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We cannot live without compromise : time, money, work, family, our body, and circumstances impose very real limits. Maturity consists, in part, in recognising them. But compromise becomes something else when, in every negotiation, it is always the same part of us that gives way…

We like to talk about starting again as though it were a surge of momentum. In reality, it often comes with a trial : a reckoning with what we failed to do, what we abandoned, or the time we believe we lost. We have barely returned to the starting line, yet already we want to make ourselves cover the entire distance…

« Inspiration exists, but it has to find us working », this quote, commonly attributed to Pablo Picasso, reminds us that ideas rarely emerge without commitment, practice, or perseverance. Yet it doesn’t always fit the reality…

Psychologists talk about FOMO (the Fear Of Missing Out). We could also translate that into the Fear to let something pass us by. But both phrasing seem incomplete. Because more often than we believe, what we truly fear is to miss with our own lives...

People often talk about burn-out as if it were a specific moment. A sudden collapse. But far less is said about what comes afterward : the return, which is not any easier to live through…

Creating when everything is going well is relatively simple. The momentum is there, ideas flow, the gesture follows. Creating when things are not going well is of a different nature. It means sitting with something we did not choose. A fatigue, a tension, a sadness. Sometimes even a void. And despite that, trying not to let everything freeze inside…

There are moments when talking does nothing. Words spin in circles. Even thinking becomes too heavy. And yet, at the sound of a few notes, a voice, a rhythm, something inside us shifts. Music does not solve life. But it settles beside us, present in the bright moments, as well as in those when everything spirals…

The feeling of belonging is a fundamental psychological need. It is vital. We seek it in the arms of a loved one, in a glance that understands without explanation, in a group that shares our values. But it can also arise in solitude, in a book that puts words to what we feel, or in the silence of a landscape that reminds us we are part of something greater…

In this strange hierarchy known as music criticism, everyone seems to believe they are entitled to judge a voice the moment it deviates by a millimetre from expectations. As if singing were nothing more than an extension of the person who owns it. The moment a singer steps outside the norm, people talk about flaws, not artistic choices...

We often talk about January as a new beginning. As if the year were opening onto a blank page, clean, available, ready to welcome resolutions and idealized versions of ourselves. The idea is comforting, it gives the illusion of regained control, of a clear before and after. I have never identified with that logic. And even less so today…