Hate goes viral not because it’s powerful, but because it feels familiar. Conditioned by generations of pain, we consume what mirrors our wounds and confirm our disconnection. But we have the power to choose what we amplify. Love can be just as contagious—if we’re willing to live it boldly, vulnerably, and consistently. The algorithms may be programmed, but they’re fed by us. Let’s remember what we’re truly hungry for.

We were never meant to live like this—numb, overfed yet starving for meaning. In a world addicted to more, we confuse pleasure for happiness, chasing hits of dopamine while our deeper hunger goes unmet. This blog explores the difference between fleeting satisfaction and lasting fulfillment, drawing on Gabor Maté’s wisdom to reveal how consumerism feeds addiction but not the soul. It's time to remember what truly nourishes.

We spend so much of our lives trying to manage the noise—chasing peace in perfect conditions, waiting for the world to settle so we finally can. But peace was never out there. It was never something to earn or protect. It was something to remember. To live from the inside out is to move through chaos with stillness at your center. To be the calm in the current. To walk the crowded street of life unmoved by its urgency, knowing you are not at its mercy.

I used to love the word “stakeholder.” It felt solid, familiar. But I’ve come to see how it flattens the complexity of people’s relationships to the work—assuming a shared stake where power and risk are not equally held. Words shape how we see and how we honour. What happens when we look again? When we break open the language and let something new grow from the crack? This is the work of remembering.

Somewhere in the tangle of our inherited stories, we were sold a dangerous myth: that salvation, transformation, and even the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of one. One hero. One saviour. One chosen. But what if that’s not truth? What if the real power lies not in the hands of one—but in the hearts of many? In the collective awakening? The myth of “The One” has kept us waiting, when we were always meant to rise together.

We used to turn to each other. When life got hard, when babies came, when grief knocked at the door—we showed up. Not because we had to. Because we belonged to each other. Today, so much care has been handed over to systems. And while I am deeply grateful those systems exist—I’ve needed them myself—something essential has been lost in the exchange.

What if the pain in our world isn’t a sign that we’re broken, but that we’ve forgotten something essential—or were never taught it at all? I don’t ask this to minimize harm or bypass trauma. I ask because I’ve lived it. I know the weight of silence, the ache of being unseen. And I also know the power of remembering—who we are, what we come from, and what we still carry inside. Maybe healing begins not with fixing, but with remembering what was once known.

I am no longer following the old maps—they were never made to guide us home. Instead, I’m learning to trust the territory: the wisdom of my body, the truth in our shared stories, and the path we remember together.

What if we saw ourselves not as owners, but as stewards—of each other, the land, the animals, and the stories yet to come? Stewardship is not control. It’s care. It’s remembering we belong to everything we touch. And when we hold life this way, gently and with reverence, we create a world where all can thrive.