendship, and curiosity. This story looks at how a shared passion becomes a real path, and what it takes to draw your own map when no map exists.

• Anna Pixner: A Guide to Stepping Into the Light
  A study in quiet leadership. Anna shows how meaningful work often happens offstage. It is a piece about turning vision into action, taking responsibility without seeking the spotlight, and building momentum through steady, practical craft.

• Lena Stübner: A Dream Against All Odds
  A clear-eyed look at perseverance. This story follows a dream that refuses to quit, and the discipline required to keep going when resources, timing, and circumstances do not cooperate.

• Sarah Parent: How a Single Hunch Can Grow a Forest
  An invitation to rebuild our relationship with living systems. Sarah's work blends patience, care, and craft to bring forgotten places back to life. It is about wonder as a practice and stewardship as a daily choice.

Early Poetic Musings

A collection of shorter, more lyrical pieces where I tried to capture a feeling or a single, fragile idea.

• When the Well Runs Dry
  A meditation on holding ambition and fear at the same time, and moving anyway.

• The Alchemy of Agency
  A meditation on the choice between victim and master, and the courage it takes to admit we've been fooling ourselves.

• On the Power of Thought
  A meditation on the quiet, fragile state of clarity, and the discipline it takes to protect it from the noise of our own ambition.

• On Dangerous Desires
  An exploration of impulse and discipline, and the cost of trading depth for a quick hit.

These pieces are the roots of the tree we are now building. They are the hunches that started it all.

Thank you for being here to see what they grow into.

My question for our community is this: What is the one 'sketch' in your own past? Think of an old project, a forgotten hobby, or an 'embarrassing' first attempt that you now realise was the essential seed for who you are today?

I look forward to reading your reflections in the private members' discussion.

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

It is with this spirit that we officially begin Season 1 of HunchMaker.

Our first film chronicles the extraordinary journey of Broeder Willy, a man who, with few resources beyond an unshakeable belief in his mission, set out to achieve a goal that everyone around him deemed impossible.

His story is our foundational text. It is a raw, powerful testament to the HunchMaker creed: that one person’s conviction can overcome immense obstacles and create profound change against all odds. More than just an inspiring film, it is proof of the quiet potential that resides in each of us to reshape our own corner of the world.

Broeder Willy's journey forces us to look inward and confront the "mountains" in our own lives.

My question for our community is this: What is the "impossible" mountain you are currently facing; the dream or project that society, or even your own rational mind, has labeled as out of reach? And after watching this film, what is one small belief you can choose to hold, or one small step you can take, to honor your own unwavering purpose, regardless of the odds?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

We are taught to seek beauty in the spectacular—the grand vista, the dramatic event. But what if the most profound beauty reveals itself only in the quiet details we are conditioned to rush past?

This Prelude follows a young girl at a remote eco-lodge. She arrives with the restlessness of the modern world in her eyes, looking but not truly seeing. The film captures the subtle, almost imperceptible moment she begins to change—trading the glance for the gaze.

Her journey is a quiet testament that the richest experiences are not found in adding more, but in seeing more in what is already there.

What noise in your life is drowning out the quiet signals? What subtle beauty might you discover if you gave yourself five uninterrupted minutes of stillness today?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

One's imagination and the nervous slipping of time until in hand’s reach. Stunned in darkness you gasp for air when the blur magnetises a long forgotten truth. As crystal it trembles the force of an earthquake while your fingers long its touch.

The heart leaps at rediscovery, sketching the sky with a silver lining. From finding the golden dragon, questioning fate, becoming the child again. You feel empty, yet so wise.

A seagull's scream seeps in. The wind, sun collaborating on that perfect day. For the one out, and the glory is broken. Transported in time you box away senses to travel afar. Ready to race past treetops, giant waterfalls, mountains an inch away. The thrill of a lifetime, reaping pins and needles.

The untamed is like getting lost, to see fresh again. When order prevails, add a bit of chaos to the mix. That right balance to keep you from living underwater.

Overwhelmed when residing a city too long - glorious it feels to rid orientation. When the familiar blows too hard, structure starts to wear off and steer you like a puppet on a string. Amongst humans, concrete buildings, another relationship needs watering.

Explorers are poisoned with a craving for more of life, an ever-increasing radiation. They bow to what comes next, acknowledge the spectacular, and nurture existence.

How does it feel to have this day? Blessed it is, wishing only but your creation of beauty. "Once a year, go someplace you have never been before," the Dalai Lama concludes.

The greatest danger is not in getting lost; it is in living a life so structured that we forget the texture of the wild. It is in becoming a puppet pulled by the strings of our own routine.

My question for our community is this: In what area of your life—your work, your routine, your thinking—has structure become so rigid it feels less like a support and more like a cage? And what is one small, deliberate act of chaos you can introduce this week to let the wild back in?

I look forward to reading your reflections in the private members' discussion.

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

We fill our lives with stories of danger, letting fear become the frame through which we see the world. But sometimes, stepping directly into the heart of what we fear reveals something entirely unexpected.

Some time ago, I found myself swimming in the open ocean, surrounded by creatures most would rather avoid: sharks. What I expected was terror. What I discovered was awe—a fragile, electric awareness, humbling and strangely peaceful.

This is a short, wordless moment from that encounter: a prelude to a bigger story about the edge between risk and revelation.

What if the things we fear most are, in truth, the gateways to awe?

If this snapshot stirred something in you, I’ve shared my full personal reflections—what the sharks taught me about fear, presence, and living a life that isn’t ruled by anxiety in a special Field Note.

Read The Full Story

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

Being in the water with sharks isn't as frightening as it seems; in fact, it can be quite reassuring. When you hold your ground and meet these fascinating creatures' gaze, a sense of mutual understanding and peaceful coexistence emerges, replacing any defiance. Walter Bernardis, a true daredevil, encourages me to embrace these close encounters—provided I communicate in their language and honour their space—just as we would respect a person’s boundaries in any interaction.

The influence of media and films such as Jaws is more profound than one might think. It is like a seed of fear that gets embedded in the back of our minds, continuing to resonate. You may claim that you are not easily influenced, yet consider the irrational fears that linger within us, often overlooked and accepted as normal.

My initial experience with sharks, and hopefully the first of many, lifted a veil of misunderstanding. It is surprising how I was misled for so long until reality hit me. This encounter taught me the importance of maintaining a curious and open mindset. Without realising, you may be limiting your world more than you think… So venture into the wild and listen to what true teachers of life have to say. Let go of the 'noise' that attempts to control you from a young age, eventually robbing you of countless experiences.

This narrative will contribute to a series I am developing on purposeful conservationists throughout Africa. Their perspectives can impart valuable lessons on self-realisation and inspire us to take collective action.

With thanks to SharkWise Project and African Water Sports, whom I consider remarkable conservation heroes at heart.

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

These are short cinematic explorations of purpose and creativity. They are the stories between the stories, setting the stage for our main feature films. Each one is a quiet meditation, a single feeling captured on film.

We often believe purpose is found in grand ambition or extraordinary achievement. But what if it’s found in devotion? In the rhythm of our daily work?

I invite you to meet Annie. I discovered her story at a camp in South Africa, where her official role was simply "housekeeping." But her real work was love—a profound, radiant love for her daughter, expressed through the humble act of caring for others.

Her story is a powerful reminder that the most fulfilled lives are often the ones lived in service to something beyond ourselves.

What is the quiet, daily work that gives your life meaning? What are you truly devoted to?

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

A few months ago, while walking through the desert, I was struck by the overwhelming noise that grips so many creators today: the pressure to produce, to perform, to be everywhere at once. The desert offered a powerful antidote: silence.

In that silence, you don't find emptiness. You find clarity. You begin to hear the quiet signal beneath the noise.

This short film is an invitation to step into that silence with me, even for just a moment.

After watching, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Where do you go to find your signal?

Leave a comment

This film was a personal reflection on finding my own signal in the silence. But this journey isn't just mine—it's a universal one.

After this experience, I translated what I learned into a practical framework for anyone to unearth their own "Spark Within." It's a guide to rediscovering your inner fire, available as a Founder's Field Note for paying members.

Read the Guide: "The Spark Within"

If this story resonated, the journey continues here. Join HunchMaker to receive a new cinematic documentary every month, for free. For care and consent of the people in our films, feel free to share the link, not the file.

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Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

There is a gap between our grand ideals and daily actions. We feel a deep urge to contribute, yet we are often held back by the invisible force of self-doubt and a system that rarely rewards those who stray from the beaten path.

This experience leads to a dangerous state of paralysis. At Love Tomorrow, a series of speakers didn't just acknowledge this condition; they dissected it, and in doing so, offered a blueprint for breaking free.

I. The Anatomy of Inaction

The greatest barrier to becoming an active citizen is not a lack of vision, but a failure of nerve. Sevim Aktas, a policy officer at the EU Commission, identified the symptom: a world full of brilliant people frozen by self-doubt.

Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev provided the diagnosis. Our thoughts, he explained, gain power only when we grant them attention. Over time, we weave them into our very identity, making it impossible to distinguish fear from reality. His prescription is not to chase "self-belief," but to cultivate clarity and self-love.

Steven Bartlett named the disease itself: Fear. He argues that procrastination is nothing more than fear in disguise. The endless search for the "perfect" plan is a trap. It is the core of perfectionism - a futile quest for something that doesn't exist which translates directly into lost opportunity.

II. The Mandate to Experiment

If the disease is fear, the cure is action. Not perfect action, but experimental action.

Steven Bartlett issued a direct mandate: "Increase your rate of failure." True winners aren't those who stubbornly stick to a failing plan, but those who cut their losses, gather data from the failure, and grow. Instead of risking everything on one "perfect" project, distribute your investment across a portfolio of experiments.

This is not a new idea; it is the central lesson of the parable Who Moved My Cheese?. The characters who clung to the certainty of their old position withered away. Those who ventured into the unknown, poised to experiment and adapt, were the ones who ultimately thrived. This is the engine of the dawning Ecosystem Economy, a system built not on rigid plans, but on the wisdom gathered from constant, relentless experimentation.

III. The Force Multiplier: Moving from 'You' to 'Us'

This directive to act does not have to be a solitary mission. In a society that feels increasingly disconnected and competitive, the most powerful strategy is the collective.

As Sevim Aktas noted, you do not have to solve the world's problems alone. You simply have to become part of a collective that "works towards 'increasing the odds' of success." Your experiment, combined with the experiments of others, raises the probability of a breakthrough for everyone. It's not about you winning; it's about Us achieving the goal.

IV. A Call to a Collective

Understanding this blueprint transforms inaction into resolve. The path forward is clear: become less fearful and more curious. Cut through the noise of what isn't serving you, and focus on steady, one-step-at-a-time progress.

My next move is to put this into practice by forging a collective: an ecosystem for fellow creators and active citizens to share, expand, and act on our ideals together.

If this blueprint resonates with you, and if you are on a similar route to build, experiment, and contribute, I welcome you to reach out. If there’s anyone within your network that could benefit from this also: Why not make an impact and share the word?

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

— Antoine

Recently, I had a chat with a friend. He talked to me about being careful about whom he allows into his "castle" or inner circle—for you never know, they may cause harm rather than comfort.

I then asked, Why do we need castles? If we are strong enough and see that we are, in essence, what we do, then everything else is just noise that we can simply laugh off… What if castles only exist for those who still allow themselves to be shaped by external views?

It’s interesting. You wish to become an actor or writer, and so decide to put in the effort for weeks, months, perhaps years before receiving "proper" recognition. Some go nuts in the process, thinking, "I will never become an actor."

What they don't know is that they became the actor as soon as they started practicing it. The persistence in staying true to this dream is what forges self-belief and allows you to see external recognition not as the core, but as a side result of your consistent series of actions. Precisely what it is.

If you ever find yourself postponing a hunch because you think the "results" are too far off, think twice and realise that you can become exactly what you wish to become today without approval.

In the end, we are just energy, or a reflection of what we do at any given moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Now when you notice your energy is bouncing off a particular field, person or environment, simply redirect it to something else where it grows. Practice that "impossible" long enough, and no one will ever cloud your mind again.

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine

All I do is never really apparent; it is more of a feeling. A direction that leads me always a bit deeper into the unknown, entering a "maze" where I just know I'll make sense of it along the way.

In Moremi, Botswana, after four months traversing Southern Africa without glimpsing a single leopard through South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Zambia, I found myself in a near-empty safari vehicle with Jacqueline from Switzerland. As we spoke about purpose and I finally surrendered to not seeing the elusive cat on what would be my last safari of the year, something extraordinary happened.

The moment I voiced acceptance of the unknown path ahead, a leopard materialised beside our vehicle. Jacqueline whispered that in Buddhist tradition, such an encounter signifies walking the 'light's path' toward enlightenment.

Then something almost inexplicable began unfolding. Two more leopards revealed themselves over the following days. The strangest encounter came on our final morning as I planned my departure to Namibia. There, hanging in a tree just meters from the back of our tented camp, was a third leopard. As if the universe had been waiting for that moment of surrender to open a door I'd been unknowingly blocking.

This is what I mean about the maze. The more comfortable I become with not knowing, with letting things unfold rather than forcing outcomes, the more life reveals itself. Those leopards appeared not because I searched harder, but because I finally stopped searching altogether: What direction are you searching for?

Trust the hunch. Find the story.

Antoine