Lately, I find myself navigating what feels like a kind of schizophrenic state of mind—two vastly different worlds, side by side.
On one hand, I work closely with Afghan women whose courage and resilience humble me every day. These women have experienced deep trauma, yet they know what truly matters. They understand that love matters. Family matters. Kindness matters. Contributing to something bigger than ourselves matters. They aren’t dreaming of million-dollar houses and fancy cars as an expression of their happiness in life —they long for safety, dignity, and freedom.
To be clear, I am not claiming that these women are saints. They are human—complex, layered, and sometimes contradictory. Yes, they have immense courage and resilience, but they also carry the scars of deep trauma. Sometimes they cry to influence decisions, or withhold parts of their truth out of fear that full honesty might cost them support or safety. I’ve seen this firsthand, and I understand it—not to justify, but to witness the survival strategies that emerge when your life has been marked by danger, betrayal, and powerlessness. It’s a painful reminder that trauma doesn’t make people perfect; it makes them protective. And yet, despite it all, they still lead with kindness, with a fierce sense of family and connection.
For more information on what this is about read these two articles: the “unseen side of leadership” and “Right in front of us”.
And then there’s this other world I live in—here in the Netherlands—where I also support sustainability professionals, managers, and directors. The aim is purposeful: help companies shift toward true sustainability and regeneration, not just because the law says so, but because it matters. Because it’s the right thing to do.
Yet I find myself growing impatient when people here complain about the weather, rising taxes, or the train being late. I look around and see a country where people have freedom, safety, and choice—things those Afghan women are desperately craving—and yet we’ve somehow become shallow. We avoid deep conversations. We scroll endlessly. We shy away from vulnerability.
And I wonder—have we lost our way? Have we lost our sense of meaning?
I recently had a conversation with a friend who told me she’s working what Rutger Bregman would call a “non-job.” After a particularly pointless meeting, she realized she couldn’t keep doing it anymore. Still, the idea of leaving triggered a wave of fear: What if the next job is just as bad? What if it’s the same corporate madness?
That’s the body talking. Our bodies crave safety and stability. If we’re not living consciously, the body takes over and chooses what feels familiar—even if it’s toxic or unfulfilling. But staying in a non-job or a toxic environment comes with its own cost. It wears on our health, our joy, our life expectancy.
Living consciously takes more energy, yes. But it’s also what makes us feel truly alive.
I was on the train the other day, surrounded by people glued to their phones, and I thought: what if even half of us were putting our ingenuity and energy into solving the biggest challenges of our time? The potential of humanity is breathtaking. And yet we sleepwalk through life, chasing one thing after another that never quite delivers the joy we were promised.
I believe that there’s a different way. A more meaningful way.
It starts with self-reflection. What truly motivates and inspires you? What are your unique strengths and values?
It takes conscious living—challenging unconscious patterns, being present, stepping outside your comfort zone.
It means choosing roles that align with your values, surrounding yourself with people who inspire you, and understanding that work is part of life—not its whole purpose.
It means taking intentional action. Calculated risks. Letting go of stability when it’s robbing you of meaning.
Sometimes I feel like I want to shake people and say, “Wake up! You’re alive. This life—it’s a gift!” Especially this spring, I’ve felt it so intensely. The sunlight dancing on a leaf, the wind rustling the trees—it stops me in my tracks. There is so much beauty when we allow ourselves to see it. When we come back into the present moment and actually live.
So this is my invitation to you:
Ask yourself why you’re here. What truly matters to you? What would it take to live more consciously, more purposefully?
Because we don’t need to wait for catastrophe to rediscover meaning. It’s already here—in this breath, in this moment, in the quiet joy of being alive.