On my third daughter’s first day of kindergarten, I was the one clinging to the gate, crying and asking her when she was coming back. She, on the other hand, was calm and excited to be with the other children.

But when she came home, she looked confused, as if she was trying to figure something out. When I asked her how se felt, she looked at me and said,

“Daddy… are we from a different country?”

I knew exactly what she meant.

In my clumsy, fatherly way, I tried to explain something I’m still trying to put into words all these years later—that feeling Don McLean captured when he said of Van Gogh that this world was not meant for someone as beautiful as he was.

I’m saddened, but not surprised, by how often I hear people say they don’t seem to quite fit in. The world feels alien. They know they are connected, but they feel different, sometimes unwanted, often as if they don’t fully belong.

That feeling can come from many places: childhood experiences, social constructs, cultural expectations, financial differences, physical differences, and the standards we place on ourselves and each other that quietly separate us.

And then there are those who, on the outside, appear to have all the qualities of the so-called “norm,” yet internally feel as if they’re from another planet.

There is a reason you feel different. The simple answer is… because you are.

But different does not mean wrong. Different does not mean broken. That difference may actually be your superpower. The only thing we have to do is accept it, understand it, and nurture it.

That’s what I would like to explore at this month’s gathering—why you sometimes feel different, and how to use that difference for your benefit and for the benefit of others.

 Please join me.

Wednesday, Mar 4, 2026 06:30 PM

 https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87814168399

Stress isn’t the enemy. In short bursts, stress is adaptive… it helps us respond, focus, and protect ourselves. The problem isn’t stress itself, but when it never completes its cycle and becomes a constant state of being.

Stress turns chronic when we push through instead of pause, ignore our body’s signals, and stay stuck in past regrets or future fears. When the nervous system never receives the message that the moment has passed, stress gets stored instead of being released.

Preventing chronic stress begins with listening. Noticing early signs, tight shoulders, shallow breathing, irritability, or racing thoughts,  gives us a chance to respond before stress overwhelms us. Pausing, slow breathing, and gentle movement help the body reset and complete the stress response.

Equally important is asking, what do I actually need right now? Sometimes the answer is rest. Sometimes it’s action. Stress decreases when our choices come from awareness instead of pressure.

Reducing stress often means letting go of unnecessary obligations, old habits, and the belief that more doing equals more worth. Balance returns when we stop doing what pulls us away from ourselves.

•    Stress becomes chronic when we don’t listen.
•    Stress resolves when we respond.

Let’s talk about this at the next Wednesday talk on February 4th 

I was fairly young when I first heard the story of Robert Johnson, the old blues guitarist rumored to have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for extraordinary talent. The story goes that Johnson went to the “crossroads,” a place traditionally where suicides or the poor were buried, and made an agreement for his soul. The devil took his guitar, tuned it, played a few chords, handed it back—and Johnson went on to become one of the greatest blues guitarists and singers the world has ever known.

There are many stories like this, people making deals with some unseen force in exchange for time, treasure, or talent. Faust, the German scholar, is another example: he sold his soul for ultimate knowledge, power, and worldly pleasure. Every time I heard one of these stories, I felt an uncomfortable recognition—as if, somehow, somewhere, unconsciously, I had made a similar deal. Except I didn’t receive more time, talent, or treasure in return. I just gave something precious away.

Years later, in the middle of a workshop while talking about thoughts, beliefs, agreements, behaviors, habits, and addictions, it suddenly hit me. I realized I had made an agreement:

“If you love me, I will be perfect—and I will give you power over my worth.”

This was just one of many agreements I made within my family. It wasn’t done at midnight at a crossroads or through some Faustian contract. It was made with love, hope, and a longing for connection.

I’m curious—have you made any agreements for your soul, your peace of mind, your freedom, or your sense of love?

Some of the most common agreements revolve around:

• Worth
• Mistakes
• Being overly responsible
• Comparing
• Approval
• Trust
• Money
• Success

The folklore around these kinds of deals tells us they’re impossible to undo. But that isn’t true. There is a pathway back, a way to reclaim what we unknowingly gave away in the name of love and belonging.

At our next Wednesday gathering, I’d like to talk about what I call the Three R’s:

• Reframe
• Replace
• Release

In the meantime, I invite you to gently bring awareness to any agreements you may have made—and begin questioning the contract.

Remember:
Questioning interrupts the old story and weakens its hold on you.

Let’s talk about this at the next Wednesday talk on January 7.

The subject of death, dying, and loss is far too important to fit into one discussion, so we’ll be continuing it this month.

There are many aspects to this topic, including:

• The Process of Dying
• What Happens After Death
• Grieving and Managing Loss
• How We’d Like Others to Manage Their Grief
• Acceptance and Fear of Death
• The Consciousness Connection

In December, we will focus on 

• Grieving and Managing Loss and 
• The Consciousness Connection.

These two go hand-in-hand because when we can feel connected to something greater than ourselves, whether that’s consciousness, a divine presence, or even nature, it becomes easier to navigate the pain of losing those we love.

Please join me for the next Wednesday talk for this open and courageous discussion as we explore how understanding death can help us live, love, and connect more deeply.

~André 

Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself in several challenging, thought-provoking conversations about death, mortality, impermanence, and what, if anything, happens after we die.

You know, the “everyday subjects.”

We’ve all heard the old saying that you shouldn’t talk about politics or religion in polite company. Well, I’ve come to realize there’s a third topic on that list: death.

Death is the one inevitability, the one universal change, the one unknown we all share. And yet, it only seems to enter conversation when it shows up in our immediate circle, when someone we know passes away, or when we brush against our own fragility. Otherwise, we keep it tucked away, hidden behind busyness, small talk, or avoidance.

Why is this subject so taboo in “normal” conversation? Because most of us fear it. No matter what we believe about the afterlife—whether heaven, reincarnation, a return to Source, or simply nothingness—death unsettles us.

Even people I’ve spoken with who hold strong religious or spiritual convictions quietly admit to having unspoken reservations: What if my belief isn’t true? What if I’m wrong? These unvoiced doubts reveal how fragile our certainty really is.

I have my own beliefs and personal experiences that give me a sense of ease around death. They bring me comfort, and they help me lean into life more fully. But if you ask me to say, “I know for sure”? I can’t. And honestly, I don’t know if anyone can.

For the most part, I’ve made peace with that uncertainty. But I’ll also admit—it still stirs in me. There’s always that whisper of, What then?

And it’s this space, this mix of unknowing, hope, doubt, fear, beauty, and wonder that I think is worth talking about. Because avoiding it doesn’t make death less real. It just makes us less prepared to live.

So here’s the question I’d like to ask you: “How do you face this inevitable unknown?”

Not in theory, not in doctrine, but in the quiet, personal space where mortality brushes up against your own heart.

That’s the conversation I’d love to have with you during the next Wednesday talk on November 5.

One of the most poignant and enlightening moments I’ve ever experienced was the day my four-year-old daughter did an exceptional job cleaning her room without being asked or reminded. When I saw her room, I complimented her, acknowledged her, and thanked her for taking the initiative. Then I asked if there was a reason she decided to do it. She looked at me and said, “I wanted you to like me.”

The pain in my gut was excruciating. I know what it feels like to be hit in the gut physically, but that day I discovered what it feels like emotionally.

Now, I know the message behind her four-year-old words was really, “I wanted you to be proud of me.” But the fact that she wanted my love, approval, and acknowledgment, which is a normal need for every child, still cut deep. Because I see that same pattern in myself, and in so many adults around me.

When I ask my therapist friends if seeking approval is unhealthy, most tell me it’s not inherently unhealthy. The real issue is the impact it has on our lives—and that, for many of us, it is measurably harmful.

How many times today have you found yourself doing one of these?

Editing your life into a highlight reel to be accepted, while secretly feeling disconnected from your authentic self.

If we’re honest, these behaviors— people-pleasing, approval-seeking, desperate-for-love habits—happen all the time.

To me, it feels like hunger. I see it written on people’s faces, woven into their behavior, hiding in their words. This need to be loved, accepted, acknowledged, witnessed, and cared for is so great that it often dictates our self-worth. It molds us to fit others’ expectations. It causes us to live in fear of rejection. And it distorts our identity until approval becomes the compass—making us forget who we really are and what we truly want.

The problem is that buried inside these approval-seeking behaviors is something real, something we actually do need.

Humans are social beings. From childhood, we are wired to seek love, care, and approval from our caregivers—because our survival once depended on it. Approval, acknowledgment, and the feeling of being witnessed are food and fuel for our True Nature. They reinforce belonging, help us regulate emotions, and support the healthy development of self-worth. In healthy doses, this natural desire for approval is not only normal but beneficial.

So, how do we balance our True Nature’s need to be approved, seen, acknowledged, and loved without slipping into the dark side—where it erodes our worth, undermines self-love, fuels self-sacrifice, distorts our identity, and turns us into chameleons for love?

That is what I’d like to discuss and explore with you Wednesday at this month’s gathering.

In the meantime, I’m going to go clean my bedroom…

Meditation is hard. It’s even challenging for the most seasoned meditators. The reason why it’s so tricky is that our desire to meditate runs up against a traumatic, constructed, ego-based pressure to do, look, or be busy and productive.

Even though we have heard the admonishment that we are “human be-ings and not human do-ers,” the message that “being” equals laziness, unmotivated, or unproductive, keeps us from recognizing the power of “Being” and using meditation as a healing tool and not as another thing that we have to, should do, or are supposed to do. 

In this month’s Wednesday gathering on Sept. 3, we will explore this dilemma and share ways to unlearn the lessons of being equalling something negative and explore ways to “do” in stillness, peace, and purpose.

I have a question for you. But before I ask it, I should tell you — it’s a trick question. A paradox. A question that can’t be answered with words alone.

The question is: Who are you?

I don’t mean your job title. I don’t mean your personality traits, strengths, or even your divine gifts. I’m not asking what you do well, or what you’re working on. I’m asking:

• Who is the one holding all of that?
• Who is the one underneath the attributes, the behaviors, the survival strategies, and the accolades?

For many of us, this question is hard to hold, not because we don’t know the answer, but because we’ve been taught to look everywhere but within for the truth. We’ve been conditioned to believe that we are our flaws, our past, our labels, or our trauma. We’ve internalized the idea that we were “born bad,” are somehow less than, or that we must earn our worth.

That’s why, if I asked you to name five things that are powerful, beautiful, or sacred about yourself… many would freeze. But if I asked you to name five things you struggle with, want to fix, or feel ashamed of — most could rattle them off without hesitation.

But here’s the truth:

• The things you do — whether you call them good or bad — are not who you are.
• Your strengths and gifts are expressions of you.
• Your struggles are often the survival-mode versions of those same gifts, distorted by pain or fear.

So again — Who are you beyond what you’ve done, beyond what’s been done to you?

Here’s why this is a paradox:

• The answer isn’t something you describe. It’s something you remember.
• It’s the part of you that existed before the labels, before the shame, before the world told you who to be.
• It’s the stillness underneath the striving—the clarity beneath the noise.
• It’s the part of you that was never broken, only buried.

When you sit quietly and gather your strengths, your wounds, your divine gifts… and listen…you might hear something ancient. Something whole.

That is you, that is who you are, that is remembering yourself.
 
Let me share the difference between describing and remembering:

Example 1  

Describing:
“I am a successful entrepreneur who built my business from the ground up.”
Remembering:
“I am a creator. I turn vision into form. I was born to build what does not yet exist and to walk in purpose, not just profit.”

Example 2

Describing:
“I am a mother who gave everything for my children.”
Remembering:
“I am love in motion. I am the sacred container through which life is nurtured, guided, and made whole.”

Example 3

Describing:
“I am a survivor of trauma who’s learning to thrive.”
Remembering:
“I am whole, even in my brokenness. I am the one who walked through fire and carried light with me.”

Example 4

Describing:
“I am a Black woman who has fought to be seen and heard.”
Remembering:
“I am the echo of ancestors’ prayers. I am power, beauty, and sacred knowing. I do not fight to be seen — I remember that I already shine.”

Example 5

Describing:
“I am a consultant who teaches communication and conflict resolution.”
Remembering:
“I am a vessel for connection. I am here to restore harmony, awaken listening, and return people to themselves.”

Example 6

Describing:
“I am a recovering addict who made a lot of mistakes.”
Remembering:
“I am the soul that chose to awaken through contrast. I am grace wrapped in flesh, rewriting what healing looks like.”

This is the sacred work: to remember who you are. Let’s talk about your remembering at our next Wednesday gathering on August 6. I hope you’ll join me, not just to talk, but to remember. 

~André  

There are roles we play—often unconsciously—that shape the way we respond to life’s challenges. Two of the most common and extreme roles are those of the victim and the perpetrator. Depending on the situation, and sometimes even depending on what serves us in the moment, we swing between these two. They are reactive roles, rooted in pain, protection, and survival.

What’s dangerous about living in these extremes is that, over time, we become them. We internalize the role. We either carry the wound of helplessness or wield the weapon of blame. And while it might seem like the perpetrator holds all the power, victimhood wields its own kind of power—one that can control, deflect, and avoid responsibility. Both roles can end up using their version of power at the expense of others.

But there is another way.

There is a middle space—a grounded, integrated, balanced space. A space of integrity, self-responsibility, and compassionate awareness. In this space:

You honor your storywithout making it your entire identity.

You can acknowledge mistakesand take steps to repair without diminishing your worth or ability to lead.

You learn to own harm caused, without collapsing into guilt or needing to justify.

You allow your grief and lessons to shape you—but not harden or define you.

It’s not an easy path. The first step to any true transformation is awareness. And yes—awareness often comes with discomfort. But the gift of not having to live as a victim or a perpetrator is worth every uncomfortable step. In that middle ground, you find freedom. You find peace. You find your authentic self—no longer defined by harm done to you or harm done by you, but by the way you rise with awareness, humility, and grace.

At this month’s “Gathering” we’ll explore this very topic. We’ll reflect on the subtle ways we play out these roles, how they serve us, and how to begin shifting toward a balanced, integrated life—a life led by presence, not by pain.

Join me on Wednesday, July 9 in this ongoing conversation of healing, leadership, and liberation.

One of my daughters woke up one morning very angry. Now, as a parent, I’ve learned to recognize the early warning signs of the “it’s your fault that I have so many brothers and sisters” kind of day, but this? This was different. It seemed entirely out of character and didn’t match the kind of day we were having—one of those beautiful spring mornings after a gentle rain, with just the right amount of wind to fill the air with the scent of jasmine, gardenias, and wildflowers. 

Being an assertive child and operating under the assumption that most of her discomfort was either caused by me or could be fixed by me, she stormed up to me and declared, “I am really angry with gravity. It’s because of gravity that I can’t fly…” Then, a single tear dropped from her left eye as if on cue.

After a theatrical pause, she straightened herself up, placed her hands on her hips, and, looking uncomfortably like her mother, waited for me to either explain or, more likely, fix the problem.

At that moment, I had an epiphany: This was my fault. 

We had been outside when she asked me, “Daddy, why can’t I fly like the birds?” Being the ever-helpful problem solver, an empirical thinker (when it’s convenient), and a slightly out-of-the-closet nerd (basically an idiot), I launched into a long-winded explanation about gravity and how certain animals were born aerodynamically designed for flight (she thought aerodynamic meant to shoot them down).

I concluded with an objective observation: They were born to fly—and she wasn’t.

Little did I know she was upset for three days, waking up every morning and gradually becoming more and more resentful towards gravity for not allowing her to fly. This culminated in her standing in front of me with tears, waiting for an explanation that, if unsatisfactory, would lead her to call social services or, worse, grow up and write a book about her disappointing father.

With lots of apologizing, a paper airplane, and sharing how gravity works, its benefits, and how to work with, not against it…We got through the trauma.  

This event turned out to be strangely synchronistic because I was about to deliver a workshop on change to a corporate team. The company was in the middle of “Smartsizing,” one of those dreadful corporate buzzwords that means “firing a lot of people.” Naturally, the employees were filled with fear and resentment. Change was happening—unexpected change, unwanted change—and the atmosphere was thick with resistance.

That’s when it hit me: gravity is a lot like change—especially when it’s unwanted and not initiated by you.

Let’s look at these two inevitable forces and see if we can’t draw some meaningful parallels and learn how to manage them. I’ve come up with 9.

1. What are you angry with?

2. Change is inevitable

3. Understanding the reason

4. Preventing or Promoting

5. Radical Acceptance

6. Growth Opportunities

 7. Overcoming Resistance

8. Patience

9. Practice, not Perfection

The key lesson I learned is that being angry at gravity prevented my daughter from learning the lessons and understanding the power, beauty, and gift that gravity truly is. I think it’s essential that we view change in the same way. Anger with gravity—I mean change—requires a lot of energy, and fighting against an inevitability drains your soul.

When you redirect that energy towards embracing change, you will soon recognize the learning, the collateral beauty, and the opportunities that we might not have necessarily noticed if it weren’t for the change.

These are the ideas I would love to discuss with you in our next Wednesday talk.