When I first went to sea, I packed one bag. Now, heading into a two-month contract, I’m dragging two suitcases, a duffel, and the weight of things I probably don’t need. I realized: longer journeys don’t justify more baggage, they require more intention. Whether it's physical stuff or mental load, not everything deserves to come with you. What you carry shapes how far (and how freely) you can go.

I’ve just started a 30-day contract in Greenland, and it’s tempting to go full throttle from day one. But I’ve learned the power of pacing, not as a sign of weakness, but as a strategy. Starting strong doesn’t mean starting fast; it means being intentional, so you can still lead on day 17, not just survive. There will be time to sprint. But building sustainable power starts with restraint.

I spent a day watching bad, predictable movies, looking for the soft comfort they bring before another long stretch at sea. One film blindsided me, delivering a crash course in how life can change instantly, nothing happens unless you’re open to it, and putting yourself out there is the only way to live fully. I cried, letting weeks of tension drain away, feeling grateful for what I have and grieving what I don’t. It reminded me that resilience isn’t always about grit and endurance, sometimes it’s about letting go, even just for a day.

When you’ve worked in a job you’re passionate about, it can feel like it owns you. You give it everything, your time, energy, and focus, until there’s nothing left in reserve. Then, when you finally stop, the silence feels almost foreign. That’s where I am right now: a short break before diving back in. It’s bittersweet, but I’m learning that recovery is just as much a part of high performance as the work itself.

This week, we had a real polar bear evacuation.
It was fast, intense, and safe, but it taught me more than any book on resilience ever could. True resilience is built by putting yourself in controlled, uncomfortable situations and learning how your system responds. You don’t need to face a polar bear to build that muscle, you need consistent reps that stretch you just enough. Because when pressure hits, I want your body to know exactly what to do.

Burnout and boredom can feel almost identical, but they need completely different solutions. Real burnout requires rest, recovery, and nervous system repair. But boredom? That creeping frustration, that loss of energy, that’s often your life shrinking around you. It’s not a signal to slow down, it’s a sign to expand, challenge yourself, shake things up. This week, I’m sharing how to spot the difference, and how to act accordingly.

After nearly 40 days of work at sea, I’ve been reminded how adaptable the human body and mind are, if you push them on purpose. Most people never meet their real limits because they never leave their comfort zone. But with clarity, structure, and ruthless energy management, you can stretch further than you think. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it’s a controlled way to see what you’re made of. And the version of you on the other side? They’re built different.

When life feels chaotic, the instinct is to try and control everything, but that rarely works. I’ve learned that small, personal anchors are what actually keep you steady in the middle of change. For me, it’s a short stretch, a 10-minute meditation, and the same playlist I always travel with. Those small rituals remind me who I am, even when everything else feels uncertain. Because you can’t always control the chaos, but you can carry stability with you.

Consistency is a great starting point, but on its own, it won’t take you far. Just showing up every day without evolving can keep you stuck in a polished version of the same place. Real growth demands iteration: consistency plus constant reflection, auditing, and bold adjustments. Without that, you risk mistaking discipline for progress. The power lies in showing up and daring to do things differently.

Wealth isn't just about how much money you have, it’s how you feel about it. You can have money and still feel poor if guilt, shame, or fear come up every time you spend.
Most of us inherited money stories designed to keep us small, especially women. But money is both technical and psychological, and both can be upgraded. True wealth is about agency, clarity, and rewriting the rules.

Letting go is often seen as weakness, but it's actually a form of power. This week’s newsletter explores the emotional weight of holding onto things, platforms, roles, goals, that no longer serve your future. I share why I decided to shut down my old blog and what I gained in the process. We unpack the difference between quitting and editing, and why clarity sometimes requires subtraction.

After a full season at sea, I took myself on a solo holiday to reconnect. Not to "rest hard" or "biohack recovery", just to wander, sip coffee, notice things. Textures, sounds, colours, moments. Because creativity doesn’t come from grinding, it comes from giving your mind room to breathe. This is your reminder that inspiration lives in space, not in speed.

Today is about creating space, not just to rest, but to reconnect with what lights you up. When your calendar is packed and your brain is overloaded, creativity doesn’t stand a chance. You don’t need more input, you need more quiet. I’m heading on holiday, and I’m using it as a reminder: inspiration shows up when you stop chasing it. Your next big idea might just be waiting in the stillness.

This post is about rejecting the pressure to choose between all your parts. For years, I thought I had to pick one identity, serious or playful, tough or soft, strategist or romantic. But I’ve learned that complexity isn’t a flaw, it’s power. You’re allowed to explore, evolve, and enjoy every side of yourself without needing to justify it. This is your reminder: you don’t have to fit in a box, and you’re allowed to have fun while figuring it out.

There are seasons that demand everything from us, not to break us, but to show us what we’re capable of. I share the story of my PhD as a reminder of what happens when you fully commit. There was no chaos, just discipline, and that discipline gave me a new kind of power. Not all growth comes from balance; some comes from choosing to go all in. And when you stretch your limits, you walk away with proof that you can do hard things.

After a long season at sea, I’m finally back, and resting, intentionally. Rest isn’t a reward for success; it’s a prerequisite for it. True performance is about knowing when to push and when to rebuild. High-achievers often forget that real growth happens in the pauses, not just the hustle. This post is a reminder that rest isn’t weakness, it’s strategy.

I’m flying home after nearly five months at sea. This job gives you a strong identity, and when it ends, it’s hard to know who you are without it. ’ve been reflecting on the difference between the role and the self. The truth is: your identity doesn’t belong to any job, relationship, or chapter. And when something ends, you get to rebuild from who you really are.

In the last three days on Saint Helena, I let go of optimization and embraced spontaneity. I swam at night, climbed stairs in the rain, danced in a random club, and watched the sunrise just because. These moments reminded me that performance isn't just about goals, it's about joy, presence, and feeling alive. Not everything needs to be productive to be powerful. Sometimes the most human thing you can do is just enjoy the damn moment.

You can be high-performing and still get derailed by broken systems. I’m in the Southern Ocean, and I can’t even access my bank accounts. The truth? Most systems aren’t built for people, they’re built for process. And when they fail, you pay the price in time, energy, and mental bandwidth.
Real performance isn’t about pushing harder, it’s about removing friction.

Being at sea reminds me that discipline isn’t about control, it’s about self-respect. When routines slip, it’s easy to feel lost, but structure isn’t the enemy, it’s an anchor. True discipline isn’t rigid, it’s the quiet promise to come back to yourself, even when things are messy. Start small. Recommit gently. Not because you “should”, but because you can.