As the world picks apart the protests and upheaval through a lens that often flattens the cognitive and emotional complexity of the situation, I want to share my experience and my perspective as the country does its thing.

Both my sons have been raised in the French public school system. My oldest son, Zachary, just turned sixteen and is in première, the equivalent of junior year in the American high school system, and my younger son, Spencer, just entered middle school.

Unlike my friends with kids in private schools, we’re very accustomed to navigating the last minute, Jenga-like confusion of figuring out what to do with our children when their teachers, cafeteria employees or extracurriculum staff join the frequent social strikes.

Even though it’s a royal pain to absorb the extra, unexpected load—especially as a solopreneur, which means that when I don’t work, there’s no PTO—you just have to accept that it comes with the territory.

Often it’s the other moms in my kids’ social group who leap into action, taking turns feeding the kids, bringing them to the park or the nearby libraries, or letting them hang out in the house. For example, every Tuesday for the last month, Spencer’s cafeteria has been closed, so he’s suddenly at home from 11:30am to 1:30pm each Tuesday, which is the day I see clients at my office. One of his best friends has been alternating between our houses each week, a system his mom and I came up with when the strikes began. We didn’t think they’d last as long as they have, but here we are.

I would be lying if I said that the disruption and frustration didn’t drive me crazy, or that, as an American, I didn’t sometimes wish that these frequent strikes were more easily curtailed. How can so much disruption be allowed? I often find myself wondering, and then quickly berate myself for my self-serving thoughts.

I never missed a day of school because of a school strike or protest during my entire education in New York City’s public schools. I only vaguely remember my mom talking about a protracted teachers’ strike she and my dad, both NYC public school teachers at the time, were caught up in during the late 1960s and how they eventually broke ranks with the union alongside a handful of their colleagues.

Once, during a particularly lengthy strike, a woman at a bakery overheard my whining to a friend about how strenuous it was to fill the open pockets of my kids’ schedules while juggling my own responsibilities. She told me I should be solidaire with the protesters, that they were fighting for all of our rights, and consider myself lucky that they were out there speaking up for us all.

I learned that being critical of the protests in France can come with a social cost. If you have complaints, perhaps best not to utter them aloud while waiting for fresh baguettes in the bakery line. Especially if you’re an American who’s enjoying the extraordinary quality of life that the French system offers, with benefits that generations of French people have fought to secure and defend.

I am one hundred percent behind the student protests and have felt electrified and hopeful watching the kids protest in front of their schools, blocking the entrances with their cardboard signs bearing searing insults of the government that has silenced and ignored their grievances for decades.

Enough is enough. The system is archaic, elitist and out of touch. The days are impossibly long. The curriculum is antiquated and boring. The teachers are, for the most part, exhausted, disillusioned, and grossly underpaid.

We put our son Zachary into a sports-study program several years ago to combat the long hours and give him an outlet to practice and compete in tennis. Very few kids his age have that kind of flexibility and diversity in their schedules, but he’s aligned with the protests, even though he’s mostly fighting from the living room and staying away from the crowds.

That said, my dream is that this is all resolved in ten days and that he can get back with his regular schedule. He has the first segment of the infamous bac at the end of the year, and if school doesn’t pick up soon, he’ll have missed out on precious days and weeks of preparation for an exam that chills every high schooler (and their parents) to the bone. I both want the high school protesters to continue to fight until concrete changes are made, and, at the same time, I don’t want this to get drawn out indefinitely. One mom predicted that the strikes could go on until winter break, or longer(!!). When she said that, my face dropped to the ground. Are you serious?

As if in a parallel world, the private school kids haven’t missed much of their class work since the strikes began, creating an even stronger divide of privilege and opportunity between the two systems.

I’m in a very new place as an American-French woman, mother and citizen, watching all of this upheaval unfold. I’m thinking about my own interests, as well as the interests of the collective, weighing the discomfort of the present versus the reward of something better.

Yesterday I walked down Boulevard de Magenta and through Place de la République. It’s the commute I’ve taken to and from my office for years, a route I know like the back of my hand. But yesterday, it was unrecognizable. Every few storefronts had been eviscerated and pillaged over the weekend, their windows and entrances now boarded up with sheets of plywood. It was like walking through a retail cemetery, with exposed caskets lining the streets. Even the new bakery which I marveled at on my last commute and vowed to try—destroyed. The space had previously housed a bank and I remember thinking how clever it was to turn it into a corner bakery, altering the offerings in this busy intersection. There was nothing inside to steal or pilfer, it had been destroyed merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When anger, frustration, and discord boil over, we’re all vulnerable, we all suffer. Even the stone walls.

I’m feeling so much grief about what’s been destroyed, and terror at the violence we’ve witnessed from opportunistic casseurs, who, in a matter of minutes, were able to wipe out the livelihoods of average people who make up the fabric of life here. I’m also angered and bewildered by the police’s reckless use of force which has contributed to this tension, frightened by the confusion and lack of coordination surrounding it all, and worried that this is just the beginning of a stark, new reality before we arrive at some sustainable progress.

What I’m experiencing right now is a kind of emotional and cognitive dissonance, an uncomfortable place where multiple perspectives, clashing feelings and competing desires coexist. It’s a feeling I recognize from the in-between phases of our lives, when what once worked no longer does, but what comes next is still impossible to imagine. When we have to sit with the tension between the familiar and the unknown, wade through the detritus of an existence that once worked but no longer does, and carve something new out of the debris, even when the ground feels shaky and unstable. I’m realizing that one of the most valuable skills we can develop in moments like these is the ability to sit with this discomfort without rushing to relieve our uncertainty by flattening our opinions into extreme camps of right or wrong. To listen to the tug and pull of our conflicting desires and to accept that we can hold strong, at times, paradoxical convictions and be alright with not being a hundred percent certain we are right.

It all feels like a lot, but here we are. How are you doing through all this?

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For the last year or so I’ve been face down in books, reading other people’s, and writing my own. I finished my manuscript and shipped it off to my amazing editor last week. I didn’t expect to feel like a balloon slipped from a toddler’s flimsy fingers on a windy day when I clicked share on the doc, closed my laptop and headed off to get a self-congratulatory deep tissue massage, but I’ve been a bit rickety and adrift ever since, unsure where to park my new reflections now that my book baby is in someone else’s hands.

This is a new sensation. Aside from my 30-page college thesis on the work of Kurt Schwitters—which, in the minutes after handing it to my Art History professor Molly Nesbit, triggered a massive migraine that left me cowering, shades down, in my dorm room for days—I haven’t experienced this kind of creative severance before. And I wanted to share, maybe as a way of helping me make sense of this exciting chapter, what it’s been like writing this book.

For one, the idea to write a workbook was sparked during a conversation with my friend sometime in 2024. During one of our co-working stints at a local café, catching up about our various projects, she said “I think you should write a workbook, something that you can have fun with and maybe self-publish, so that you don’t have to go through the pain of finding an agent and publisher. Just get it out of you and into the world.”

Within hours of those words leaving her lips, I started banging away. I’d been toying with an idea for a workbook for a while already. Something related to my coaching work, blending my own personal experiences with stories from my coaching clients, including hands-on exercises to move readers along their own self-discovery journeys. A sort of memoir/journaling/self-help hybrid.

It took me around a year to write it and then another few months to search for and find my dream editor and publisher (I’lll write more about that in another stack).

What was so interesting about the process is that the essays and exercises flowed out of me in response to the world I was living. A conversation with a client would draw me towards a personal anecdote, that would connect to a distant memory, and then fold into an exercise. It was a very round-robin process. No crumbs left on the table. Life would incubate reflections, which would beget exercises, which would weave their way back into my work. And in the final weeks finessing and tweaking I got into this delicious routine of editing from my phone each day while soaking in the bath before dinner. Reading my words on a smaller screen brought me closer to them, while the warm silkiness of the water made me feel all relaxed and protected.

Though I’d love to share more with you about the book, you’re going to have to put your little patience bonnet on for a while since the release is scheduled for Fall 2027 under the phenomenal all-women’s imprint She Writes.

In the meantime, what I learned writing this book is that the best ally during a creative surge—where your mind is racing, obsessively teasing together and making sense of your thoughts—is more books! All I want is words, words, words, especially highly descriptive fiction, as I found it to be the grease that gets my writing griddle hot!

So here are some of my top reads during this wild creative ride, in no particular order.

Hands down my writing crush du moment is the author Lily King. Now that I have a Kindle connected to my Libby app, the second I come across a compelling recommendation, I either pop the title onto my device or place a hold on it. That’s how I discovered Heart the Lover, a book that landed on “best of 2025” lists left and right. And understandably so. It’s the story of a love triangle among three hyper-intellectual university students in a small New England college whose lives connect, detach and then reassemble again years later in a tight, 256-page turner. It’s smart, titillating and suspenseful with a whopper of a secret revealed midway which I learned the author added in a stroke of genius two weeks before her deadline. After devouring this novel and becoming hooked on King’s use of body-centric physical descriptions to express emotional states (aligning beautifully with the emotional granularity work I do with my clients), I went on to read three more of her books like an insatiable fiend! I even slid in some addendum titles. Books that her brainy characters discuss and debate, such as Elizabeth Strout’s My Name Is Lucy Barton, whose narrator (also an author) quotes a fictional mentor named Sarah Payne who tells her students that: “You will have only one story. You’ll write your one story many ways. Don’t ever worry about story. You just tell your story.” That idea has since buried itself in my brain as literary truth. I find it soothing, like a big old exhale after a strenuous yoga pose, to believe that we don’t have to consciously locate the story inside of us. We just have to keep telling it.

Euphoria is Lily King’s tour de force historical fiction, once again viewed through her preferred prism of the love triangle. Set in the 1930s and loosely inspired by the life and romantic entanglements of Margaret Mead, the novel follows a group of cultural anthropologists studying the tribal customs and gender dynamics in Papua New Guinea. The narrator of the book is a lonesome, sexy British man who has been working alone for two years before he runs into and latches onto a married anthropologist couple equally consumed by the fascinating, confusing and at times dangerous work of immersing themselves in the cultures of the South Pacific. There’s murder. There’s betrayal. There’s jealousy. And even a climactic scene involving a thatched hut teeming with sweaty women passing around warm stones (I will say no more). But what I admired most in King’s writing is her uncanny ability to switch lenses and inhabit multiple consciousness at once, exploring not only her character’s emotional complexity, but also their unique intellectual reasonings behind their anthropological breakthroughs, which raise riveting questions about what is and is not considered “civilized” behavior.

is not everyone’s cup of tea, but I can steep in her universe and sip on her words for hours on end. I was already living in Paris, married and nearly forty when Girls made its début, so it didn’t speak as viscerally to me as it did to the millennial crowd. That said, I have huge respect for her work and the radically new lane she’s paved for women’s storytelling. In her book Girl on Girl, cultural critic Sophie Gilbert builds a riveting argument about how pop culture from the 1990s to the early 2010s (through music, tabloids, TV series, horror flicks, fashion and porn) taught an entire generation of women to turn against themselves, cleverly concealing misogyny and female objectification as “girl power.” When Girls first aired in 2012, it blew that skinny, brainless, one-dimensionally sexed-up trope to shreds. Depicting in raw, shameless, culturally-confronting vignettes what it feels like for young women to come of age in the big city. The hopeful awkwardness, unbridled horniness, insecure desperation for deep emotional connection and hunger for exalting creative freedom without bothersome financial responsibility—often all at once and in different proportions. This fluidly defiant representation forced viewers to reckon with what women really desire, for ourselves and our relationships, versus what’s been shoved down our throats through years of reductive and destructive cultural conditioning.

So after reading Sophie Gilbert’s treatise on Girls, I binged Dunham’s Netflix series, Too Much, burned through her brilliant first memoir, Not That Kind of Girl and then waited desperately for the new Famesick to come out. If you haven’t read either memoir start with her first. From one book to another, you witness her growth and self-awareness through her signature writing, which blends the darkest humor with pseudo-photographic memories to wade through the wreckage of crippling chronic illnesses, incessant public harassment, ill-advised prescriptions, breakups, addiction, recovery and unprocessed childhood trauma. It sounds, and is, a lot to take in, but once you start you can’t put it down. Sharing her worst moments (including, but not limited to, accidental self-immolation!) with such excruciating honesty, makes the world feel strangely less surreal and your own issues infinitely less daunting. You realize that one of the greatest gifts of art (in any form) is to expose the unique inner-mechanics of our meaning-making minds. And Dunham’s imagination is like a Coney Island fun house mirror: vulnerably candid, hyper descriptive and oddly shaped, heightening our awareness in order to make life’s unpleasant parts impossible to ignore. In a brilliant stroke of NYC downtown deftness, she describes her uterus after her hysterectomy as being “worse than anyone could have imagined. It’s the Chinatown Chanel purse of nightmares, full of both subtle and glaring flaws.”

During my book binge I discovered the thrill of falling in love with an author and riding that wave all the way to the shore, but I also learned to study a specific narrative architecture and see how different writers pull off similar schticks. That’s how I wound up reading back-to-back stories about two characters with magnetic (and often destructive) pulls toward one another who, over decades, evolve as individuals within and outside of their relationship. First with Seven Days in June, Tia WIlliams’ sexy romance about two troubled teens who fall out of touch, then reconnect fifteen years later as successful Black authors literally thrown together on the same literary stage. Each chapter tells the story of a day in the life of one of the characters—both as adults, or flashing back to their time together in their youth. The reader bounces around between timelines, slowly discovering pieces of their heart-wrenching but hopeful stories, creating a layered tapestry brilliantly held together within the seven day frame.

I read the Q&A at the end of the book where Williams said her structural inspiration came from One Day by Dave Nicholls. Huh? Never heard of it. So I popped that onto my Kindle and was hooked right away. Each chapter takes place on July 15th, starting in 1988, where we meet the two protagonists in bed, bantering and fooling around after their boozy graduation party from the University of Edinburgh, where we learn that Emma has been secretly crushing on Dexter for years and they’ve finally stumbled drunkenly into each others arms. The book then spirals forward, one year at a time, to glimpse how they move in and out of each other’s orbits, sometimes in person or via frisky, revelatory letters (that at times get lost in the mail), all through nuanced dialogue couched in coquettish longing and painful insecurity. As the reader you want to step in, shake the shit out of them and draft up the marriage contract yourself. Basta! Enough with this nonsense. But then you realize:

a) there’d be no book if they did
b) how the identity we desire can take years to achieve and often doesn’t feel the way we imagined
c) that in love, as well as life, it can be terrifying to throw open the doors and clearly claim what you’ve secretly always wanted.

Kind of like writing my book :)

xxx

Zeva

PS. My Kindle coffer is running low, so what hot reads do you recommend? Leave a comment below.

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Last month brimmed with experiences, encounters, environments and conversations that completely reset my GPS. Not in any headline-grabbing way. But in a sort of under-the-hood recalibration that got my optimistic engines all revved up and humming again.

I attribute the emotional tune-up to a good amount of time spent with people whose backgrounds and stories differ significantly from mine.

It started off with an invitation by my phenomenal friend to attend her Good Life retreats in Provence. Each year she hosts small groups of women from around the world who crave time, space, and the uplifting energy of an agenda built entirely around beauty, awe and enjoyment. Since the beginning, Ajiri has invited me to lead discussions at her retreats, guiding participants to explore how they can carry the spirit of The Good Life back into their everyday lives. How to sustain the energy of the retreat once they return home.

All of these women have chosen to uproot their routines—leaving behind children, demanding jobs, aging parents and community responsibilities—to indulge and delight in themselves. I find them, as a group, riveting.

One woman, in particular, reset everyone’s watch. She’d just celebrated her 80th birthday and this trip was a gift to herself. She was the most passionate, the most active, the most excited-to-be-alive women with future plans and projects and workout routines back home with her trainer. She walked faster than us all. And when we spoke about personal ambitions, she lit up, eager to work through the limiting beliefs and patterns that have been crimping her style for years. Watching her, we all sat a little straighter. If she had that much to look forward to at 80, then surely at 40, 50, or 70, we all realized how much more ambitious and daring we could be with our future selves.

So to capture that energy I suggested the women write letters to their future selves, dated one year from now. I asked them to describe their lives in vivid detail—what their home feels like, what their routines look like, what they’re working on, celebrating, savoring. It’s a powerful way of turning longing into direction, of helping the brain begin to engineer what the heart most desires. (If you’d like my letter writing prompts, DM your email & I’ll send you my PDF version of the exercise.)

After a brief return to normal life, I was back in the car heading south again, this time to the Pyrénées, where the fall colors were in full kaleidoscope mode. My family and I spent a week in my mother-in-law’s tiny village, playing in leaf piles and gawking at a troupe of sheep that visited us overnight on their annual grazing tour. We fell in love with one rare, speckled member of the herd and named it Tiramisu.

After that week, I drove to Tournay with my friend Rachel for a retreat of our own making. The only criteria: no cooking, no cleaning, no social agenda, no expectations, and no hefty price tag. Rachel found a site called Ritrit, an Airbnb-style platform for Europe’s little-known network of monasteries and abbeys. I was skeptical… until I stumbled on the perfect place: Abbaye Notre Dame de Tournay.

To book, you have to write a kind of letter of intent. I explained that we were two busy moms and solopreneurs looking for a peaceful, spiritually-rich setting to rest and reflect. Our pitch worked. Brother Bernardo welcomed us warmly, though he forgot to mention that all meals were eaten in silence!

So, on our first night, when a bowl of brown soup was placed silently in front of us and a monk began reading scripture through a 1970s-era loudspeaker, Rachel just couldn’t take it. She started nervous laughing, her body quaking while she covered her face with her napkin, trying to keep it under wraps.

My instinct was to apologize, explain, somehow smooth over the awkwardness. But instead, I stayed quiet. Stared at my plate. At my fingers. Out the window into the courtyard. Eventually, I realized that it wasn’t my job to fix the discomfort. No one was expecting me to say or do anything.

After that first perplexing meal, we did some online sleuthing and found out the silence wasn’t a glitch in the design, but an intentional feature. The Benedictine monks eat in silent reflection, which is what we’d get into the habit of doing for the next five days. Social banter, and the instinctive urge to connect and share through conversation, was forcible removed from our plate. One less thing to worry about on our so-called retreat. And to be honest with you, it was kind of a revelation. When you’re not speaking and listening and carrying a conversation along, you suddenly have a kind of laser-sharp presence and awareness. A curiosity about who did the planning and cooking and how they come up with this specific arrangement. There’s also much more room for self-reflection. And an unexpected calm in the quiet predictability of the meal’s choreography and timing.

That said, one of the highlights of the trip was meeting Bernadette, an 86 year old Irish nun who was passing through the abbey on her way back to her convent in Béziers. Over breakfast (the only meal where talking was allowed), she told us how she’d left Ireland at nineteen to join a convent in southern France. Her mother had worried she might be silenced, so they created a secret code in their letters. Bernadette would slip in the word anyhow to signal she was truly happy. The more anyhows, the better.

“Anyhow, the gardens are beautiful this time of year.”

“Anyhow, I quite like the sisters.”

The code still made her laugh decades later.

Since we didn’t have to plan anything, especially not our meals or what we’d say during them, Rachel and I suddenly had a huge amount of bonus time and mental energy to do whatever. There was a lot of napping (on my part), reading, and post-dinner movie watching, but we spent most of our free time roaming the countryside. Each day we went on two jumbo walk-and-talks: one in the morning before lunch, and one in the afternoon around 3pm, in the lead-up to dinner.

We set a loose conversational agenda. At the start of our retreat, we made a list of subjects we each wanted to explore and our walks became our playgrounds to follow our thread of thoughts. We covered a shocking amount of ground, both literally and figuratively, and I came home feeling more awake, aware and informed about myself in this exact moment of life than I have in years.

If this month of unusual meet ups and expansive conversations in out-of-the-ordinary locations taught me anything, it’s the value of getting out of your routine, shaking up your habits, putting yourself in completely new situations and meeting more people who are very different than you. Not only does it give you fresh perspective on your own choices, it humbles you to see how there is no one way of doing things.

When was the last time you did something new for the first time? Got out of your routine? Had breakfast with a nun? Ate in silence? Wrote a letter to your future self?And what small disruption could you invite into your life this month to shake up your perspective?

Sending you so much love,

Zeva

P.S. Maybe it’s time for your own “silent-meal moment” to pause, reset, get a new perspective. I’m a certified coach who’s been there through big pivots, creative blocks and midlife questions. I can help you turn all of that uncertainty into clarity and movement. Book a discovery call and let’s see what wants to shift.

1. In a world obsessed with fame and recognition, what can we learn from Gabriële Buffet-Picabia’s secret service to art?

For much of the summer I’ve been swept up in the chaotic, libertine life of Gabriële Buffet-Picabia (1881–1985), great-grandmother of French sisters and authors Anne and Claire Berest. I devoured Anne’s memoir La Carte Postale (The Notebook) last year, where Gabriële appears briefly as a fearless French Resistance agent during WWII. But her life was far too eventful to be reduced to a cameo. It demanded a book of its own. And so Anne and Claire wrote it, together!

The premise of this four-hand biographical novel is bitter sweet, however. Gabriële lived to 104, residing in the same city as her great-granddaughters, and yet she was a complete stranger to them. After Gabriële’s son Vincente Picabia (the authors’ grandfather) committed suicide at age 27, she seemingly erased all trace of him, and his descendants, from her life.

This book is the Berest sisters’ quest to reconstruct the intimate, unconventional world of their mysterious ancestor. To fill in the gaps in their family tree, to make better sense of who they are by uncovering where they come from. In the process they discover something truly astonishing: that their great-grandmother was not merely a witness to the birth of modern art, she was one of its secret architects.

Gabriële was among the first women admitted to the Schola Cantorum, a prestigious Paris conservatory. She later moved to Berlin alone to compose, teach, and perform—rare freedoms for a young woman at the turn of the twentieth century. But on a trip home to Versailles to visit her family one weekend, she met the up-and-coming, charismatic French painter Francis Picabia who her brother had invited along to dinner. Within days of their intellectually electrifying encounter, she shocked everyone by deciding to run off with Francis, giving up her musical ambitions, her rigorous studies (as well as her precious virginity!) to become his dedicated sparring partner in life and in art.

The Picabias spent more than two decades together as a revolutionary power couple in perpetual motion across the globe. Their four children—left mostly with family or governesses—barely made a dent in their whirlwind lifestyle. The couple vanished for months at a time on extended trips, indulging in extravagant parties, exhibition openings, and collaborations with the crème de la crème of the avant-garde, including Gabriële’s unrequited love, Marcel Duchamp, Guillaume Apollinaire, Man Ray, Jean Arp, Elsa Schiaparelli, and Gertrude Stein, to name just a few!

Despite her own clear intellectual and artistic gifts, Gabriële shied away from the spotlight, abandoning her own personal projects in their infancy. Instead, she seemed to find her joy and purpose by helping others wrestle with and refine their visions using what her entourage described as her “erotic mind.” Her ideas, words, and interpretations of the shifting tides in art was the “spiritual breath” for her community. Far from a saint, her stance was nonetheless unique: service to art, not to self. That, it seems, was her true gift: to synthesize, interpret, and challenge convictions in ways that helped engineer an artistic revolution. And her legacy lives in the invisible ripples she made, more than in any concrete, attributable way.

And her story and choices leaves me asking: What am I in service to? Beyond family, friends, or self, what larger movement am I quietly shaping, even (and perhaps especially) if my name never never gets a mention?

2. When is it “normal” to start thinking about retirement?

For the first time in my life, I’ve been actively thinking about retirement. When I mentioned it to my friend over lunch, she was so shocked she asked me twice to remind her how old I was. Like a hiker calling up to someone further along the trail, asking for higher altitude conditions. (eg. At what mile marker did you start feeling dizzy?) So, for her again (and now for you): I’m fifty-one.

I don’t know if it’s the number itself or something else going on, but fifty-one feels like a bend in the road. I’ve worked ever since I was a teenager helping at my family’s printing press. My mom ran the art department, and to keep me busy during school breaks when I came to the office with her, she had me helping out in the darkroom, resizing artwork for business cards and stationery. I loved it—the magic of images appearing in developer trays, the thrill of handing off my work, and best of all, that first paycheck. Money in hand for a job well done.

That feeling of value tied to contribution has defined much of my life. But what would it feel like if it didn’t? What would I do with my days if work wasn’t required?

Right now, I think I’d be doing more of this: thinking, writing, talking to people and connecting dots about life trajectories, impact and purpose.

What about you? What do you think you would be doing with your days if earning a living was no longer a part of the equation?

3. How will AI change how we value & create connection?

While I was sitting on a paddle board in the turquoise Hawaiian waters this summer, chatting with my cousin Jason on a once-in-a-lifetime holiday, we started talking about (surprisingly!!) AI. He was predicting the commodification of experiences like we were having: two cousins who live across the globe (he’s based in New Zealand) catching up about life and work while floating at sea in one of the most paradisiacal locations imaginable. No simulated scenario could outclass the moment, and the value we place on it will just increase with time.

His comment stuck with me throughout my summer since what I prized most wasn’t the exotic locations where I had these conversations, but the time carved out with friends and family to sit, connect, and really talk. Conversation is by far my favorite form of connection. I can have it on a plane, I can have it on a train, I can have it in a moat, and maybe even with a goat. But seriously, when I think back about my endless summer, it was the real-time, unscripted, eyes locked, one-on-ones that meant the most to me.

Maybe that’s why Jason’s perspective lingered with me. He knows a thing or two about creativity and technology, having spent his career bringing imaginary worlds to life. His first job was working for Peter Jackson at Weta, where he was part of the animation team that helped bring Gollum to life. Then he moved back to the States and became a lead animator at DreamWorks (Madagascar, Megamind, Mr. Peabody & Sherman).

So when I got back to Paris I called Jason up to talk more about the intersection of AI, creativity and connection. It’s something he explores constantly as Chief Creative Officer at Griptape, a company building tools that take the technical grind out of AI so creatives can spend more time on vision and connection.

He believes that AI will actually free artists to go deeper.

As Jason put it:

“We biologically need connection. Loneliness makes us sick. If AI gives us back hours, the win is if we use that time to make things that connect us. To feel human together. You can tell when somebody cared. There’s a thumbprint in crafted work, not just something spat out by a machine. That’s what will stand out in a flood of content.”

Which circles back to my earlier reflections: if AI can free up time, what contribution inside you is waiting to be shared? What message do you want to leave your thumbprint on?

4. Where my questions seem to be converging…

Writing about these themes has made me realize how tightly they’re braided together. Maybe this is the nugget I’ve been circling, the question that won’t let me go (in the best possible way). I have a strong hunch my next podcast season will live in the waters of creativity, contribution, and connection.

If you know guests who are innovating in these spaces, I’d love to hear from you. And if you’d like to explore these ideas with me in person in Paris, here’s a chance:

Cultural Visit: Servane Gaxotte’s Exhibition

I’m hosting a private tour with Servane Gaxotte, my former client, for her solo show in the Marais. She’ll take us through her iconic poupées-bijoux—miniature articulated figures that double as jewels and talismans—which she’s reimagined alongside rare objects she sources at her Puces de Saint-Ouen flea market stand. We’ll be a small group of 10 so just message or email if you’d like to attend. Details below.

📍 Galerie Christophe Gratadou, 12 rue de Thorigny, 75003 Paris
🗓️ Friday, September 26th at 14h
🎟️ Limited to 10 people. RSVP: zeva@zevabellel.com

That’s a wrap for now. Thank you for reading and following along. If this sparked something in you, I’d love to hear it. Share, comment, or give the piece a like if you feel moved—it helps spread the word. And who knows? Maybe your own thumbprint will inspire someone else’s. :)))

xx

Zeva

I recorded this solo podcast episode at the tail end of a mega-long summer homecoming.

I’d just spent not three, four, or five—but nearly six weeks straight with my family traveling around the U.S.

Kona and Honolulu, Hawaii:

First, we were invited to Hawaii by my amazing aunts, Wendy and Elenor, for an intimate family reunion with two of my cousins, their spouses, and kids. Have you ever been to Hawaii? It was my first time and I found it breathtaking—so geologically diverse, and more remote and exotic than anywhere I’ve ever visited.

We spent ten days as a group of 14—four family units rolled into one—snorkeling, swimming, paddle boarding, playing tennis, lounging, talking, going out to dinners, and taking field trips around the island. It was like family camp in paradise. Saying goodbye was tough, but after nearly two weeks of island life I started feeling a little antsy about being stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, six hours by plane from any major body of land.

Los Angeles, CA:

I surprised myself by how relieved I felt when we touched down in LA for the second chapter of our trip.

We spent four days in buzzy, sprawling LA, where we ended up scrapping much of our cultural and social agenda—our European rhythm (and budget!!) just couldn’t keep up with my initial plans. For anyone who hasn’t been to the States in a while, the prices are shocking. And the pace? Everyone seemed to be hustling non-stop to cover mortgages, education, insurance, family expenses. Conversation after conversation circled back to money, work, survival. I didn’t sense much downtime or ease. Everyone kept remarking on how unusual it was for our family to be spending this much time together—on vacation, no less. Didn’t we have to work?

I explained that we weren’t so unusual compared to many folks back in France. That most of the country kind of slows down and heads off somewhere for the summer. That by mid-July we’ve all said goodbye to our friends and flats and don’t plan on seeing them again until the kids go back to school in early September.

Brooklyn, Willow and Barryville (upstate New York):

After LA we made a pit stop in Brooklyn—time for bagels, pizza, and a hello to my dad—before we bussed up to upstate New York for nearly three weeks of chill time in the mountains with my mom. That’s where our jet-setting nervous systems finally settled down: BBQs with my mom and her friends, swims in the lake, trips to the mall, some local theatre productions and blockbuster movies. It was easy, calm, restorative. I even finally visited the Zen Mountain Monastery down the road from my mom for a Sunday morning meditation workshop.

So much contact, so much contrast, so much time to observe and unravel during this rare period of the year helped me crystallize a new thought about midlife and creativity: that perhaps our families—not literally, but figuratively—are part of our creative work. They reflect our values, our beliefs, our history (conscious and not), our culture, our playfulness, our risk-taking, our joy, our fears.

And that idea is the jumping-off point for this off-the-cuff, stream-of-consciousness solo reflection, which I recorded on the screened-in porch of the summer home we were renting in the woods down the road from my mom’s house in upstate NY.

In it, I also walk back through the brilliant contributions of my guests this season and bubble up the nuggets that have resonated most with me, including:

• Dr. Galit Atlas on emotional inheritance—and how what we unconsciously carry shapes our daily lives

• Robinne Lee and a workshop I led with one of my besties, sex therapist Dr. Rachel Mark, on fantasy, desire, and how we unintentionally police both

• on why creativity is not a project but a relationship you nurture—and why midlife might be the best time to do it

• Ana Tajder on the creative chapters of a woman’s life, and why staying in touch with your curiosity matters

• on emotional fluency as a form of connection and creative power

I’ve decided to keep this theme of midlife creativity going a bit longer since we all seem to be chewing on it still. So think of this solo show not as a closing statement, but as a mid-season reflection on the fascinating theme of midlife creativity.

Please let me know how this episode lands for you.

And if you enjoy it, please share it, comment on it, and leave a little heart under this post. So much love and energy goes into making this content.

Your support—whether in the form of a paid subscription or even a simple like and comment—really keeps the mojo going. I appreciate it all.

Have a wonderful listen and speak soon!

Zeva

PS. You can find the latest episode on the above player or on your favorite podcast platform including Apple, Spotify and Deezer.

There are things we inherit from our family that are easy to identify. Eye color, recipes, family traditions, and a sort of blind reverence for specific sports teams (go Yankees!!). But then there are the unknown, unseen “ghosts” that we inherit that echo inside of us.

The grief, the silence, the secrets. The things that weren’t talked about. They get passed down epigenetically and can show up in our relationships, our parenting, our choices, and our creativity as unconscious mirrors into the past.

This is what my brilliant guest on my new podcast episode, Dr. Galit Atlas, calls emotional inheritance. It’s the unconscious transmission of trauma, desire, and unspoken narratives across generations—and the idea that everything we don’t consciously know has the power to shape our lives. Spooky, yes, but so freaking cool!

I recorded the intro to this episode during the once-in-a-lifetime vacation I’m currently on with my family in Hawaii. I’m here with my kids, my husband, my aunts, my cousins, their children, our spouses… the whole beautiful mix. It’s a multigenerational gathering that feels very much like a living library of stories, memories, and patterns. And our time together has made me think so much about what we’ve all inherited emotionally—and how empowering it is to share and dig into all of that together. Which is something I never would have been aware of had I not discovered the work of my guest today and her extraordinary book Emotional Inheritance.

When I read Dr Atlas’ book several years ago, I was completely blown away. I gifted it to friends, marked up almost every page, and read every last word. Even studying the acknowledgments, where I spotted the name of my former therapist in NYC, the woman who gave me the courage to make the leap and come to Paris 26 years ago: Yael Kapeliuk! When I found out that she and Galit were close friends and peers, I felt like we were connected in some strange way. And honestly, I wasn’t that surprised they knew each other because there was something very familiar to me in Galit’s voice. She and Yael share the same capacity to hold complexity with love and care. And also, at times, reveal bits of their own stories to amplify the work being done together.

Which is what I absolutely love about Galit’s therapeutic approach and writing. There’s a kind of creative alchemy in how she meets each person exactly where they are, and allows their stories to shape hers in return. That sensitivity and flexibility resonates with me, not just as a reader, but also as a coach. Because I too can’t help be shaped and find connection between my client’s stories and my own.

About Dr Galit Atlas:

Dr. Galit Atlas is a clinical psychologist, psychoanalyst, and faculty member at NYU’s Postdoctoral Program in Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis. Her work has appeared in The New York Times and academic journals around the world. Emotional Inheritance has been translated into 27 languages and has become an international bestseller for good reason—it helps people name what they’ve never had language for.

I’ve been wanting to interview Galit for years, but I turned to her this season to help me understand how creativity and deep emotional excavation might be connected—especially at midlife. How does doing this kind of work—unpacking the ghosts we’ve inherited—actually make space for more life, more color, and more choice?

Her answers totally blew my mind. She drew a line I’d never noticed between these two seemingly separate things (creativity and emotional healing) and showed how deeply intertwined they really are.

We also talk about:

• Why what you don’t know about your family may be shaping your life more than what you do

• What makes a secret a secret—and why that distinction matters

• How therapy mirrors creativity, and why midlife is the perfect portal for this kind of inner work

• Why emotional inheritance is less about what happened to you, and more about what’s living through you

• And what it means to stop merely surviving—and begin becoming

We also dive into her extraordinary workbook, a companion to Emotional Inheritance. It’s part reflection journal, part emotional map, part excavation guide. And it reminds us that sometimes the most radical thing we can do is look inward—not to stay stuck in the past, but to move forward with more self-trust and fewer unconscious contracts.

And—yes—she’s working on a new book, coming in 2027, which explores childhood wounds and adult love. (The picture below is a snapshot of Galit on her emotional support giant teddy bear where she finds herself whenever she starts a new book!).

This conversation is about ancestral ghosts, yes. But it’s also about the courage to excavate our own stories, to go looking into unfamiliar spaces to find connections between who we are and where we come from. All as part of the adventurously creative act of becoming more ourselves.

Have a wonderful listen. I cannot wait to hear your feedback.

xxx

Zeva

PS. As always, you can listen to the episode on the above browser or on anyone of your preferred podcast players, like Apple, Deezer or Spotify.

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Full disclosure: this episode almost didn’t make it to you. After our conversation, I got one of those dreaded warning signs that my guest’s audio cut off midway through our chat, leaving me with an amputated file and a pit in my stomach. Ana’s a sweetheart and agreed to another call a few days later, but we were both gutted because we knew it would be impossible to recreate the goose-bumpy magic of our original conversation.

So yes, we did record a backup episode (thank you, Ana, for your generous time!). But right before sending everything off to my editor… I discovered that the original audio—the one you’re about to hear—was actually fine all along. I have no idea what happened. Don’t ask. Let’s just thank the podcast gods!

Now, a few words about my guest. Ana Tajder is a Croatian-born journalist, author, and host of the award-winning podcast Thank You, Mama. She started the podcast after the abrupt passing of her beloved mother, the celebrated Yugoslav actress and visual artist Jagoda Kaloper. Grief-stricken, she craved a project that would help her remember and honor her mother’s wisdom while excavating the life lessons passed along the motherline, globally. Five years later, she’s interviewed over 170 women from nearly 80 countries about the lessons they learned from their mothers, amassing incredible insights into the unique mother-daughter knowledge share. What’s said, what’s silenced, and why?

I interviewed her because I wanted to know: after all these conversations, what had she learned not just about our mothers, but about us? What happens in a woman’s life at midlife, when old roles start to fall away, and a different kind of becoming begins? What does it mean to step into our full selves—creatively, emotionally, even spiritually—at a time when culture tells us we’re meant to be winding down? And boy did she deliver!!

Not only that, Ana’s own story is pretty fascinating. She was raised by a fiercely creative, glamorous, and independent mother. And she also carries the untold story of her matriarchal lineage from a Croatian island ruled by “white widows”—badass women who held their communities together when the men left. They raised families, repaired homes, fished, rowed boats, and ran the village—leaving Ana with a deep-rooted belief in female strength and self-reliance that threads through everything she does.

In this episode, we talk about:

• What actually gets passed down from mother to daughter, and what often gets left out

• The danger of over-functioning, independence, and love-as-self-sacrifice

• The creative awakening that often hits at midlife (and what happens when we silence it)

• How women mother each other through friendship, storytelling, and witnessing

• And Ana’s powerful realization that women across cultures are living out a kind of universal, archetypal life story, one with distinct phases we’re only just beginning to name

This isn’t a soft-focus tribute to motherly wisdom. It’s a deep, honest dive into what women inherit, what we’re here to heal, and how empowering it can be to recognize (and embrace!) the many phases of our lives. Not just individually, but as part of a universal sisterhood we’ve never been taught to name.

Enjoy!!

Zeva

PS. As always, you can listen to the episode on the above browser or on anyone of your preferred podcast players, like Apple, Deezer or Spotify.

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I reached out to my guest today, , after years of quietly following her work as a writer, filmmaker, and blogger. We met many moons ago through my dear friend Melissa Unger (who some of you might remember from Season 2) and I’ve been tracking Mai’s creative evolution ever since. Melissa also happens to be the one who introduced Mai to her now-husband Jerry Hyde, a British psychotherapist known for his work with men’s groups. I mention that because, like everything with Mai, it’s all connected. The personal is never just personal—it’s part of the larger weave.

Four generations of women: Mai with her daughter, mother and grandmother in a scene from her film, Les Rivières

Mai is Franco-Vietnamese, born and raised in Paris to Vietnamese immigrant parents. She grew up steeped in expectations: be hardworking, be good, be pleasant, be excellent. And she delivered. She studied at the prestigious business school ESSEC, carved out a rare niche as a color designer in the beauty industry, and built a successful career. But somewhere along the way, a metaphysical breakthrough pushed her toward deeper questions. That shift led her from color design to blogging, from blogging to documentary filmmaking, and into a lifelong inquiry around self, love, and what it means to live in an ever-evolving landscape of inner and outer truths.

I saw her film Les Rivières in the cinema just before the pandemic hit. It was one of the last public events I attended pre-lockdown, and it landed hard. The way she told the story of the women in her family—the secrets passed down, the silences they carried, the complexity of generational love—was fearless and exquisite. Not a dry eye in the theatre. Since then, her work has continued to evolve. She released Make Me a Man, a collaboration with her husband Jerry that takes viewers inside men’s therapy groups to explore the inner landscape of men’s emotional worlds. She’s also launched Tell Me Who You Are, a top-rated philosophy newsletter on Substack with videos and posts that delve into uncomfortable truths around self, love, and relationships. And she’s currently working on a new film that goes deep inside a therapy circle over twelve days, called May Day.

Mai and her husband Jerry recording one of their intimate conversations.

A few weeks before we recorded this episode, we met for coffee and got deep fast. We talked about l’intime—a concept from the French philosopher François Jullien, who defines intimacy as “the inside of the inside.” For Mai, this is more compelling than identity. Because identity, in its rigid form, holds too tightly to the past. Intimacy, on the other hand, moves. It expands. It allows. It asks us to tell the truth, moment by moment, even as that truth changes shape.

photo of Mai by Steve Howse

In her middle years, Mai has stopped trying to hold everything together. She’s less interested in being good and more interested in being honest. And that’s where her creativity lives now. Not in polished outcomes, but in the language of emotional exploration. And the work that’s coming from that place is alive with courage, sensuality, and lots of uncomfortably long pauses ;)

In this episode, we talk about:

• Why l’intime is more expansive than identity

• How telling someone who you are is the ultimate act of love

• The safety that lives inside emotional truth, even when it’s uncomfortable

• How midlife can be a portal for deeper creativity and deeper freedom

• Why courage isn’t bravado—it’s speaking from the heart

Mai’s work has actually made me feel just that much braver. After our conversation, literally hours later, I was able to bring some things up that had been weighing on me for a while and felt so happy that I did. So, if you’ve ever felt like the version of you you were taught to be is no longer big enough for who you’re becoming, this one’s for you!

And remember if you want to take this work deeper, you can reach out to me for a discovery call.

xxx

Zeva

PS. As always, you can listen to the episode on the above browser or on anyone of your preferred podcast players, like Apple, Deezer or Spotify.

PPP. Are you in Paris this June? I’ve got a couple of spots open in my Creative Camp series.

My friend goes on weekly culture “solo dates.” Every week she researches events going on around Paris, clears out her Friday afternoon, and saunters off to an exhibition, concert or unfamiliar neighborhood to fill her cup with beauty and inspiration.

She’s very, very protective of this time and rarely lets anyone tag along. But if you somehow do, you’re instructed to keep your opinions to yourself while she communes with whatever she’s eyeballing.

I thought of her weekly routine as a quirky personality trait, until my conversation with today’s guest helped me see the relationship Ajiri’s carved out with her Friday expeditions in a whole new light.

You see, we tend to talk and think about creativity as something we have to do.

Write that proposal. Complete that project. Perfect that performance. Master that medium.

But what if we're completely missing the point of engaging with creativity?

What if creativity isn’t something we should be trying to manipulate and extract something precious from—like we’re mining for diamonds, or those rare minerals China is hoarding in retaliation for Trump’s ridiculous tariffs?

What if creativity was just like any other living, breathing, loving relationship we treasure, one that just wants to be tending to, cared for and regularly spiced up?

I’d even say that midlife is an especially fantastic time to drop our incessant predictions and projections, and just welcome creativity in, give it some tea and a big-ass hug without weighing it down with all sorts of complicated and lofty expectations.

This liberating creative reframe is at the core of my conversation today with Liz Kimball. Liz is a creative catalyst, transformational coach, and visionary thinker whose work lives at the intersection of imagination, embodiment, and identity. Liz doesn’t just coach women to “get things done.” She helps them reimagine the creative process as a living relationship with their voice, their purpose, and their future self.

Liz grew up as an only child in a super artistic home and began dancing seriously at a very young age. Ballet became her creative container. A space where she poured years of discipline and devotion into the pursuit of excellence. Everything seemed mapped out for a professional career in performance, until one day, in a moment of radical clarity (which she shares in her TEDx talk), she walked away from it all. That choice unraveled everything predictable and sparked something entirely new.

Liz giving her TedX talk titled “Why We Need to Grieve our Childhood Dreams” @TEDxGunnHighSchool

Today, Liz is the founder of The Creative 15 and The Expansion Project. Her work has been featured on Oprah.com, The Guggenheim, and more. With an MFA and a CPC certification, she helps women birth the great work of their lives, not just the external projects, but the truest version of themselves.

In this episode we explore:

• When goals become cages instead of containers

• The myths that block women from creative freedom

• The difference between creative output and creative intimacy

• Why “too much time” is exactly what women need to fully express themselves

• And Liz’s best practical tools to nurture a creative practice that feels alive instead of performative

I really hope you enjoy this chat with Liz and can’t wait to hear what resonates with you! Please like, comment on and share this episode with anyone who needs a creative reboot.

And remember if you want to take this work deeper, you can reach out to me for a discovery call, or if you’re in Paris this June, you can join me for Creative Camp—a five-day immersive designed to reignite your creative spark.

xxx

Zeva

PS. As always, you can listen to the episode on the above browser or on anyone of your preferred podcast players, like Apple, Deezer or Spotify.

PPP. Really, there aren’t that many spots in the Creative Camp, so snatch yours up while you can.

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I was chatting with my friend Jason who owns a music school in Paris. He told me that since COVID, getting kids and their parents to in-person events has been so much more laborious than before. And yet, we all know how great we feel when we’re out and doing things together, in a group. Breathing the same air, running into people we know, meeting and connecting with newcomers around shared interests and ideas. And we all know there’s nothing like the feeling of a full-body belly laugh at a joke that catches you completely off guard. No digital event comes close.

And still, for many of us—myself included—it’s sometime a hurdle to commit to those experiences. Since COVID, the effort can feel immense and the payoff negligible.

As research for an upcoming episode with , I was watching the documentary she made with her husband Jerry Hyde. For decades, Jerry has been running men’s therapy groups, helping them open up and speak about whatever is on their minds. Their film, Make Me A Man, gives us a window into what happens when one of these groups comes together.

They go on a pilgrimage to one of the most devastating WWI battlefields, where thousands of young boys lost their lives in the name of country and king. Together, they feel the heaviness of the fallen. The inherited trauma of grandfathers and fathers who absorbed the tropes of duty and honor. The suppression of pain.

Men have been told to bottle it up. That being emotional is for women. That strength means silence. But feelings don’t disappear just because we’ve learned to hide them.

One of the things Jerry and Mai point out in the film is how much safer society becomes when men and women can speak openly about what’s going on inside them. And that kind of honesty? It requires other humans. Sure, AI is making strides, but nothing replaces the magic of being in a shared, non-judgmental physical space, and realizing we all have something we need to get off our chests.

Okay, maybe that was a long-winded and slightly ominous way to introduce something light and beautiful, but beyond getting together to make things and spark our creativity, is the simplicity behind bringing people together, which is something I absolutely love to do.

Which is why I’ve put together a series of in-person gatherings that are all about creative renewal. This inaugural Creative Camp is a place to reconnect with yourself and others, through imagination, laughter, reflection, and play.

It’s about making space for joy, for inspiration, for those surprise belly-laughs, and for the kind of meaningful connection that only happens when we’re truly together. Remember, there are only a handful of spots so if something speaks to you, don’t hesitate to snatch it up.

Creative Choux with Jane Bertch of La Cuisine Paris.

Wednesday, June 11, 2025
6pm - 8:30pm
La Cuisine Paris
80 Quai de l'Hôtel de ville
75004 Paris

My friend came to my Road Map workshop earlier this year. During the group discussion, a red thread began to emerge around creative energy—and how vital it is for women in midlife. Jane, a successful entrepreneur and author, is passionate about helping women pivot toward more creative depth in their careers. So naturally, it made sense for us to collaborate on this choux-making event at her stunning, state-of-the-art kitchen, La Cuisine Paris.

In this three-hour workshop, we’ll learn to make both sweet and savory choux (puffs) while exploring the rich parallels between cuisine and life. Together, we’ll play with questions like:

• What magic can you create with the ingredients you already have?

• What ingredients are you craving more of right now?

• Where are you following a recipe, and where might you improvise?

• What are you ready to cook up next in your own life?

You’ll leave with delicious choux, new connections, and maybe a fresh perspective on what you’re ready to cook up next in your own life. Grab your spot here.

Creative Ceramics with Mylène & Marie at The Meting Pot Atelier

Friday, June 13, 2025
6:00 PM - 9:00 PM
The Melting Pot
14 Rue le Bua
75020 Paris

Mylène was my first official French friend. Her ex-husband and I worked together in NYC, and when I moved to Paris, he handed me her number and said, “You two will hit it off—look her up.” With nothing to lose, I did. And just like that, Mylène took me under her wings, inviting me to dinners, concerts, and exhibitions with her creative crew. One night, she (intentionally) sat me next to a man who would eventually become my husband. So yes—she’s more like a sister than a friend.

Mylène and her business partner, Marie, opened The Melting Pot in 2016, an incredible ceramics studio born out of a bold midlife pivot for both women. Their classes and workshops regularly sell out months in advance, feeding a growing community of people hungry for tactile, embodied ways to express themselves.

I knew I had to collaborate with them for this Creative Camp—and they generously said yes. In this three-hour immersive session, Marie (our modeling expert) and Mylène (our throwing expert) will guide us through the grounding, joyful process of working with clay.

We’ll reconnect with the raw pleasure of touch—and the deeply personal act of shaping something meaningful, imperfect, and entirely our own.

I’ll be there too, holding space as your coach, offering gentle reflection prompts to spark conversation, creativity, and inner connection.

You’ll leave with a handmade object—and more importantly, with a renewed sense of what it feels like to create, explore, and connect with other midlife women who are done waiting and ready to get their hands dirty.

We’ll close with a celebratory apéro and homemade finger food as we admire each other’s creations.

All pieces will be glazed by The Melting Pot team and available for pick-up in 2–3 weeks. Reserve your spot here.

Creative Cravings with Sexologist Rachel Mark

Monday, June 16, 2025
7:30pm - 9:00pm
2 Boulevard des Filles du Calvaire
75011 Paris

Okay, I’ve been wanting to introduce you to one of my absolute besties for a while now, but she’s a little shy.

Rachel Mark is a renowned sex therapist and one of my closest confidantes. We spend hours each week diving into the themes I’m exploring in my life, my work, and on the podcast. She always says something that cracks open my thinking in the best way.

After I recorded my episode with Robinne Lee, which centered on fantasy and creativity, Rachel said something that stopped me in my tracks: “At midlife, we finally stop policing our fantasies and start getting curious about what they might mean.”

I immediately said, “Hold that thought. Let’s turn it into a Q&A.”

And that’s exactly what this event is.

We’re going to talk about sex, fantasy, creativity, and all the places where they intersect.

For this intimate gathering, we’ll meet in Rachel’s cozy Marais office for an open and honest conversation about desire at midlife—how it evolves, how it hides, and how it sometimes surprises us, leaving us uncertain and full of questions.

This will be a thoughtful exploration of how fantasy, pleasure, and imagination connect to our creative lives. We’ll look at how the parts of us that want to be seen and felt are often the same parts we’ve learned to silence or keep hidden.

Midlife is not a moment of decline. It’s a powerful time to revise the stories we tell ourselves about desire. To invite in more self-awareness, more nuance, and more permission to want what we want, and to say no to what we don’t.

Rachel will share her wisdom, answer your honest questions, and hold space for a conversation that is grounded, expansive, and deeply human.

Together, we’ll explore:

• What is the relationship between creativity and desire?

• How can fantasy become a tool for growth and self-expression?

• What does it mean to feel sexually alive in a culture that tells women to shrink as they age?

I’ll be there too, offering reflections on how reclaiming creative energy—in all its forms—can be a pathway to deeper intimacy with ourselves. Snatch up your seat here.

Creative Caftans with Romy Treneer

Sunday, June 22, 2025
2:00 PM 5:00 PM
7 Rue Caron
75004, Paris

As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that every one of my events has been born out of a conversation with a friend. And this one is no exception.

My creative, jack-of-all-trades fellow American expat, Romy Treneer of , casually mentioned wanting to host a caftan-making afternoon in her cozy Marais apartment. I immediately threw my hand up and said, “Can we open it up to my community?” One idea led to another, and this delicious caftan-making crafternoon was born.

If you’re anything like me, nothing says summer quite like a caftan—those gorgeous, loose, effortlessly stylish pieces you can float around in by day and dress up for a night out. I own several, and honestly? There’s always room for one more.

During this event, you’ll create your very own one-of-a-kind caftan—something breezy, beautiful, and totally you—ideal for painting, lounging, traveling, writing or doing absolutely nothing this summer.

No sewing experience? No problem. Romy will guide us through a beginner-friendly, no-fuss process where flow comes first. You’ll cut your shape, stitch it up, and walk away with a wearable piece of art that celebrates your body, your vibe, and your season.

I’ll be there too, as your coach and creative guide, offering gentle prompts to help you tune into what you’re ready to express, embody, and wear confidently and joyfully.

We’ll talk, stitch, laugh, and sip something delicious as we connect with a vibrant group of midlife women, each one saying yes to her own creative spark. Grab your spot here.

xxx

Zeva

PS. After years of buffering and screen time, many of us have forgotten how good it feels to gather in real life. To share stories, laughter, creativity, and connection. That’s what Creative Camp is all about—a joyful return to ourselves and each other. I hope you’ll join us.

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I was originally going to publish a conversation this week. But I had so many thoughts popping up in my mind that I decided to plug the mic in and record a solo episode, which has become my go-to medium these days for working through the questions taking up real estate in my brain.

My hope is that by sharing some of these reflections, you can help me make sense of them, and let me know how they maybe mirroring some of your own thoughts and questions these days.

What’s been bubbling up for me as I rip open and explore this season’s theme—creativity at midlife—is whether this phase of life is truly age-specific… or something more nuanced. Something broader. Like a spectrum.

There have been moments in my life— like when I was applying to colleges in America, or when I was mesmerized and overwhelmed by my changing body during pregnancy, and also the first few disorienting months of my new life inParis—that felt so immersive and all-consuming, that I literally couldn’t think of anything else. The shutters were closed tight around my main interest. Nothing else could get through.

The inspiration for this solo episode was this Vulture hook!

Much to my surprise, midlife feels the same and I’m dying to understand why.

So this solo show peels back that question and touches on:

• Gen X being the last generation to come of age pre-internet—and how our version of midlife is infused with the flavor and nostalgia of a more analog world.

• Whether midlife topics have universal resonance—or if this is just one big Gen-X niche mood.

• The idea of turning your life into a “work of art,” à la Annie Ernaux’s passionate affair-turned-literary masterpiece.

• Glennon Doyle’s abrupt departure from Substack and her refusal to stay in any space that demands self-abandonment—and why that feels like a quintessential midlife flex.

• Why we keep expecting intuition to explain itself with bullet points—and what happens when we stop needing a why and start listening to the quiet Yes or No.

• How beginner’s mind at midlife isn’t just about picking up a new artistic outlet—it also applies to life skills we’ve yet to master, like boundary setting, hard conversations, emotional fluency, and healing our inherited stories.

• I also talk about Type 2 Fun—a concept I just learned about from Chip Conley. It’s the kind of fun that’s awkward or challenging in the moment but becomes joyful and life-affirming in hindsight. Maybe that’s exactly what midlife is: one long, beautiful stretch of Type 2 Fun.

So, voilà. That’s what this solo episode is about. I’m really curious to hear what resonates.

And if any of this lights a spark in you, I really hope you’ll join me and my amazing co-hosts for the inaugural edition of Creative Camp—a series of in-person Paris events designed to reignite your creative fire and invite your beginner energy into something you’ve been aching to explore.

There’s a ceramics workshop, a choux-baking class, a caftan-making afternoon and even a steamy discussion group to explore the ways that sex, fantasy and creativity intertwine. Get your tix while you can!!

xxx

Zeva

PS. As always, you can listen to the episode on the above browser or on anyone of your preferred podcast players, like Apple, Deezer or Spotify.

PPP. Really, there aren’t that many spots in the Creative Camp, so snatch yours up quickly here while you can.

A few weeks ago at an apéro after recording this episode, I found myself gushing to some friends about today’s podcast guest. In the middle of my long-winded retelling of her story and our conversation and what it all seemed to boil down to in the end I blurted out: “You know what? She’s a sexual savant!” Immediately a guy across the room who I had no idea was listening to us stopped mid-banter and said, “Wait, I need to know this woman!” I told him he’d have to wait for the episode to drop. Because let’s be honest: you don’t get to tease a hot new episode like this every day.

And so… here we go.

Today, I have the absolute pleasure of sharing the wisdom and wildly inspiring life journey of the one and only Robinne Lee. If you don’t know Robinne yet, you’re in for a real treat. She’s a Jamaican-Chinese writer, actress, and producer, a graduate of Yale University and Columbia Law School, who has spent the past three decades building an impressive career in film and television — with standout roles in Hitch, Seven Pounds, 13 Going on 30 and the Fifty Shades franchise. She even made a cameo in an Usher video (Confessions II, for the aficionados).

Robinne in a scene with Will Smith in the movie, Seven Pounds

But today, she’s perhaps best known as the author of the breakout novel The Idea of You, which has become an international bestseller, translated into over a dozen languages, and adapted into an Amazon Studios movie starring Anne Hathaway. She’s currently working on her anxiously awaited second novel, due out in 2026.

I discovered Robinne through a dear friend of mine, who told me, “You HAVE to read The Idea of You — you’ll love it.” And she was right. I tore through it, became obsessed, and right after finishing, begged Ajiri to introduce me to Robinne, who, lucky for us, also lives here in Paris. Full discloser: before we recorded this conversation, we met for an epic three-hour lunch in the Marais and basically didn’t stop talking. So if you catch us cackling or referring to our lunch mid-conversation, now you know why.

The proud author with a copy of her bestselling book, which was made into an Amazon Studios movie!

So what’s The Idea of You all about, and why did I need to bring Robinne onto this show, for this special season devoted to creativity in midlife?

The novel tells the irresistible story of Solène. A nearly 40-year-old, freshly divorced mom of a teenage daughter, who unexpectedly falls in love with 20-year-old Hayes, the charismatic lead singer of the world’s biggest boy band.

In the book, this striking, independent woman — juggling a mortgage, single parenthood, and a thriving L.A. gallery championing women and artists of color — finds herself swept into an international love affair that cracks her wide open, revealing parts of herself she didn’t know were hidden, and living out a fantasy she never realized she was starving for.

What’s not to love about that premise, right?

But The Idea of You is so much more than a midlife woman’s ultimate wet dream. It’s a daring, tender, and deeply honest exploration of what it means to feel alive, desirous, and sexually empowered at midlife. A time when society often expects women to fade away into the background and just take care of everyone else. But no! Solène (and Robinne) have other plans for this chapter of life. And they’re hot, hot, hot!

Robinne with her sister, mom and cousin during her Freshman year at Yale, where Robinne met the man she would marry years later.

And in the book, Robinne also demonstrates her expertise in the “seductive arts” (something she studied as a precocious adolescent reading Shere Hite’s sexuality reports) and, we can only assume, wisdom she’s gathered from the field.

Both Solène and Hayes, the main characters, deliver a masterclass in how true intimacy builds — not just through obvious gestures, but through small, electrifying moments. The sexiest G-rated foreplay in the book (which I couldn’t wait to ask Robinne about) is when Hayes slips his finger into the double wristband of Solène’s Hermès watch to gently caress her pressure point on their fist date. It drives her bananas!!!

In our interview, Robinne mentioned reading Shere Hite’s seminal sexuality books as part of her early fascination with human sexuality. Here, Hite is pictured holding a copy of The Hite Report upon its publication in 1976

So, in today’s conversation, we dive into the deeper themes of the book and Robinne’s own creative unfolding:

• How Paris — with its beauty, history, and seasonal sensuality — awakens her curiosity and creative drive.

• Why fantasy isn’t just escapism, but a portal back to the hidden, electric parts of ourselves.

• How she developed a deep understanding of sexuality, intimacy, and seduction long before she ever had the chance to fully live it.

• How speaking honestly about the complexity and fullness of women’s lives is an act of rebellion.

• And how midlife sharpens our hunger to live, truly and unapologetically.

Robinne (who moved to Paris in 2022) with her pooch in the City of Lights.

We also talk about the way Robinne’s acting background shaped the stunning audiobook version of The Idea of You, which I cannot recommend enough. She inhabits her two main characters so completely, it’s as if you’re living inside the story with them. Truly, if you’re tempted to skip the book and just watch the movie… don’t. Read the book. Listen to the audiobook. Trust me.

One quick heads-up: the sound is a little rocky in the first few minutes of this interview, but it smooths out quickly, I promise you’ll want to stick around for the full conversation.

And if today’s subject stirs something in you. If you’re feeling your own creativity, your own hidden longings asking for more space, just remember this is exactly the work I support my clients with through my coaching practice.

Now, let’s get into it.

xxx

Zeva

PS. You can listen to the episode on the player above or on Apple, Deezer, Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.

PPS. I’m about to announce the dates for my Creative Camp, a series of intimate, in-person experiences in Paris designed to ignite your imagination and reconnect you with your creative fire. Spots are limited, and paid subscribers get first dibs. If you want early access to claim your place before doors open to the public, now’s the time to upgrade your subscription below.

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I’m currently obsessed with “liminal spaces.” Those in-between, neither here nor there periods of life. Where you feel restless, uncomfortable and strangely ill-at-ease in your own skin.

Like you’ve been dropped into a twisted game of musical chairs, only all the seats are either doll-sized or formless blobs that collapse beneath you. Nothing fits. Nothing holds. Nowhere feels right.

I’ve been thinking about liminal spaces because they’re exactly where my clients find themselves when they reach out to me for coaching.

When you’re in this space, all you crave is certainty, security, and clarity in order to get through the seemingly endless fog of not-knowing. It totally makes sense. I mean there’s so much internal shame and judgment tangled up in liminal experiences; mostly tied to the (false) belief that we should be somewhere else by now. That everyone has already reached some imaginary goalpost, while we’re stuck, lagging behind.

But what if liminal spaces weren’t something to rush through? What if they were actually where all the growth, expansion, and transformation happen? Spaces to celebrate, rather than shun?

While listening to the remarkably eloquent Delphine Horvilleur, the chief French rabbi, on the podcast Les Lueurs, I learned that in monotheistic religions, liminal spaces are considered the main canvas for personal growth. In Jewish thought, for example, growth lies in forward motion, in the space between the known and the unknown. You become in order to be.

Part of that process means embracing the non-binary “yes, and” within our own stories. Making space for contradictions, errors, experimentation and hard conversations—with ourselves and with others—that test what we’ve been taught are absolute, unwavering truths.

I know it sounds like a messy, scary way to evolve. But as a coach, it’s literally the only way I’ve seen my clients pave a path forward that feels true to who they’re becoming.

My clients come to me because something is amiss. The identity they believed was airtight, shockproof, is starting to crack and seep. Their natural instinct is to grab the glue gun and start sealing up those cracks.

But each time they fix one, something else gives in.

The thing is: there’s no use repairing leaks that are inherent to the design.

As Horvilleur explains:

“Sometimes, we wish we had received just one language, one model, one culture — a kind of coherence. But I’ve come to realize—in my own life, and in the lives of many people I’ve accompanied—that this liminal space, this ‘in-between,’ this irreconcilable, becomes the place where we grow. The place of growth.

In French, there’s a word everyone knows: ‘intelligence.’ Etymologically, intelligence comes from ‘inter-légère’—the ability to read between. To create connections, to read across spaces. And in Hebrew—it’s the same. The word for intelligence, ‘bina,’ comes from ‘ben,’ which means ‘between.’

I deeply believe that intelligence grows when we accept that in our lives, there’s not just ‘one,’ but always ‘two,’ ‘three,’ and more.”

And maybe that’s the work after all! Not to escape the in-between. Not to sprint toward certainty and into the comforting arms of resolution.

But to build something within the space of becoming.

To make a home in the dissonance and doubt. To stretch into the contradictions.

To let go of the need to “arrive.” And instead, to deepen into the art of staying with.

Which brings me to another expression of that art, one that’s been obsessing me lately in the pages of Simple Passion (1993) and Getting Lost (2022) by the Nobel Prize-winning French author, Annie Ernaux (whose brilliant work I just recently discovered in the journaling class I’m taking with .)

In her raw and unfiltered accounts of her secret love affair with a married Russian diplomat stationed in 1989 Paris, Ernaux captures her all-consuming spiral of relentless longing.

For over a year, her pursuit of a “perfect” passion—coupled with the ever-present dread of its end—haunted her every thought.

She writes, in Getting Lost:

“J’ai voulu faire de cette passion une œuvre d’art dans ma vie, ou plutôt cette liaison est devenue passion parce que je l’ai voulue œuvre d’art.”

“I wanted to make this passion a work of art in my life, or rather, this affair became a passion because I wanted it to be a work of art.”

During the affair, her impressive career, her two grown sons, her fancy social life and the annoyances of daily life blurred into the background. Even a two-month long French postal strike didn’t phase her (because her lover never sent her letters.) What remained was a Groundhog Day loop of exquisite disorientation, where longing became both the fuel and the trap.

Was that her liminal space?

A space where layers of past identities, expectations, and responsibilities were discarded like garments during a lovemaking session, only to be re-stitched later, with sharper self-awareness and the gift of hindsight?1

The whole experience seemed torturous, and yet somehow inevitable. A rite of passage toward a deeper truth of who she was becoming as a woman—and a writer.

So here’s the question I want to leave you with:

What if you didn’t rush through your own liminal space?

What if you paused, opened it up, got curious, and maybe even a little obsessed about it?

What if you stopped trying to tidy it up and simply let it be what it is: messy, inconvenient, disorienting… and alive?

This is the work I try to do—for myself, and with my clients.

Not to push them back into comfort, but to walk with them toward the self they are still becoming.

To put the glue dun down and hold space for the cracks. Not as flaws to be sealed, but as openings to let something new in.

In this way, the liminal isn’t a phase we pass through on the way to the real story.

It is the story!!

Messy. Unresolved. Alive (and potentially Nobel Prize-worthy!)

xxx

Zeva

PS. For more on this theme of the beautiful mess of the in-between, check out my conversation with Melissa Unger in Season 2 of my podcast — a conversation that continues to reverberate and inspire. 🎧

PPS. And of course, if you want to explore your own messy, liminal space, I’m here for you!

Okay—are you ready for the first episode of the new season of On Becoming?? This season, we’re diving into something deeply personal, often misunderstood, and wildly powerful: creativity for women in midlife.

The theme is inspired by my own observations and the testimonies of so many of the women I work with. That there’s a restless, narrative tension in this chapter of life. A deep, almost primal hunger to make, to express, to reinvent… right alongside a host of strange new physical symptoms like brain fog, a shorter emotional fuse, night sweats, anxious insomnia, and a creeping sense that you’re just not as with it as you used to be.

You find yourself wondering: What the heck is going on inside of me? What do I need to express, and why is it so hard to get it out of me?

Add to that internal nagging the cultural messaging that a woman’s midlife brain is on the decline, and you’ve got a powerful recipe for doubt, confusion, and disconnection from your own power.

So… I wanted to start this season with something grounding. Not just inspiration, but some scientific “under the hood” truth about how our brains evolve as we do.

To help us, I’m joined by Dr. Sarah McKay, the neuroscientist, author, speaker, and unapologetic brain nerd who has spent the last decade unpacking the wildly misunderstood world of women’s brain health.

About Dr. Sarah McKay:

Dr. McKay is an Oxford-educated neuroscientist and the director of Think Brain’s suite of professional training programs in applied neuroscience. She lives on Sydney’s Northern Beaches, where she writes, teaches, swims in the ocean year-round, and translates cutting-edge brain science into practical tools for clinicians, coaches, and health professionals around the world.

Her books include:The Women’s Brain Book (2018) with a second edition due September 2025; Baby Brain (2023), on how pregnancy and motherhood rewire the brain for the better; and the brand new Brain Health For Dummies (2025). In 2015, she also gave a TEDx talk on the power of naps (a woman after my own heart)

In her 2015 TedX talk “Indulge Your Neurobiology,” Dr. McKay reveals the brain hack that boosts memory, sparks creativity, and calms your emotions: the afternoon nap!

Sarah’s journey into women’s brains actually began with a blog post that went viral. After becoming a mother, she noticed how often women casually referenced “baby brain” as a kind of cognitive curse. But instead of brushing it off, she got curious. Was it real? What was really happening in a woman’s brain during and after pregnancy? That curiosity ignited a decade-long exploration that’s reshaped how we understand identity, resilience, and the female brain across the entire lifespan.

When Sarah first started writing and researching about menopause and the brain, it was a super niche topic, barely on the radar of mainstream science or media. But now? It’s exploded. From social media to scientific journals, the cognitive and neurological dimensions of menopause are finally getting the spotlight they deserve, and Sarah was one of the first to put them there.

In this conversation, we talk about what really happens to the brain during hormonal shifts like pregnancy, motherhood, and menopause—not the myths, but the messy, science-backed reality. We dive into “matrescence” as a neurological rite of passage, how social connection fuels cognitive growth, and why sleep might just be your brain’s creative secret weapon.

Here’s what we cover in this episode:

• Why midlife isn’t a crisis—it’s a creative recalibration

• The shocking truth about hormones (they’re not always the bad guys!)

• What neuroscience says about matrescence—the brain’s massive shift during motherhood

• The real reason sleep is your brain’s creative superpower

• Why social connection—not supplements—may be your best mental health strategy

• And how purpose and play keep the brain agile, alive, and deeply fulfilled

Whether you’re feeling foggy, fired up, or somewhere in between, this episode will reframe how you see your midlife mind. Not as a site of decline, but as fertile ground for reinvention, meaning, and creative energy.

Enjoy!

xxx

Zeva

PS. You can find the episode above or on Apple, Spotify, Deezer or on your favorite podcast player.

PPS. What part of this episode lit something up in you? Leave a comment or drop me a note.

💫 💫 Curious about your own midlife reinvention? Book a free discovery call with me and let’s explore.

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Who is the woman growing inside of me?

Not “who am I becoming,” but something more layered, more mysterious, more spiritual than the voice I’m used to hearing coming off my journalling pages. It felt like a whisper from another dimension. A part of me asking for attention and a space to bloom.

That’s where this season new season of On Becoming was born.

Season 4 is about midlife and creativity—and all the quiet, electric truths that live between those two words. The small flickers of aliveness that catch us by surprise. The desire to express something, anything, that feels truly like us.

It’s a theme that’s been following me everywhere—into coaching sessions, voice notes with friends, conversations with family, podcast interviews and my current reading choices.

And here’s what I’ve come to realize: we are not just talking about creativity in the “let’s make something” sense. We’re talking about creativity as a way back to ourselves. A way of remembering what makes us feel truly alive.

And maybe even more than that—creativity as a form of leadership. As a form of resistance. As a reclamation of voice, energy, intuition, and agency.

I’ve noticed how often women arrive in midlife with a sense of disorientation. A low hum of dissatisfaction and frustration. Not because anything is wrong, exactly—but because something inside them is going unexpressed. A truth. A story. A yearning. A voice. A new direction.

Suzanne Valadon, La Chambre bleue, 1923 © Centre Pompidou, Mnam-Cci / Dist. GrandPalaisRmn. Painted when she was 57, this bold, unapologetic work is a vivid reminder of why we need the female gaze: to see and celebrate women outside the confines of convention.

And so often, when I sit with them in coaching sessions, when we peel back the layers of perfectionism, performance, and caretaking—we find it. That abandoned creative spark. That idea that never got a chance to be born. That desire that’s been quietly waiting in the wings, hoping we’d eventually come back for her.

I want to say this clearly, because it matters:

Creativity is not a frivolous extra. It’s a life force. It is not reserved for the talented, the trained, or the lucky. It belongs to all of us. Especially women. Especially now.

Creativity is how we metabolize experience. It’s how we move through stuckness, anger, desire and the questions we can’t possibly answer by thinking our way through them. It’s how we break inherited patterns, question the rules, imagine new ways of living and leading and loving.

It’s how we come home to ourselves.

And when it’s been suppressed or silenced? Creativity doesn’t disappear.

As Brené Brown says:

 “Unused creativity is not benign. It metastasizes. It turns into grief, rage, judgment, sorrow, and shame.”

Yes. That.

And also this—from the inimitable Clarissa Pinkola Estés:

“A woman’s creative ability is her most valuable asset, for it gives outwardly and feeds her inwardly at every level—psychic, spiritual, mental, emotive, and economic.”

Clarissa Pinkola Estés published Women Who Run With the Wolves at 47, a fierce midlife debut forged from decades of writing, listening, and reclaiming women’s stories.

This season is about that value. That nourishment. That asset so many of us have buried, neglected, or feared.

Over the coming season you’ll hear from women who are reimagining what creativity looks like at midlife—not as a job title, but as a relationship to self. We’ll explore creative power through the lenses of neuroscience, storytelling, psychology, design, activism, community, and everyday life.

You’ll also hear solo episodes from me, where I’ll reflect on the blocks that keep us from creating, the fear of being seen, the seductive pull of performance, and how desire, fantasy, and creativity are deeply intertwined.

And, for the first time, we’re going to be gathering outside the podcast in a sort of “Creative Camp” both online and in person, to explore all of this in community. More on that soon.

This week’s episode—the one that opens the season—isn’t a trailer in the traditional sense. It’s a “manifest-sode.” A love letter and reminder to any woman who’s ever felt the urge to make something, change something, or just feel something more. And maybe forgot how.

So, if you’ve been feeling a little off, like you’ve lost touch with your spark, like you’ve been holding a quiet ache to make something, say something, change something… you are not alone. And, my dear, you are not too late.

There is no expiration date on creativity.

There is only this moment, this choice, this invitation to begin again.

Because midlife isn’t a dead end. It’s a turning point.

A new becoming. And, who knows? Maybe your next great masterpiece.

With love,

Zeva

PS. You can find the episode above or on Apple, Spotify, Deezer or on your favorite podcast player.

PPS. I’d love to hear how creativity is showing up in your life right now—or not. Hit reply. Leave a comment. Let’s have the conversation we’ve all been waiting for.

💫 Book a free discovery call with me if this resonates and you’re ready to explore your own creative return.

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1. A mama-son pilgrimage (and a date with my past)

During the February school break, I took a special mama-son bonding trip with my youngest. We went back to my mothership—America. I wanted to check in on my people under the new administration (spoiler: they’re struggling and scared). We spent a few days in the city—caught a fantastic Broadway musical, had Chinatown dim sum during a snowstorm, surprised my half-sister at the vintage store she manages in Williamsburg—and then headed upstate for a full week with my mom. It was so icy and cold that we basically hibernated, cooking and binge-watching Young Sheldon like it was our job.

What did I unearth?

• Every single school paper I ever wrote (including the one my dad famously ghostwrote for me); my report cards; college admission essays. = I was a much better student than I realized and have no idea why I doubted myself so much.

• Dozens of tiny, folded notes from high school friends. = We were very bored.

• Photos of me with aggressively teased ’80s hair. = No regrets.

• Diary entries from the throes of early puberty—boy-obsessed, dramatic and confused. Eg. “I only like Peter when he doesn’t like me, or maybe I do like him when he likes me…” = Poor, sweet, scared little Zeva girl.

• Tons of snapshots from my life right before moving to Paris—my Brooklyn apartment, my ex-boyfriend, my cats. = This stack took me hours to get through.

• Loads of previously-loved Bop magazines that my mom listed on eBay and sold for nearly $90, even with some of the centerfolds cut out. = I so miss this era. River Phoenix RIP.

• And get this—my first-ever vision board, made in 7th grade (see below). = I had no idea I’ve literally be doing them for over 40 years.

2. What a feeling!

With my head reeling with memories of old crushes, past selves and sliding door decisions, my mom’s prescient friend handing me a brand-new copy of ’s inaugural novel, Crush. It’s part of my new favorite genre—midlife women’s autofiction. I devoured it and can’t recommend it more.

3. Is creativity a side-effect of sobriety?

I’m now about three months into my sober lifestyle, and what I’m loving most—besides not thinking about drinking or dealing with the aftermath—is what it’s doing to my creativity. I feel like I’ve tapped into my university-era mind: ideas pouring in, connecting, layering. I currently have three projects that I’m giddy about, and my biggest challenge is figuring out how to protect the time and energy to bring them to life. I even signed up for a journaling workshop with author to help deepen my practice. If you’re in that choking on your creativity space right now, I see you. It’s thrilling and overwhelming. I’m working on new offers to help women harness this creative energy—especially at midlife—so if that’s you, stay close. Or reach out.

4. Discovering the “Third Thing”

I came across my new favorite self-discovery concept while re-reading ’s All Fours. It’s a Quaker idea called the “third thing,” and it shows up in the scene where the main character and her husband engage in sexy role play as a way to confront the fog in their marriage—without actually confronting it.

In Western culture, we often go at truth head-on, but the clever Quakers believe the soul can’t be commanded out of hiding with scary interrogations and stare-downs. It must be coaxed, like a shy kitty, or a dubious and defiant little child. Parker J. Palmer calls this the “third thing,” explaining:

“If soul truth is to be spoken and heard, it must be approached ‘on the slant.’”

I’m obsessed with this!! It made me realize that so many tools I use in my coaching practice—vision boards, coat-of-arms exercises, podcasting itself—fit the “third thing” description. They invite inner world exploration without the harsh spotlight of direct interrogation.

What are your “third things”—the metaphors, objects, rituals, or practices that help coax your truth to the surface? If you’re not sure, that’s exactly the kind of thing we explore in sessions. (Feel free to reach out if this piques your interest.)

5. The beauty of “being explored”

I had an aha moment during a recent coaching session. We were doing a mid-journey inventory of all of the inner and outer shifts that have occurred in my client’s life since we began working together, and she shared that one of the biggest changes she’s experienced was discovering how much pleasure she gets from “being explored.”

That phrase stopped me in my tracks. Isn’t that what we all want, deep down? To be fully seen, deeply known—not just understood intellectually, but felt? That, too, is a “third thing”: the relational space where presence and curiosity meet.

Post-COVID, in our fractured, hyper-scrolling world, so many of us are starving for that kind of connection.

So I’ll leave you with a few questions I’ve been sitting with:

• What helps you feel explored, not just seen?

• Who or what in your life is inviting your soul truth out of hiding?

• And are you giving yourself space to explore you?

If not, maybe it’s time! Season 4 of On Becoming is all about this kind of exploration—specifically, how creativity and connection become lifelines in midlife. The manifest-sode is coming soon, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

Make sure that you’re following the show on Spotify, Apple, Deezer or your favorite podcast player to be the first to hear when it drops!

xxx

Zeva

PS. If nothing else, let this be your sign to go through that box you’ve been avoiding. Your younger self might just have something to say.

PPS. Please don’t forget to like, comment, share and re-stack this post to expand its reach. It takes a village!

This is a solo episode recorded from the basement of a friend’s house in upstate NY. It was a last-minute visit—I hopped on a plane back home because it just felt like the right moment to come and check in, to get a read on the vibe here after the crazy whirlwind of events post-election and post-inauguration.

And it really ties into what I want to talk about in this solo episode: a recap, in a way, of everything we’ve explored this season. A personal reflection on the biggest insights, toughest truths, and most electrifying moments from Season 3 of my podcast—an exploratory love journey with fierce female leadership at its core.

When I started this season, my hope was to peel back the curtain on women’s power—to understand the unique ways we lead, the gifts we bring, and the impact we make when we show up fully. I was inspired by the conversations I was having with my clients—brilliant, talented women who just couldn’t see how brilliant and talented they were. Because, guess what? They just couldn’t see themselves in the traditional, classic model of empowered leaders.

I had already decided to explore this theme before Kamala became the Democratic presidential candidate. The moment felt hopeful. Aligned. Serendipitous. So many of us cautiously believed she had a real shot at sitting in the most powerful seat on the planet.

But oh, how that feeling has burst and burned. Now, just a few months later, the backlash against women—and anyone who’s not a white, male billionaire—is intensifying. The despair, disappointment, and exhaustion are real.

So, as this season comes to a close, I want to pause and reflect—not just on what we learned, but on the one question I keep coming back to:

How do we nurture and grow our unique power—and use it for the collective good—when the world seems dead set on stopping us?

In this wrap-up, I unpack the most powerful moments from my incredible guests and connect the dots between their stories and this cultural reckoning:

• Rha Goddess on why women are wired for collective power—and why that threatens traditional leadership models.

• Ida Tin on redefining leadership by centering women’s health and creating systemic change.

• Cindy Gallop on rejecting the male gaze, reimagining power, and breaking outdated systems.

• Colleen Curtis on emotional intelligence as a strategic advantage, not a liability.

• Jessi Klein on expanding our definition of power—because sometimes, the strongest thing we can do is simply endure.

• Anna Polonsky on leading with authenticity, and why embracing softness can be an act of radical strength.

And we dig into the core themes that emerged this season—the patterns, tensions, and big questions that keep coming up:

• The ways women are wired for collective power—and why that threatens outdated leadership structures

• Why emotional intelligence is not a soft skill but a strategic advantage

• The tension between ambition and backlash—and how we redefine success on our terms

• The hard truth about women hurting other women in leadership—and why that’s not the full story

• The power of embodied intelligence—how women’s lived experiences shape innovation, leadership, and creativity.

Women’s leadership is at a crossroads. Do we keep playing by old, broken rules? Or do we write a new playbook—one that actually works for us?

If you’re tired, questioning whether it’s all worth it, or feeling the weight of leading in a world that still doesn’t know what to do with powerful women—this episode’s for you.

xxx

Zeva

PS. You can find the episode above or on Apple, Spotify, Deezer or on your favorite podcast player.

PPS. Don’t forget to comment—what resonates most for you about this season Which guest did you connect with most? And if you’re loving the podcast, share it with a friend or leave a 5-star review. 💌

I recorded this episode with Ida the day after the USA election. While editing it I noticed that my voice sounded more hoarse, measured and serious than usual—almost as if it had aged overnight.

Those hoping to avoid Trump 2.0 madness probably feel like my voice sounds: solemn, fatigued, and scared as hell about the future of women’s rights, gender equality, the health of our planet, and the safety of all living creatures that call it home!

Which is why my guest this week could not have arrived at a better time.

Ida Tin is the brilliant, visionary co-founder of Clue, one of the world’s most widely used menstrual health apps. She also coined the term “femtech” in 2016—a term that now defines a booming $28 billion industry expected to double in size by 2027, covering everything from fertility and pregnancy to menopause and beyond.

Since leaving her post as CEO of Clue, Ida’s written a book about her entrepreneurial journey and has recently launched Femtech Assembly, a think tank that explores the link between Femtech, economy and planetary health.

Born in Copenhagen, Ida’s journey to becoming a trailblazer in women’s health is as inspiring as it is unconventional. As a child, she traveled the world with her family on motorcycles, immersing herself in diverse cultures and gaining a global perspective that would later shape her mission. During those travels, she witnessed firsthand how childbirth and childcare deeply impacted women’s lives, sparking her awareness of the profound role reproductive agency plays in shaping opportunities for women. That realization stayed with her, ultimately becoming the foundation for Clue and her pioneering work in women’s health technology.

Before founding Clue, Ida led motorcycle tours across continents, wrote a bestselling book in Denmark about her travels, and attended Kaospilot, an alternative business school that champions creative and impactful leadership. Her innovative contributions have been widely recognized; in 2015, she was honored with the Female Web Entrepreneur of the Year award at the Europioneers conference. Additionally, in 2018, Forbes included her in their list of America’s Top 50 Women in Tech.

In this episode, we explore:

• How Ida’s global travels shaped her mission to build Clue and pioneer the femtech movement.

• The profound connection between women’s health and planetary health—and why empowering women could save the global economy $1 trillion every year.

• What feminine leadership looks like in action—grounded in cycles, intuition, and emotional intelligence—and why the world needs it now more than ever.

• How to move past fear and radically reimagine systems that include and serve everyone.

What makes Ida’s perspective especially poignant right now is how her vision of innovation through a feminine lens stands in stark contrast to the tech world’s dominant narrative. Big tech leaders like Mark Zuckerberg have openly advocated for more “masculine energy” in innovation, emphasizing linear growth, competition, and domination. Ida offers a much-needed counterpoint: a model of leadership and innovation that is cyclical, relational, and deeply attuned to human needs. Her work reminds us that feminine intelligence—shaped by the wisdom of lived experience—is not just valid but essential if we want to create technologies and solutions that truly serve all of us.

By the end of this episode, I hope you’ll not only walk away with a deeper understanding of the Femtech movement and Ida’s incredible story, but also feel energized to consider your own role in shaping a world where cycles—biological, emotional, and ecological—are honored and supported.

xx

Zeva

PS. You can find the episode above or on Apple, Spotify, Deezer or on your favorite podcast player.

PPS. Don’t forget to comment—what resonates most for you about Ida’s story? And if you’re loving the podcast, share it with a friend or leave a 5-star review. 💌

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1. A wonderful friend of mine passed away suddenly at the end of November while traveling overseas. She would have been 55 this month. We’d seen each other just weeks before, and she’d followed up to make plans for the new year. Her death still feels abstract. She wasn’t sick, wasn’t in an accident—she simply passed away in her sleep. It feels like I’ve entered a phase of life where things like this can happen to people my age. To honor her (and to calm my anxiety), I went in for a series of blood tests and discovered my triglycerides were higher than normal. I chatted with my doctor, who initially said it must be the “bouffe” aka my diet, but I’m a pretty clean eater. I asked “Could it be alcohol?” he nodded, and I confessed that I’d developed a dirty vodka martini “wind-down” regimen, most nights, that seemed more like the culprit. He agreed, and I decided to go see a hypnotherapist to uncover the root causes of my evening crutch and visualize what I want for my future self. After one session, daily support from the app I Am Sober, and some quit lit from and , I’ve been able to kick the habit more easily than expected. Already, I’m seeing the benefits of a sober lifestyle (my skin is insane!). We’ll see how long this lasts, but midlife is starting to reveal to me how deeply my bodily health is connected to my energy, clarity, presence, mood, outlook, creativity, and sense of freedom. Stay tuned!

   

2. And just like that, Trump’s executive orders have eliminated diversity, equality and inclusion (D.E.I.) programs and anti-discrimination initiatives at the federal level, careening us back to a time when organizations weren’t held accountable for supporting diverse hires. I’ve spoken with people who admit that some DEI objectives felt performative—and sure, that may be true in some cases. But we have so much work left to do before we hit that breaking point. Now that DEI programs are federally banned, it’s just a matter of time before private-sector companies follow suit to avoid legal risk. Unless—and this is what I’m most curious about—companies truly believe that diversity is better for business and find ways to adapt while staying steadfast in their goals. These are the companies I want to learn from: the ones whose DNA is built on the understanding that diversity isn’t just ethically attractive but positively impacts economic health too. My next podcast guest built a company where the diversity of bodies and experiences was an intentional cornerstone of innovation and growth. Do you know other companies like that? I’m on the hunt, so send me your tips.

   

3. In my last post, I predicted that midlife would solidify as a movement in 2025. And just like that, I’ve seen a sharp uptick in women reaching out to me for coaching who are in this juicy and exciting moment of self-reflection. What’s amazing is that their focus is less professional and more profound. They’re seeking deep, personal exploration. They feel it in their bones that there’s more to uncover—unmapped parts within them: colors, words, desires, relationships, projects, neural connections. All of it! There’s a tipping point I’m sensing. Could it be that, as our outwardly-focused nurturing hormones fade, we’re left with space and energy for a renewed (and nuanced) interest in self? Book a call with me if you fall into this category, cause we have a lot to chat about!

   On Becoming with Zeva Bellel is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

   

4. I started Deepak Chopra’s abundance meditation series at the start of the year. Halfway through, my aunt gifted me an unbelievably generous experience: a trip to Hawaii with my family. (There’s definitely something to this meditation thing!) All jokes aside, meditation has been an elusive goal of mine, but something tells me 2025 might be the year I commit. With David Lynch on my mind, I’ve been diving into his book Catch the Big Fish, his love letter to Transcendental Meditation (TM). I’m fascinated by the promise of TM: dissolving negativity, unlocking creative depths, and removing what Lynch called the “suffocating rubber clown suit” of life’s daily poisons. Have you done TM? Curious to try it with me? Let me know.
   

5. Finally, my friend and I are each other’s go-to for inspiration, belly laughs, and pep talks. When we get together, we get stuff done while having a blast. So, we’ve combined our superpowers (me: powerful inquiry; her: beautiful gatherings) into a unique in-person event: The Road Map Atelier chez Madame de la Maison, on January 30th in Paris. This experience is about more than planning your year—it’s a chance to reconnect with yourself in an inspiring, gorgeous setting. And honestly? It’s also an excuse for us to hang out and share the energy that’s gotten us through so much. There are two spots left—snag yours here.

xxx

Zeva

So much has already happened in these first few weeks of 2025, and I’m curious—what’s been on your mind? What ideas, questions, or reflections have been bubbling up for you lately? Drop me a note, I’d love to hear.

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Inflation-fueled prices, wars in Ukraine and the Middle East, rising antisemitism, France’s snap election, and the grim reality of patriarchy prevailing in America—the world felt like it was careening chaotically backward in 2024.

As a coach, I saw this collective mood seep into the way women approached transformation. Conversations often centered around financial insecurity and the hesitation to make bold moves. But beneath the fear, there was also a deep urgency to feel less stuck and more alive in the here and now.

I watched my clients navigate this tension, reshaping what growth, success, and progress look like. Transformation didn’t disappear under the weight of uncertainty—it adapted. It evolved. And, as always, it taught me just as much as it taught them.

Here are my major takeaways from 2024 (and a few cautious predictions for 2025):

#1 The Art of Starting Small

When you come to a career transformation coach, you’re (presumably) seeking some sort of shake-up. But when fear grips tightly, envisioning change can feel impossible. Many people this year felt it was just too dangerous to embark on a coaching experience with no guarantee of where they’d land. But for those brave women who decided to straddle the tension, I needed to create space for their fear and their potential to peacfully co-exist. Drawing on James Clear’s Atomic Habits, we worked backward to align daily habits with their future selves.

• For one client, it was committing to five minutes a day with her manuscript, a brief but powerful touchpoint to honor her creative work.

• For another client, it was sifting through her jewelry collection, piece by piece, reigniting her relationship with beauty, color and design.

• And then there was the client who painted daily watercolors, allowing her creative energy to flow back into her life in small, colorful waves.

Every step, no matter how small, carried a whisper of hope: I am a person who moves. I am a person who creates. I am a person who seeks out joy. I am a person nurturing my interests.

These actions accrued, building the confidence to take bigger, bolder risks.

Prediction for 2025: The hunger for quick, tangible wins will remain, but I predict we’ll see a growing sophistication in how women approach small shifts. These steps will become more than “fixes”—they’ll transform into micro-rituals, deliberate and meaningful acts that recalibrate identity and offer grounding in an uncertain world. In response to this growing need, I’m adapting my offers. Alongside my 10-session full transformation program, I’ve debuted my “Unlock the Block” three-session package for focused work around one key challenge. Reach out for more info or book a discovery call.

#2 Embracing Invisible Intelligence

This year, I worked with several women who tapped into their highly tuned intuition as a new source of clarity and strength. These were gifts they’d neglected, dismissed, or shamed into hiding because they were “too woo” for their entourage. Intuition—and the cultivation of self-trust—also emerged as a big theme in my podcast conversations on fierce feminine leadership.

From Akashic Records to ecstatic dance, from intuition certifications to constellation therapy, women explored new modalities to uncover parts of themselves long buried. Transformation isn’t one-size-fits-all—it’s deeply personal and often about reclaiming the gifts we’ve hidden, leaning into the strengths that make us unique, and daring to center our inner knowing.

2025 Prediction: Intuition won’t just guide personal decisions; it will start shaping leadership, creativity, and innovation. We’ll see more women confidently integrating alternative modalities and practicies—visualization, somatic work, quantum writing—into their professional and personal lives. Even in spaces where those ideas once felt out of place. After emotional intelligence, relational intelligence and artificiel intelligence, invisible intelligence will become less a secret weapon and more an open toolkit.

#3 The Midlife Glow-Up

Midlife dominated 2024 for me, both professionally and personally. Turning 50 in June gave me a new lens—a sharper, clearer perspective I couldn’t help but bring into my work with clients. ’s All Fours created a cultural ripple, making midlife and perimenopause visible and vibrant in a way that felt revolutionary. If midlife has taught me anything thus far, it’s that hormones are real and their shifts and fits are a huge chance to reflect and recalibrate.

I saw clients embracing this phase through curiosity, connection and creativity. They worked with specialists to better understand their hormonal health. They started having more open conversations with friends and loved ones about what they could and could no longer carry. They started new creative projects, left stale careers, and built new boundaries around their time and energy. They finally began saying “no” to what drained them and “yes” to what lit them up.

Prediction for 2025: Midlife will solidify as a movement. Expect to see more resources, platforms, and communities tailored to this phase, not just as a time of survival but as a space for thriving. The wisdom of midlife will extend into leadership, creativity, and advocacy, with older women reclaiming their place as cultural elders. And then there’s media. Women are realizing that the mainstream platforms aren’t built for them. The podcasting world, for example, is still largely male-dominated, but that’s changing. Women are gravitating toward women-led platforms where their voices take center stage. These spaces—whether on Substack, in podcasts, or in smaller collectives—will shape the media landscape in 2025 and beyond. Which is why if you’re not already following my podcast, now is a great moment to do so!

#4 Gathering Again, But Different

Workshops, retreats, and women’s circles continued to be sacred spaces in 2024. There’s something undeniably powerful about sharing your story with others who truly listen.

But the way we gather has changed. Post-COVID, we’re not looking for massive crowds or casual meet-ups. We crave depth, intentionality, and connection. Even when the purpose is gentle—vision boards, creativity, a retreat on “the good life”—there’s a palpable energy of we’re doing this.

As both a guest and facilitator, I saw how these spaces demand as much as they gave. Gathering is both draining and energizing—a delicate balance of listening, absorbing, reflecting, and responding.

Prediction for 2025: In an increasingly curated, AI-driven world, there will be a deeper appreciation for live, unscripted interactions. Women will seek out spaces where spontaneity reigns—where the energy of a moment can’t be replicated digitally. Facilitators won’t need to do much; their role will be to create a container for the magic to unfold organically.

As I look back on 2024, one thing feels crystal clear: transformation isn’t about conquering fear. It’s about evolving with it. Fear doesn’t vanish—it reshapes, shifts, and sometimes whispers truths we’re not quite ready to hear. Transformation is about learning to move alongside it, to let it be present without letting it take the lead.

It’s about taking small, intentional steps that build momentum. It’s about recognizing that life changes—our bodies, our relationships, our careers—and knowing that recalibration isn’t a failure; it’s a natural, necessary part of growth.

It’s also about honoring the gifts we have inside us, even when they feel like they don’t “fit.” Whether that’s a knack for intuition, a creative spark you’ve been hiding, or an idea that feels too bold to say out loud—it’s time to let go of the shame or doubt around those gifts and let them breathe.

In 2025, I’ll be focusing on creating spaces where women can gather, share, and grow—places where intuition meets action, where stories spark connection, and where we can collectively move through the blocks that hold us back. Whether it’s through coaching, workshops, my podcasts or retreats, I’m excited to continue building spaces where transformation doesn’t feel like a luxury—it feels like coming home to yourself.

I truly look forward to having you be a part of it.

xxx

Zeva

PS. I’m dying to know—what transformation trends did you notice in your world this year? And what’s calling to you as you head into 2025? As always, I’d love to hear your insights, questions, or feedback. Comment, share, or reply to this post—I’d love to keep this conversation going!

PPS. The illustration is a recent vision board I did. If you’d like to join a future vision board workshop reach out and let me know.

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