If there’s one thing I would consider myself an expert in, it’s the art of regaining my spark after losing it. It is a never-ending cycle.

In recent months, work has felt beautifully radiant (chaotic sometimes, yes, but radiant). Work has never felt so right, aligned, and fun! However, there’s been many past seasons of grey.

These have included periods of that gradually chipped away at my self confidence, such as being placed on a performance improvement plan (oh the joys of being PIPed). And another time when a senior leader told me, “You’d be better off leaving this company.” These experiences all taught me a lot, but alas, where not enjoyable.

This week, several of my very kind and capable friends that work in software companies told me they feel like shells of themselves at work. Constant layoffs and rapid AI-induced change have left them swinging between overwhelm and apathy.

Hearing so many versions of the same feeling made me reflect on the question: what helps when someone loses their spark at work?

In this post, I’d like to share two recent conversations I’ve had on this topic, which I’ll cover in seperate parts:

part I : pay close attention to your spark

part II: feed your spark with oxygen

part I: pay close attention to your spark

A spark can be easy to miss, especially when it appears as a passing interest or half-formed idea. Taking someone’s spark seriously means naming what you see and giving them permission to trust their intuition.

This idea emerged from an interview I filmed in San Francisco with Danielle Strachman for the Side Doors documentary. Danielle is the co-founder of 1517 Fund and a founding member of the Thiel Fellowship.

Danielle told a story that showed how powerful it can be to notice when someone lights up—and to take that spark seriously.

The story was about two young founders who came to her after their original startup wasn’t working out. They had started building another piece of software, this time in gaming.

“I know I’ve only known you for ten minutes,” she told the founders, “but I’m just not feeling the fire in the belly when you talk about this.”

So she asked a different question:

“What’s something you were really excited about as a kid?”

One of them immediately lit up.

Danielle kept pulling the thread. What was it about trains? What did he love about them?

Then she did something, which, at the time felt quite silly:

She wasn’t necessarily saying that his next company needed to involve trains. She was just giving him permission to follow his intrinsic interests.

Here’s the wild part: the founders eventually built train software. That software was then sold it to a major commuter company.

part II: feed that spark with oxygen

Noticing a spark is one thing. Giving it oxygen is an important next step, because it gives somewhere to practically channel that energy.

This idea emerged yesterday, during drinks with my friend S, whose an engineer at a large SaaS company. I was at his office because he’d helped me recover film footage from a damaged hard drive I was convinced was beyond saving.

S was saying to me he felt very “meh” about work. His engineering job was one used to enjoy, but now he felt almost no excitement about it.

A bit of background on S. Since he was a kid, he’s loved to code. He was unable to complete high school due to chronic illness, so dropped out and studied web design and IT at community college. He’s always loved building and fixing computers. Eventually, his technical interests led to him to an engineering role his current company where he’s been for five years.

Recently, the repeated layoffs (including from his current team), increasingly stringent performance cycles and changing nature of the work had negatively impacted his outlook on day-to-day work.

The coding skills he had spent years mastering—and had once found deeply satisfying—no longer gave him the same joy.

When I probed further, S said: “I don’t think leaving my job would solve this feeling.”

Rediscovering his spark wasn’t simply a matter of finding a new company. So I kept asking questions about the things he did enjoy.

“I love tinkering with hardware. Perhaps I’d enjoy working at a computer store?” he wondered aloud.

Then something clicked for me. Tinkering. Hardware.

I pulled up something my friend, Sarv, had built. It was a tamagotchi-inspired device with offline tools—like an alarm, camera, MP3 player, and voice recorder. Last year, it went viral on instagram. It was something Sarv had built to cure his own phone addiction.

“I could totally see you building cute hardware; people would froth that”, I told him.

S nodded in agreement.

“What things would be helpful to build for your own life?” I asked.

“Hmm, I love building home automations. Oh, and I also love building things things for our cats!!”

S and his girlfriend, E, are obsessed with their cats.

We then went down a wild ideation of cat hardware ideas.

Automated cat-food dispensers!

AI-driven cat “meow” translators!

Customised light-up cat collars!

Through the conversation, we also uncovered that his workplace has a Slack channel with hundreds of cat lovers and E is pretty handy with editing reels. Within minutes, we could see the beginnings of a potential passion project with guaranteed traction and an eager audience.

It felt like we’d come full circle.

S had spent the afternoon helping me recover some lost footage. By the end of our drinks, it felt like we had also recovered a few possibilities he’d forgotten were available to him.

possibility is not a solo endeavour

One conversation cannot change a climate of layoffs or stop AI from rapidly transforming our jobs, or undo the experiences that make one feel grey.

But one conversation can remind someone what they’re unusually good at. It can help guide one’s spark towards a tangible project, no matter how big or small.

When someone lights up as they talk about their favourite pastimes, point it out. Label the things you see in them that they may have forgotten about themselves. Take their half-formed ideas and build on them. Ask another question and keep pulling the thread.

Be the fairy godmother who waves their wand and says ‘permission granted!’.

You might just help someone rediscover possibilities that were there the whole time.

If you’ve read up til here, I appreciate you being here, it means the world!

With love,

Linda 💗

This is #12 of a series of letters, where I share my real-time journey of building Felt Media, a heart-led storytelling agency. I’ve just returned from a two-month sidequest in San Francisco with my friend Maja; we’re turning her Substack essay “How to Enter Side Doors” into a documentary. More on this documentary-making journey to come in future letters.

When I was 19, I got to do a TED talk and collaborate with people I’d admired for years. My biggest regret is barely being present for any of it.

I felt so swamped with work and college that I moved through the whole thing just trying to get to the other side. There are so many parts I wish I’d leaned into. In particular, relishing the fact that the speaker coach I’d been paired with was Sarah Kay — an incredible poet who made me fall in love with poetry after watching her TED poetry performance “If I should have a daughter” (that’s been viewed 20M+ times, including countless views for me).

12 days ago I flew from Sydney across the world to make a documentary with one of my best friends, Maja, based on her viral essay How to Enter Side Doors that has helped thousands of people reinstill a feeling of hope and momentum in their job search.

The last few days in SF have been surreal for many reasons, to just name a few…

• My college friend Weilon took Maja and me up in a surreal 4-pasenger plane ride over SF. My first ever view of the Golden Gate Bridge was from 2,100 feet above it

• I get to be here witness someone I love go through one of the most magical “becoming” arcs of her life

• We had a volunteer team kickoff with people who’d reached out from the internet wanting to bring this project to life

And yet all I’ve been able to think about is how much I have on my plate. I could feel myself descending into a spiral. Forgetting to eat. Going quiet on the people I love back home. Just “urgent urgent urgent” flashing in front of my eyes. It’s blinding.

So I’m taking a lesson from my 19-year-old self.

1. Slow down. There’s no point pushing for deadlines if I can’t look back and know I was present. I will never get this time back.

2. Reflect. I’ve barely had time to digest what’s been happening.

3. Express gratitude. I haven’t even properly thanked the kind souls who’ve lent their minds, their time, their couches, their camera gear.

I still can’t believe how quickly things have moved. Ideas really do just become reality if you will them to.

If you’re reading this: the extraordinary experiences (big and small) in your life deserve your presence. I’m writing this as a reminder to myself, too.

Wherever you are right now — take a breath 💜

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for your presence, it genuinely means a lot. See you soon.

P.s - this is a bit shorter (more photo-less) than my usual letters because I’m writing this at 4.30am and it felt right to share this now.

With love,

Linda 💗

We’re in San Francisco to build an AI startup make a documentary!

You can read more about the documentary and what drove us to create it here. For the quick taster, here’s the synopsis:

In 2026, getting a job feels harder than it ever has. In response to this, Maja wrote “How to Enter Side Doors“ — an essay about the people who weren’t able to find their way through the the front door of the traditional job market, but instead, through ingenuity and creativity, were able to create their own side door. The essay went viral, reaching millions of views around the world in a matter of weeks. Hundreds of people reached out to Maja directly; parents, students and job-seekers who shared how it helped them regain momentum and feel unstuck.

Side Doors is the documentary that follows the stories of people who forged their own path, or helped others to do so. It’s a love letter to the people who can’t be categorised and the people yearning to be seen in a sea of noise. But more than anything, it’s about what happens when you stop trying to fit yourself into a box the system built for someone else, and start making the truest version of yourself findable to the people who need it.

SF has been a whirlwind of contrasting feelings

Maja and I landed three days ago. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind of things, including:

• Meeting incredible filmmakers and storytellers + reunion with my friend I haven’t seen in 3 years

• Figuring out documentary logistics and storylining with Maja and other creatives

• Watching. my usual routine fly out the window

Consistently, I’ve felt two things at once:

Feeling #1: Deep gratitude

It’s summer here. It’s warm. It’s my first time in this city. The streets I’m walking through are beautiful. I secured Japanese curry cubes from a Chinatown grocer. My friend V has been the most incredible host. I don’t need a gym membership because these SF hills are steep. I keep getting hit with these little waves of I can’t believe I get to be here.

A huge part of it is being invited into Maja’s creative orbit of dreamers, writers, filmmakers, and then into the orbits of those people, and so on. Many of the people she’s connected through her writing are based in the US, and it’s been surreal to meet so many of them, to hear their life stories, to jam on creative ideas. I left all the conversations feeling very alive, and consistently reminded me that when you surround yourself with gritty, high‑agency optimists, all your dreams feel possible.

Feeling #2: “Not productive enough”

Ever since landing, I feel like I’ve been working too slowly. Part of it has been the constant context-switching and the lack of routine. I’ll be thinking about filming gear and schedules, then scripting, then reach‑outs, then groceries, then emails, then replying to friends’ messages, then all of a sudden its 1am (I usually go to bed at 9pm back in Sydney). It’s 2.30am as I’m writing this…

The most intense version hit last night near midnight, while I was writing a creative grant application for this documentary. Halfway through the draft, I had this moment of clarity that felt like getting punched (lovingly) in the face:

Shit. We actually need help with a lot. At the rate we’re going, we won’t be able to pull this off.

It was my overwhelmed brain pulling out an untrue (and unproductive) narrative.

After a few minutes of spiralling, I realised I needed to move from overwhelm to something more generative — the kind of proactivity that will actually get Maja and I closer to the vision we set out with.

Moving from overwhelm to safety

After my first wave of overwhelm — and then realizing I was actively choosing self-reliance when help was abundant — something clicked:

The strength of our support network is proven only in the moments we choose to free‑fall into it.

There’s a sweet spot to that free‑fall. A few things have to line up:

1. we’re stretched just enough to need someone else

2. we genuinely believe it’s safe to ask for help

3. we ask while the help can still change the outcome

When any of those components are off, things can get wobbly fast.

Sometimes we stretch too thin and have a breakdown (relatable). Sometimes we pre-reject yourself by telling yourself “they don’t want to help”) and carry it alone. Sometimes we wait until we’re ready to ask — and by then, the moment has passed.

Time to free-fall

For this documentary project, there’s been many types of help-asks:

• From me to Maja: constant sense checks on creative brief and direction

• To potential filming subjects: asking if they’d like to be involved

• To filming venues: asking if they’d be open to hosting / supporting

• To creative grants: because this is self‑funded (for now)

• To filmmakers: shaping the structure of the documentary

And there are a whole bunch of things I still don’t know how to deal with:

• Socials: I had initial hopes of posting daily across LinkedIn/X/Instagram (“building in public”)… eek

• Replies: I’m chronically behind on all my message threads. Back home I’m used to getting to inbox zero daily and now I’m like: eek x 2

Perhaps to my detriment, it was drilled into me from my consulting days at Bain to have an ask that is “easy to react to.” So I’ll spend hours thinking through how to write an email or craft a document so that when someone reads it, it’s an easy yes or no. It’s worked in the past, like when I spent all day making a pitch deck to secure a media pass. But gosh it takes efforti.

A real example from today:

I emailed someone who I really wanted to film for this documentary. I procrastinated for two days even reaching out to them, because it didn’t clear in my head what the ‘perfect ask’ was. I then spent three hours writing them an email (and attaching extra context so the request was easy to understand and easy to say yes to).

After I clicked send, they replied immediately with a very firm yes. I literally squealed with excitement.

However, would they have said yes if I’d just sent a simple email that took five minutes (rather than spending three hours drafting my ask)? I’ll have to ask them to check 😂

Tomorrow, my job is to write a list of everything we need help with. Then: turn each item into a clear ask (with the smallest next step), and start sending them.

And ideally not spending 3 hours on each (timeboxing never was my forte)…

Parting words

Overwhelm and safety will always coexist. They need eachother.

The to-do list is still real. The work doesn’t go away.

But if you choose to free-fall into your support network, and summon the courage to say you’re feeling overwhelmed, you will be surprised who will catch you.

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for your presence, it genuinely means a lot. See you in a fortnight.

With love,

Linda 💗

You’ve reached the fun photo section :)

Photos from the first two days in SF:

A few weeks into starting Felt, I got my first media pass

In my last letter I wrote about how a cold email got me my first ever media pass, specifically to Sunrise, Australia’s largest startup festival run by Blackbird VC. My day with a media pass felt like being a high schooler doing work experience at their dream job for a day.

The chaotic lead-up

The week leading up to Sunrise was a touch frantic. Many days of procrastination, then a slight panic, then soundboarding with friends on how to prepare, then a scramble to make sure I had all the gear I needed. At this point I hadn’t gotten many reps of packing for a full day of filming, so basic things like checking all my gear (e.g., microphones, cameras) was charged were all new to me.

Then I did something equal parts inspired and deeply impractical: I made personalised certificates for every single Sunrise speaker. All forty of them. Individualised witty one-liners. Custom Canva template. Stickers, metallic pens, embossed envelopes. Hand-cut, pasted onto card, personal note on the back of each. Many hours were spent at Officeworks the evening before! Leaning into my arts-and-crafts side cracked something open though. It woke up the younger Linda who used to make intricate handmade cards for everyone; I’m so glad she’s back out in the world!

The day before Sunrise, I spent a couple of hours at Carriageworks scoping the layout — figuring out parking (University of Sydney carpark: a gem find), and shooting B-roll while the team set up the venue. I never ended up using any of the footage, but it made me feel so much more at ease having already been in the space. There’s something about familiarity that quiets the nerves.

The big day

On the morning of Sunrise, I felt like an intern on their first day — slightly wired, slightly clueless. I’d never had a media pass or done formal event interviewing before. A lot of what I learned sounds embarrassingly basic in hindsight: that you can book in time with speakers, request vox-pop slots, ask for introductions. It was a real crash course!

I’d been up since 4am, my body humming with anticipation. My original plan was to film specific speakers and grab interviews throughout the day — that lasted until about 10am, when my friend Tash asked if I wanted to help film her speaker interviews. Tash is a pro interviewer, having formally been a journo at the AFR, so I learnt a lot from observing how she’d diligently planned her interviews in advance.

I enjoyed the first interview so much I ended up filming three: Maxine Minter (co-founder and managing partner of Co Ventures), Danielle Strachman (co-founder of the 1517 Fund and founding team member of the Thiel Fellowship), and Jae Lubberink (growth at Eucalyptus). Sitting in on those interviews were the genuine highlights of my day. There’s something about being that close to a conversation — holding the camera, watching someone unfold their story — that felt genuinely magical.

I also filmed a panel featuring Angela Jiang (Anthropic’s Head of Engineering on the Platform team), Katelyn Lesse (Head of Platform Engineering at Anthropic), and Thomas Kelly (Co-founder and CEO of Heidi Health), amongst others.

One of the things I learned: just get in there.

During the panels I spent a lot of time kneeling right up near the stage. When you have a camera, nobody questions what you’re doing. Literally nobody. You become part of the furniture.

By 5pm my filming duties were done. I sat alone for half an hour in the dressing room they’d set aside for media interviews, just to decompress. My social battery was completely spent. But sitting there I remember thinking — wow. I feel so lucky to be here!!

Lessons from the day

It was a career-shaping day. No exagggeration. I left feeling: I want more of this. This feels right.

What energises me about filming is the act of noticing — recognising that someone’s presence or message is powerful, knowing others need to hear it, and figuring out how to capture it so it lands.

The day also handed me a lesson in the power of creative collaboration. What happened with Tash was spontaneous but perfectly matched — we both have a deep passion for stories but think about them differently. Where I think in visuals, Tash thinks in narrative depth — how a person’s story fits into their life, into society, what will actually resonate with an audience. The working sessions we’ve had since, finessing the content together, have been some of the most creatively alive meetings I’ve had in a work context.

The ripples after

I hadn’t managed to give one of the speakers, Danielle, her certificate on the day. She was speaking at another event the very next day, so I went — a brilliant fireside hosted by Next Gen Ventures. I’d gone just to hand over a certificate and ended up staying much longer, drawn into fun conversations with other attendees, and got to have a proper chat with Danielle. She is so warm, and so funny and makes you feel at ease straightaway.

The BAU corner: quieter updates from the business-building side

Running a storytelling agency is now my full-time job??

OMG, feels so surreal. I’m a fair way off a six-figure salary, but I feel good about the trajectory. Three paid projects done, and my next big milestone is Felt’s hard launch in a couple weeks!

On leads and signalling

Every lead so far has come organically — through my personal network or LinkedIn posts. Consistently signalling what you do matters enormously, especially when you’re pivoting your professional identity. I do know I need to be more intentional about BD going forward, though. Finding time to carve out BD has been a constant puzzle!

On the craft

I have been playing around with a lot of AI tools. Descript, Gling, Elevenlabs, Motionarray, Claude Code. Also a lot of editing softwares. Capcut, Davinci Resolve, Final Cut Pro (though I still haven’t touched Adobe yet….yet).

Beyond the tools, I’ve been building out proper systems and workflows for managing multiple editing projects at once. A couple of weeks ago, juggling three or four simultaneously felt completely overwhelming. It feels a lot more manageable now. Having too many things to edit is, honestly, a good problem to have.

On the people who make this possible

I’m so grateful for my friends and mentors who support me in many ways; emotionally, financially (through advice and lending me expensive gear), and with practical business advice.

A recent big source of inspiration for me as has been my friend Maja whose very on the pulse of what’s happening in the land of storytelling, and constantly sending me inspiring things: cool agency websites, awesome launch videos, things she’s spotted on Twitter that feel relevant to what I’m building. Our weekly Elephants calls are where we really dig into each other’s creative goals, problem-solve, hold each other accountable, and work through whatever is blocking us.

I’m also so grateful to my friends, Eric and Haz, who recently lent me their camera gear to ‘try before I buy’. Camera gear is so expensive ($2000+ for any type of body/lens setup), so being able to practice filming on a camera, before committing to buying it, has been incredible.

Parting words

Almost every good thing that has happened in these early months of building Felt has involved another person. Someone who connected with another videographer, lent a camera, helped me lay out my business finances, suggested strategies for pricing/BD, sent an inspiring link at 11pm, or given me a media pass.

A love this line from ’s essay how to enter side doors:

“If someone takes a bet on you, honour it. Do the work. Become worthy of the luck. Make them glad they trusted their strange little instinct. And when you are in a position to do so, pay it forward.”

In our little lives, we’ll get golden tickets when we least expect it, often from people we barely know. And when it happens, remember how magical it felt. When the opportunity comes up to pay it forward, it will feel amazing to pass that gift on.

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for being here today (and also for bearing with the couple weeks of silence since my last piece), it genuinely means so much. See you in a fortnight.

With love.

Linda 💗

You’ve reached the fun photo section :)

On Monday, I got an email telling me I’d secured the last available media pass for Sunrise 🤯

Sunrise is an annual startup festival run by Blackbird, Australia’s largest VC firm. The speakers this year include founders of Australian unicorn startups, and other incredible founders and operators.

When I got the email, I was ecstatic. In these early days, these seemingly small wins feel massive. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so excited receiving an email.

How did I make that happen?

The short answer: I was very extra.

The long answer: I spent an entire day making a pitch deck which was crafted down to the very last detail. I spent an hour taking screenshots of different parts of the Sunrise website so I could mimic the same aesthetics in the deck. I created a mockup of the content I was hoping to create at Sunrise. I made individually collaged words to make the deck look like a scrapbooked letter to my recipient, rather than a typical pitch deck. I included GIFs of my video portfolio so that my previous work could be easily viewed.

What are the lessons?

Lesson 1. Success = Luck + Preparation

I was lucky, no doubt. Apparently I’d secured the very last media ticket, because someone had just dropped out. I was also very lucky that my friend, T, had given me a heads up on who was best to reach out to.

I was also prepared. I’d put forward something that only I could have created and stood out. Both the pitch deck, and the email I sent with the deck, were a labour of love.

Lesson 2. Make it an easy yes

I put myself in the shoes of the person who received the pitch deck. If I was them, receiving an email from some random person who they’d never heard about, what would encourage me to take a chance on them? What would it take for me to go “wow, I’m blown away”? The answer, I figured, was to go above and beyond anything that they’d ever expect from someone asking to be on the media list.

Business-building updates

The next couple weeks are focused on portfolio building, whilst building daily/weekly habits to help me thrive as a ‘solo-preneur’.

A poster tells a thousand words, so here are my portfolio goals and habits goals in poster form. I’ve printed these posters out in A2 to hang in front of my desk (so I don’t forget what my goals are 🤣).

Update 1: My portfolio experiments

I’ve narrowed down the three portfolio items I want to focus on for the next couple weeks. I found it very motivating to clearly identify the output (e.g., 5 part reel series), and also a draft concept to anchor on (e.g., Episode 1 is X, Episode Y is Y).

Update 2: My underlying habits

I thrive on routine and automated habits. To get me excited for these habits, I made myself a pretty sticker chart. My friend, V, was my inspiration. She showed me the sticker chart she’d made (for the 100 days leading up to her 30th birthday) and my imagination was captivated!!

Parting words

If you’re less qualified than others, you can make up for it by being more extra in areas where your natural strengths lie.

For example, if like me, you’re highly empathic and have consistently been the ‘culture carrier’ in your team, that is a superpower. In this journey of building a storytelling agency, I will never be able to compete on videography skill alone. However, I can produce things that bring delight to others, help people feel seen, and be great fun to work with.

Consider what your natural strengths and curiosities are. Do you love doing elaborate sketches? Are you obsessed with making sourdough? Are you oddly good at music trivia? Start paying attention to these quirks.

One day, if you happen to come across someone you want/need to impress who (1) loves hand-drawn sketches, (2) eating sourdough, and/or (3) and needs a fill-in for music trivia, your winning strategy is lying point blank in front of you.

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for being here today, it genuinely means a lot. See you next week.

With love.

Linda 💗

You’ve reached the fun photo section :)

My April goals

Quick context for new reader: each month I set a north star and a set of supporting ‘tiny experiments’ — goals focused on continuous learning and iteration, rather than binary success/failure. Each experiment follows Ali Abdaal’s ‘NICE’ framework: Near-term, Input-based, Controllable, and Energising.

💫 Aprils’s north star: build a video portfolio I’m proud to launch with

Over the past two months I’ve been focused on short-form founder stories. This month I’m pivoting to formats I largely haven’t tried before — and picking up new skills in the process. The three video formats I’m keen to explore:

• Documentary — a ~10 min story deep dive on a specific topic, with various perspectives and a lasting message

• Product marketing video — a 60-second video with motion graphics and animations, for a software or AI product

• Cinematic founder-centric startup video — a ~2-3 min video capturing a startup’s founding story and mission

🧪April’s ‘tiny experiments’

🎬 Video production

Complete two videos by end of April — a product marketing video and a cinematic founder-centric startup video. For the documentary format, the goal is to complete the script only, with production moving to May.

Inputs: three days a week blocked for production. Each day has one clear output — scripting, filming, or editing. No open-ended “work on video” blocks.

📩 Business development

Send 3 personalised project pitches per week to founders I’d genuinely love to work with — each with a specific project idea and a discounted or collaborative offer, with the intention of converting at least one into an actual project in May.

The people on my shortlist are ones I find genuinely exciting — founders whose stories I’m itching to tell. That’s the filter: not just “who might say yes” but “whose work do I actually want to be part of.”

Inputs: one half-day each week dedicated to crafting up pitches.

📱 Marketing — LinkedIn & Twitter

Post 3 times a week across LinkedIn and Twitter, cycling through three formats: funny/meme-y, educational, and inspirational. The experiment is to try all three and observe what gets engagement and organic leads.

Inputs: one half-day per week to create and pre-schedule everything, so it doesn’t bleed into production days.

📸 Instagram

Post daily. Minimum output of 2 reels, 1 text-overlay video, and 2 photo dumps per week. The experiment is twofold: building the habit of consistency, and testing what resonates with a mix of low and high effort content.

Inputs: one day each week dedicated to creating instagram content.

Honest reflections on the month so far

Wins

I landed my first paid client this month — I’m officially making money through making content!!

My content is generating leads (for others). A few hours after I posted a founder reel I’d made for a friend, he messaged me: “I just got an inbound lead from your video.” That one felt really good.

Gaps

I still don’t have clean answers to the questions every client will eventually ask, including (1) What do I charge? (Working answer: $100/hour, heavily discounted while I’m building the portfolio.), and (2) What do I and don’t I offer? (Still figuring out the edges beyond short-form founder videos.)

And my CRM and inbox are perpetually a week behind 🥲. (Fix: a 30-minute admin block at the start of each day, starting today. )

Lessons from this week

Don’t be afraid to copy — your story is what makes it original. When I started posting daily on Instagram, I felt genuinely overwhelmed. So I did what any sensible person does: I looked at creators I admired and reverse-engineered their content. What I found was that most successful posts follow very similar structural formats — the hook, the build, the payoff. What sets creators apart isn’t the format, it’s the story they’re telling inside it. So I stopped trying to reinvent the wheel and started focusing on what only I can bring: my own voice and experience.

Preparation is the difference between spending 9 vs 24 hours creating a video. A founder story reel takes me anywhere from 9 to 24 hours end-to-end — scripting, filming, commuting, editing, and posting. The gap almost always comes down to one thing: whether I had a completed script before I opened the editing software. When I don’t, I’m making creative decisions in the wrong order, and everything takes three times as long.

Riffing with other business owners feels like play, not work. Some of my most energising hours this month have been informal chats with other founders and solo-preneurs — just bouncing ideas, sharing what’s working, venting about what isn’t. It doesn’t feel like networking. I want to be more intentional about building this into my work weeks, and turning those relationships into a proper referral network with people whose work I genuinely respect.

In a world of AI-generated content, craft is the differentiator. A mentor, G, put this well in a recent conversation: anyone can now produce decent content with AI tools. The question is why a founder would hire me instead of just doing it themselves. The answer can’t just be “we make videos” — it has to be “we make videos that feel like you, that your audience trusts, and that convert.” That’s a craft argument, not a tools argument. Still working out exactly how to say this, but it’s shaping how I think about my business’ positioning.

Parting words

These past few weeks, on the days where I’ve felt tired, unmotivated or just a bit off (there have been many), I keep coming back to one question:

“What is the one thing you need to get done today?”

Not five. Not three. Just one.

When friends come over to co-work, I get everyone to write their one thing on the whiteboard before we start. At the end of the session, we tick them off together. Yesterday, mine was finalising and posting a founder story video. Ticking it off was quietly satisfying in a way I didn’t expect.

You're one person.

You can't do everything.

But you can do one thing.

And one thing, repeated, is how anything gets built.

If you’ve stayed up til here, thank you for taking the time to read this, it genuinely means a lot. See you next week.

With love.

Linda 💗

You’ve reached the fun photo section :)

Hi! I’m back to the land of the speaking after a 10 day silent meditation course. TL;DR is 10 hours of daily meditation, as well as no talking, no physical contact and no technology.

I’ve received a lot of questions about how I found the experience, so this week’s letter will focus on sharing my learnings. It was a real privilege to have been able to experience it. Ten days, after all, is a time luxury.

Things I’ll cover

• I: What the 10 days involved

• II: My motivation and mindset for participating

• III: My five biggest lessons

• IV: Tangible impacts on my present life

• V: Miscellaneous observations

In next week’s letter, I’ll be sharing updates on building Felt, a storytelling agency for Australia’s tech ecosystem, including my April experiments. Stay tuned :)

I:What the ten days involved

The course location

I did my ten day course at Dhamma Bhūmi in Blackheath, a town located ~100km west of Sydney in the Blue Mountains World Heritage Area. This centre is one of many centres around the world dedicated exclusively to the teaching of Vipassana meditation. At Dhamma Bhūmi, the course instructions are based off the teaching of the late S.N. Goenka.

The Vipassana technique is taught at ten-day residential courses during which participants such as myself followed a prescribed Code of Discipline, learn the basic foundations of the meditation method, and practice daily.

The course structure

Each day begins at 4am. with a wakeup bell and continues until 9pm. There are about ten hours of meditation throughout the day, interspersed with regular breaks and rest periods. Students can choose to meditate either in the specialty-built meditation hall, or in their own rooms (I opted to always meditate in the hall, as I found it had a very peaceful atmosphere that put me in the ‘mood’ to meditate, vs my bed where I just felt like napping).

Every evening at ~7pm there is an hour-long videotaped lecture by S.N. Goenka, which provides a context for meditators to understand the technique they experienced that day.

Preface: I’m not a meditation expert, psychologist, or doctor — just someone sharing my own experience. If you’re curious about the specifics, the centre’s Q&A page is a good place to start, and the global Dhamma site. has broader info on Vipassana and locations worldwide. Anyone applying will need to complete a suitability questionnaire covering mental and physical condition.

II: My motivations and mindset going in

My motivation to participate

My main motivation was curiosity, specifically around how meditation could help ground my very-busy-mind. The past year has been an ongoing experiment in observing my mind and body. I wrote this in a previous post: How a 315 row spreadsheet taught me how to be more human.

My current life is quite flexible (i.e. taking 10 days off doesn’t require me to sacrifice any material income, and I don’t have any caring responsibilities), so it felt like a no-brainer to participate.

My mindset going in

Friends who’d done the course warned me that a lot of memories and feelings tend to surface over the ten days. So I was intentional about timing — I wanted to go at a point where I’d already had space to sit with anything uncomfortable, rather than arriving with unresolved things churning beneath the surface. I’d never done extended meditation before, so beyond that, I had no expectations for what I was walking into.

Two friends gave me advice I held onto throughout.

M, who has done the course seven times, kept it simple:

“Get closure on things before you go, or else they’ll be churning in your mind during the whole time”.

D’s pointers were more about making the most of the days themselves:

All moods are like weather. They will pass.

Be kind to yourself.

The nature is beautiful. Go for walks and listen for the birds.

III: The 5 biggest lessons I’ll take away

Lesson 1. How to get out of my head and into my body

Historically, even during physical activities like running or lifting weights, my attention defaults to constant mental chatter. At the retreat, I learned to use my body as the default anchor instead — and when my mind wandered back into thoughts (which it did, often for 10-15 minutes at a stretch), I’d gently return to physical sensations. Over time, this flipped the weighting I naturally place on thinking (with my head) versus feeling (with my body).

I’ve realised my tendency to go into my head is partly a self-soothing habit. Thinking feels comforting, but my ‘thinking mode’ tends to escalate things quickly. Starting with the body is different — feelings become physical sensations (a tightness in my chest, a constriction in my throat), which creates a more grounded entry point into processing them.

Lesson 2. How to stop watering my mental ‘weeds’

I paid close attention to the recurring thought patterns that caused me misery — jealousy, insecurity, sorrow. I started imagining them as ‘weeds’: thought patterns that multiply if they’re given sunlight and water. When particular memories gets conjured, the same emotions arise (annoyance, frustration), the same internal dialogue kicks in. Each time I revisit that loop, I reinforce it and the weeds grow — deepening the emotional charge and embedding it further.

These weeds survive because they’re fed by my reactions: rumination, emotional engagement, repeated storytelling. When I intentionally stopped feeding them as they came up over the ten days, their intensity weakened.

Lesson 3. How to observe discomfort without feeding it

Alongside getting practice in focusing on physical sensations, it was also practice in ‘not reacting’ to uncomfortable sensations. During three of our hour-long sessions each day, we had Sittings of Great Determination where are asked to not move. No opening eyes. No uncrossing legs.

We were taught to observe physical sensations that came up in our body, and to become more sensitive to changes in these sensations: itches, tingling, etc. I was amazed at how some sensations, after just ‘watching’ them for a while, would just pass. After a few days, I was able to sit for two hours, not moving (if you don’t count yawning; I yawned a lot).

Lesson 4. How to trust that pain will pass

I always knew, intellectually, that pain passes. What I didn't have was the body-level proof. I used to be someone who’d internally roll my eyes when friends said things like 'moods are like weather, they will pass.' When I'm in physical pain, or on the receiving end of heavy criticism, the last thing I want to hear is that it'll be fine eventually.

During the ten days — with nothing to do but eat, meditate, and walk — I watched moods and sensations arrive and dissolve, over and over. A desperate urge to scratch my face, gone within minutes. My 3pm anxiety, reliably uncomfortable, reliably over by bedtime. Eventually, my nervous system caught up with what my brain already knew. All of these things were impermanent.

Lesson 5. How to befriend boredom

On the fourth day, I was getting pretty agitated. The novelty of sitting for ten hours a day was wearing off and I could feel myself constantly thinking during each sitting: “when is this hour going to be over?”. When I completely surrendered to boredom and observed the physical sensations that came up (i.e. the ‘sensations of boredom’), all of a sudden it just became another flavour of physical sensation. Eventually, I stopped resisting it all together.

IV: Tangible impacts on my present life

Ten days is a long time, but also a very short time.

Ten days is enough time to learn the foundations of the practice, but not enough time to reap all the benefits of that practice. Whatever I learned would need to continue being practiced regularly after the ten days were over.

These are the daily practices I’ve implemented since coming back, and how they’ve benefitted me.

1. An hour of meditation: I meditate as soon as I wake up, usually between 5.50–6.50am. Mornings work best because no one needs my attention yet — evenings are harder to protect. Even on days I wake up feeling jittery, I finish the session feeling calm and surprisingly alert.

2. Eating and walking without my phone: During the course I found both more satisfying without the distraction of technology, so I've kept it up. I'm not perfect — I'll sometimes voice-transcribe into ChatGPT or take a call mid-walk — but I'm more present than I used to be.

3. Dropping into my body whenever discomfort arises: Every day, feelings like doubt or anxiety will creep in. My first move now is to locate the sensation physically — where is it sitting? What does it actually feel like? That shift alone makes hard emotions much easier to sit with and process.

V:Other miscellaneous observations

• Technology was not missed. Seeing my phone after ten days felt bizarre — just a very bright rectangle. I’d have stayed unplugged indefinitely if life allowed.

• Strict routine was surprisingly restful. The predictability of showing up at the same place and time each day was grounding — though I was ready to return to normal life by the end.

• Sitting stopped hurting. My tailbone ached for three days, then didn’t. Note: chairs are available for those who need them.

• The food was some of the best vegetarian cooking I’ve had — made by former participants who returned to volunteer.

• Nature <3. Uninterrupted 180-degree views across hills and open sky. My favourite image: 7am after rain, the sky purple and pink, clouds draped across the pastures like candy floss.

Parting thoughts

Showing up to do something for ten days will teach you a lot about what you’re capable of.

I love this quote from ’s recent piece Self-sabotage starts as self protection:

Experiential wisdom beats theoretical wisdom. Your body learns by doing, not by thinking about doing. And this doesn’t just apply to meditation — it applies to creative projects, health, relationships, anything you keep putting off.

You don’t need to sit cross-legged in silence for ten days. But give yourself a crack at the thing that feels scary. Send that LinkedIn message. Publish that reel. Tell your crush you think they’re cute.

I still get heebie-jeebies about starting a business — frequently. You don’t need to believe in yourself completely. You just need to show up. The rest tends to follow.

You got this :)

you’ve reached the fun photo section

🎵 something for the house/trance lovers

I listened to this YOUNA set on youtube whilst writing this. YOUNA is a South-Korean DJ I’ve been listening to a lot lately.

I am now on a silent meditation retreat for 10 days in the Blue Mountains where we don’t have access to digital devices.

As such, rather than sharing a live recount of the week, this letter is a time capsule from my time travelling solo in New Zealand last November. It’s an ode to being bold, being generous and a gentle nudge to just do the thing <3

If you’ve been an earlier reader, you may have seen glimpses of this piece before. I hope you enjoy reading it all the same :)

the ‘small moments’ to remember

This piece captures the small moments during travel that sparked feelings of joy and connection. They are the moments of surprise, love, and resonance I don’t want to forget, and ones I’ve taken with me on my journey of going all in on a creativity-centred career.

scones: a gateway for connection

Why have I chosen scones as my topic?

Scones - a humble baked good popular in countries including the UK, Ireland, Australia and NZ often served with jam and cream - I have discovered to be a gateway to connection whilst travelling.

For me, homemade scones have become somewhat of a metaphor - similar to how card games and sharing photos can be - you can just crack them out and they make a great conversation starter!

where the scone adventures began

It all began in Wanaka, a beautiful town in New Zealand’s South Island with views of snowcapped mountains (even in the summer). My solo travels in New Zealand had just begun.

When I’d arrived in my hostel’s communal kitchen, I looked at the oven and thought, “Dayum, that is a nice looking oven”.

I had a voice in my head say:

“Linda, you should bake scones”.

I’d never baked in a hostel before, but the setup was perfect. The hostel was right next to a supermarket where I could easily get ingredients, and the kitchen was fully stocked with not just a great oven, but also baking trays and measuring cups.

The people in the hostel had proven to be incredibly friendly - everyone from the staff, to the people I was sharing a dorm room with, and the girls who’d I’d just gone on a massive hike up Roys Peak with (shoutout to Lindsay, Michelle and Mia) - and I knew I’d get a lot of joy sharing some tasty homemade food with them.

a surprising level of scone enthusiasm

At first, I felt awkward making scone dough by myself in the hostel kitchen. And I also felt that same apprehensive thought whenever I make food for others, “I really hope others will want to eat this”. This feeling of awkwardness and apprehension I chose to embrace.

Thankfully, the inaugural batch of scones were met with a heartwarming wave of smiles and huge enthusiasm, including from a massive group of Danish girls, including two who were staying in my dorm (Alberthe and Sarah).

By the end of dinner time, there were still two scones left, and I went scouting for people who hadn’t had one yet. There was a girl and guy sitting outside on the deck seperate to everyone else playing cards. I’d seen them around but we were yet to exchange words.

The ways their eyes and faces lit up when I offered the scones was beautiful. The girl (Astrid) immediately asked “what’s your name?” and I ended up having a wonderful conversation with her and Fran (her partner). They told me about the Austrian ski slopes where they’d originally met, and also their plans for their South American travels.

From that day, I continued to make scones in every hostel I stayed at.

the summoning power of scones

My next stop was in Franz Josef (a town on the West Coast of New Zealand’s South Island).

During my first two nights there, I was dorm-mates with three lovely German guys - Jonas (on a gap year), and Tamino and Jonas (travelling on university break).

The four of us (along with another lady, Ani) had done a massive hike called Roberts Point Track together, and they’d generously shared all of their snacks and food with me. These included salt & vinegar crisps and oat/raisin cookies, which tasted delicious after a lot of rock scrambling.

The next day, I was glad I was able to share with them some homemade scones.

After I’d baked the scones, I’d peeped my head into our dorm, and when I saw they were awake I called out to them:

“Come out to the kitchen, boys! There are scones!!

It reminded me of times my work friend Steph would tell me “There’s cake in the kitchen!” and I would come running to the kitchen in search of the promised mid afternoon snack. Or when I was younger, when my mum would make steamed red bean buns and tell me “The buns are ready!” and I’d also come sprinting .

my lucky late night scones

My final stop in New Zealand was Queenstown.

I’d arrived at the hostel relatively late. I was yet to make a friend in this hostel and I was hopeful that making scones would be a good way to meet at least one new friend.

The time of the scone making - 8.30pm - was far from optimal.

It was way past most people’s dinner times. The dining room was positively empty. I counted less than five people that walked into the kitchen whilst I was making the dough.

But I thought: “even if I meet one person it’ll be worth it”.

After a few ghost-y interactions with people very much keeping to themselves, good luck struck. In walked a girl who looked like like a friendly face. Her name was Maddy.

When I asked her “Do you want a scone?”, she not only responded with an enthusiastic “I would love one!”, but also immediately started offering things to provide in return from her pantry box, including apples and oats! She also joined me in offering scones to other people.

We ended up spending the rest of the evening together (along with a guy from Melbourne, Josh, who she already knew) - chatting, playing a card game called Spoons, and playing guitar.

Maddy, with her incredibly kindness and curiosity, ended up being my first close friend in that hostel, and I’m so grateful she was there at the right place at the right time that evening.

Also, by no coincidence, it turned out that she’d already some of the wonderful friends I’d made in Wanaka, where the scone adventuring began! That’s the beauty of how small the NZ South Island is - you keep running into the same kind souls across different cities.

parting words

Follow your gut feeling to do the thing. I had the same nervous feeling before each scone making: “but what if people don’t eat them?”. But there was only way to find out, which was to bake the darn things! Each time, they were met by different levels of enthusiasm - but regardless, there was always at least one person who was very grateful to receive a scone. One girl I’d met in Queenstown, after having a cold and tiring evening told me “these have genuinely made me evening” 🥹

Not everyone will want you have to offer, but some people will like it, and others will really love it. A lesson translatable to many things, including. Job hunting. Dating. Starting a business. Some people responded with enthusiasm, some people less so. Not everyone wants a scone. But it’s not personal. They might be full with other food, or vegan (I’ll need to find a vegan alternative!), or trying to cut down on calories.

There is no perfect timing. Just bake them. Do the thing! And at least with scones - if not all of them get eaten - I’ve since discovered they reheat beautifully the next day.

This your nudge to go and make your version of “scones”.

:)

you’ve reached the fun photo section:

this week’s update: the storytelling agency is growing legs

It’s no longer just a vague idea - it’s real now 🤯 It’s been birthed into the world.

The storytelling agency is called felt - because it exists to create compelling content that isn’t just seen, but felt. In the landscape of AI slop and boring corporate fluff, I want to be telling stories through video that actually makes people feel things - inspired, humoured, curious.

There’s been good momentum this week:

• web infrastructure is set up: website and company email is up and running: you can out check out the website here felt.agency (you’re getting the preview, will launch publicly in April)

• made my intentions public: i presented my vision and goals for my storytelling agency to a room of ~50 folks. my housemate dan was very helpful in helping me prepare in my presentation in the uber en route. now it’s out in the world!

• first project proposal sent out to potential client (genuinely some of the most fun I’ve had making slides. turns out i actually do enjoy making slides when i get to make them whimsical and have full creative autonomy over the content. my friends who reviewed the deck said this deck is very linda-coded.

• energising conversations with other creatives: i had an awesome catchup with a new friend who makes reels for a major TV network. before this i’d never met anyone who made reels for a living. they exist!! omg

• manifested friend collaborations: the dream is to work with my incredibly talented creative friends. i feel so lucky to be able to look around at my close circle and think ‘holy shit ya’ll are cracked’.

thought of the week:‘good addiction’

I want to get addicted to the right things during this new business venture.

And by that I mean, thinking through ‘what do i want to get addicted to?”, and “how can I build a system that feeds that addiction?”

For me, the things I want to be addicted to are:

• adding a sh*t tonne of value for other people (i.e. being helpful)

• generosity and kindness

• fun filming adventures

• money

• building a whimsical community of talented kindred spirits

phrases i want to become my default

• how can i be of help to you?

• what you’re doing is awesome. what are your dreams/aspirations to take this further?

• you’re incredibly talented at X, you know that?

• i know a person who i think you should meet, do you want me to intro?

• let me just message my friend who might know something about that

• i would love if we got the chance to work together

• i want to see you win

actions i want to become my default

• asking for help in areas i’m weaker in

• generously giving my time and expertise in areas i’m strong in

• sharing trade secrets (no gatekeeping)

• celebrating successes of others as if they’re my own

• talking about money as if i were talking about the weather

i’m off for 10 days of silent meditation

There’s no talking and no eye contact 👀

I’ve had a couple of friends go on this meditation retreat in the Blue Mountains in previous years, and I figured whilst I’ve got the flexibility to take 10 days off, I’m going to do it.

You’ll still be hearing from me, though :)

I’ve pre-scheduled some fun pieces for the next two weeks. Spoiler alert: they will involve reflections and epiphanies from previous travel experiences that involve scones, and hyenas :)

parting words

This last week, it’s felt like I’ve been high. Why? Because I’m surrounded by people who want me to win, and I want them to win. Every day is filled with micro-celebrations and warm-and-fuzzy moments.

I haven’t always been this way. I really had to fake it til i made it. I still have many insecurities, and in the past, these insecurities have often hindered generosity to others.

Surround yourself with generous optimists. And be one yourself. Even if you have to fake that generous optimism for a while. Even if you find that optimistic energy super annoying to begin with.

It does pay off, I promise.

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for being here today, it genuinely means a lot. See you next week.

With love.

Linda 💗

you’ve reached the fun photo section

a reminder to just shoot your shot⤵️

There’s this classic trope:

Turn your passion into work and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.

Well, buckle up! Because I’m about to give you a front row seat into how that’s going (a month in).

Some context for newer readers: I left my stable consulting job to go all-in on making a living doing creative things I love. I’m currently building a storytelling agency for businesses who want human-centred content that isn’t just seen, but felt. It's not live yet, but it's coming - stay tuned 👀

Today I’ll be covering:

1. My word of the week: Focus

2. My new experiments-based goals for March

3. Lessons from building in public

1. My word of the week: Focus

The past few weeks have felt like a fragmentation of focus. My brain has been pulled in many different directions — and I’m someone who likes to hyperfocus on one thing at a time. Whenever my attention is split between 3-4 different things in a given workday, I begin to struggle.

A good problem to have — but still a problem.

Two things collided at once:

• Many of my current tasks are new — website building, sales calls, replying to a high volume of inbound DMs — none of which were part of my original February experiments.

• My routine and task system haven’t caught up. I built them around February’s goals, so I’ve constantly felt like I’m running out of time.

The fix: a reset of my monthly goals, grounded back in the north star and pillars I drafted for my life (not just my work) for 2026. It reminds me to anchor everything in authenticity and intentionality, and that I’m building a life, not just a business. If you’re curious to hear more about my north star and its underlying pillars check out my previous piece: ‘Let’s see what happens in 2026’.

2. My new experiment-based goals for March

Every goal I set follows the same logic: it’s experimental (I do it to learn, not to nail it), input-based (it’s within my control — I just have to show up), and and I feel intrinsic motivation to do these tasks.

You’ll notice that compared to February, there is a lot more going on in March. I suspect over the next few weeks, I’ll need to cull a few goals. At

My productivity fluctuates a lot day to day. Naturally, so does my motivation for what I'm doing and building. Having consistent input-based goals that excite me is the key to keeping me grounded.

A bit more about each goal

• Clear my inbox and update my CRM daily: trying to build a habit of doing this so it doesn’t build up

• Contract work: part-time work that can support me financially while I build.

• Reel videos: story-based reel videos are my bread-and-butter. It’s the type of marketing content I find the most fun to film + where most of my inbound comes from.

• 1:1 consultations: at the moment, I’m largely helping friends and friends-with-friends who want guidance on making reels/career pivots. I find this very energising!

• Project proposals: for more formal leads, I scope a project and put together a pitch deck.

• Substack articles: this series. Documenting the journey in real time, for anyone curious about the journey of building something alongside regular life.

• LinkedIn posts: building in public, baby!

• Reachouts: the further I go, the more I realise I need targeted help from people who've done this before.

• Youtube videos: whilst its not a core focus, I want a medium for me to capture more detailed “building in public” updates. It’s also a fun playground to practice colour grading, storytelling, and motion graphics.

Goals I’ve intentionally deprioritised

I can’t wait til I have time to do these things, too 🥹

• Growing my public Instagram : @its.lindazhang is now largely just an experimental playground where I post videos for fun.

• Growing my YouTube channel: later on, I’d love to post more frequent videos.

• Coaching sessions: down the line, I’d love to help individuals who want to pursue non-linear careers do just that.

• ‘Cozywork project’: interviewing people who love the work they do and have found ways to make it cozy, whether through their workflows, office setups, or the nature of the work itself

• Starting a podcast

3. Learnings from ‘building in public’

Differentiate between real and imaginary pressure

I spent a lot of the past few weeks manufacturing urgency that wasn't real. Hit $20K MRR in 2 months. Launch the website by March. Cover my run-rate ASAP. These sounded like goals, but when I pressure-tested them, they were mostly about proving something to an imaginary audience. When I reminded myself that literally no one is watching that closely, it helped me re-prioritise what actually matters.

The feeling of ‘not feeling ready’ doesn’t go away

I have a constant feeling of "I'm not ready to do that yet" — whether that's sending pitch decks to potential clients or giving marketing advice. But consistently, when I just do the thing, I realise I was ready. There's something liberating about acting while things still feel internally undercooked. It's the fastest way to find out what actually sticks — for the audience, and for me.

Verbalise goals, no matter how cheesy they sound

There's something about naming the thing that makes it real. When I said out loud that I wanted to make a living making videos, inbound leads for paid opportunities started coming in — because people knew what I was looking for and could send relevant things my way.

CCTV yourself (as needed)

A friend and I started live-tracking every activity we do. In practice: (1) time block in advance in the calendar, (2) adjust those blocks to reflect how long things actually took, (3) feed the data back into Claude to spot where time could be used more optimally. For someone where time-boxing is a learned skill rather than a natural instinct, this has been genuinely grounding.

An ask to you

For the next few months, I’m looking for a part-time/contract role to do alongside building a storytelling agency.

My current love language is warm intros, so if you or anyone in your network might be looking for a linda-shaped hire, please send me a DM on Linkedin :)

Parting words

Slow weeks that feel less productive, like the one I’ve just had, are normal. I’ve often found that these weeks — as frustrating as they can feel — provide the impetus to restructure and realign. It is possible to have slow, sustainable growth in specific areas of work (e.g., building routines), whilst staying rapid and nimble in others (e.g., editing video content).

It’s so easy to get caught up in trying to match the pace at which others are building. But in reality, you’re not just building a business (or a habit, or a passion project, etc). You’re also doing life alongside it. And that ‘you’-shaped life is one that will inevitably look different to everyone else’s.

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for joining me here, it genuinely means a lot. See you in a few days.

With love.

Linda 💗

you’ve reached the fun picture section

People are asking me for reel-making advice. Whaaat? 👀

Ever since I started posting reels on LinkedIn, friends and friends-of-friends have starting asking me for help on making reels and general marketing advice.

This week, an engineer who makes miniature pottery wheels asked me for advice on storytelling:

Then, my friend, a published author, asked me a similar thing:

And then it happened a few more times.

This took me by surprise.

Why was I surprised?

Probably because I'd always assumed there was some correlation between time doing something and being seen as good at it. Two weeks felt too soon.

But sitting with it, I realised I'd spent years consuming content, obsessing over good storytelling, and making videos quietly for friends and myself.

As a byproduct, thinking about what makes a story compelling had become second nature. I just hadn't thought of it as a skill until someone else did.

February in a nutshell

Here’s the high level play-by play:

Feb 12th: I published a LinkedIn post saying I was going all in on creative work. That post gave me the courage to actually do it.

Feb 13: I messaged Akshat, the founder of arrayah, the hacker house and accelerator I've started making content for. arrayah has become a creative playground for me. There’s so many interesting stories to tell, and so much intelligence and ambition in one place.

Feb 19: I made a public instagram @its.lindazhang as a home for my short-form creations. Another creative playground!

Feb 20 and 22: My first time ever doing event photography. Also my first time using a camera (with a proper removable lens) after a decade of phone photography.

And throughout all of this, I've had a dozen (very helpful) conversations with people I reached out to intentionally, mostly people who run their own businesses. I'd love to share the lessons from those conversations another time.

What March looks like

The non-negotiables

Start making money (I gave myself until end of March to live on savings). Contracting gigs, here I come (and ideally in something video adjacent).

Away time: A writing retreat run by my friend (planning to do a combo of video editing/writing) , a weekend camping trip, and a 10-day silent meditation retreat in the Blue Mountains.

Long-form content: Hello, youtube era. This has been a dream of mine for so long. A few friends have nudged me in this direction. I’m excited to start capturing stories in more detail.

Other things I’m considering (I wish I had more time!)

Learning motion graphics (animation that brings graphic design, text and 3D elements to life through movement)

The ‘cozywork project’: interviewing people who love the work they do and have found ways to make it cozy, whether through their workflows, office setups, or the nature of the work itself. I bought the domain cozywork.co on an impulsive whim, 🤭

Podcasting: I love asking people about their stories, and helping those stories shine. Potential overlap with ‘cozywork’ above?

Packaging up storytelling advice: tips and inspiration for people who want to make more compelling content.

The best and most humbling parts of February

The best:

The beginner learning curve. At the start, the gains are wild and learning feels addictive. So many firsts this month: video editing on Davinci Resolve (a desktop editing software), event photography, using Lightroom for the first time.

Event photography. I love events with lots of subjects and varying lighting. And lowkey — I love photographer privileges. You get to move wherever you want and see everything from every angle.

Making fun videos with my friends. I feel like a kid again filming at arrayah.

Sleeping better. The consistent 3:30am scaries have simmered down to the occasional 4:30am wake-up. .

The most humbling

Some videos just don’t excite me. If it’s not a person or a product I care about, the energy isn’t there — it becomes draining rather than energising. It’s good to know this about myself.

My style is pretty specific. I’m not particularly motivated by virality — brainstorming viral hooks doesn’t light me up. Which makes me wonder how I’d go in a pure marketing or growth role. Potential experiment: make some intentionally viral reels and see how I feel?

The chip on my shoulder I forgot I had. Being surrounded by technical engineers in a hacker house brought something back up — a feeling I hadn’t clocked since uni studying computer science. I’ve been on a decade-long journey of recognising that what I do well is equally as valuable, even if it’s “less technical” or more based on “soft skills”.

I still have no idea where this is leading to. But I’ve been assured by people who’ve been doing this long enough that this is completely normal. :P

A parting thought

The best piece of advice I received this month came from someone who runs a successful social media agency. Out of everything he shared, this is what stuck:

So much of this past month has been exactly that — having an idea and moving on it quickly. When I messaged Akshat the day after publishing my LinkedIn post, that five-minute message changed the trajectory of the entire month.

If there's an idea you're excited about, take the first step — even a tiny one. The world wants to see it.

If you’ve read up til here, thank you for joining me in this space, it genuinely means a lot. See you in a week.

With love.

Linda 💗

you’ve reached the fun picture section =)

This is week #1 of a weekly series where I’ll be sharing the vulnerable and real-time journey of someone trying to build a creativity-centred career. In 2026, I’m living this out through month-long experimental sprints. You can read more about my thought process on ‘going all in on creative work’ during last week’s piece here.

Hot off the press update:

I’ve joined arrayah as resident filmmaker! arrayah is a collection of beautiful physical spaces across Australia for founders, musicians, artists, filmmakers, and creators to live and work alongside one another and create full-time. I'll be capturing and telling the stories of some of these incredible folks. Stay tuned!

Fear tells us what we care about

My body sure knows what’s up.

For the past two weeks, I’ve been waking up at 3:30/4:00am (despite my alarm being set for 6:30am), and have rarely been able to fall back asleep. I wake up with a mix of fear, excitement (and tiredness).

I also have lots of thoughts. An example of a 3:30am stream-of-consciousness:

“Yippee I get to do the thing I want” → “People will think I’m delusional” → “It doesn’t matter what others think” → “Oooh I have a video idea, let’s write it down” → “I’ve actually committed to this, what if it doesn’t work out” → “Well at least you would’ve tried”…

…and so on and so forth. If you also have a hyperactive mind, I see you 👀

After a few days of this happening, during one of these 3:30ams, I stopped trying to resist this pattern. Rather, I chose to accept it. I’d already tried every permutation of mindfulness/sleep hygiene routine to no avail.

So, sleepy-eyed, during one of these 3:30am wakeups, in the dark, I sat up.

I put my hands over my heart, closed my eyes, and concentrated on that feeling in my chest. I could feel the warm pressure of my palm on my rising breath. I asked myself a series of questions:

Where do I feel this feeling? I feel it in my chest.

When did I first feel this feeling? When I was six or seven, and I first (consciously) discovered a love of creating things. However, this was something that felt secretive, that I couldn’t share.

What is this feeling trying to tell me? That it’s terrified of going after something I really want and it not working out.

And then, I spoke to myself with as much kindness and compassion I could muster.

Look, what you’re doing IS terrifying, it’s not meant to be easy. But just know that you have me. I will be here with you, every step of the way.

Your job isn’t to not-be-scared. Your job is to show up DESPITE being scared.

You have surrounded yourself with people who support you, who SEE you, who believe in you. I believe in you, too. I am your biggest champion.

Being honest about what I actually want

For the last few weeks, I kept softening it:

“I want to experiment with my creativity,” I’d say to myself and others.

And sure, I’d been doing that all of 2025—deliberately trying out video, writing, and digital drawing to see what felt most energising.

But here’s what I’m actually admitting I want:

I want to make a living doing something creative.

It scares me to say it out loud because it feels so binary. Either it works, or it doesn’t.

But here’s what I keep reminding myself: it’s not actually binary.

And the outcome isn’t where I should anchor my self-worth. I can’t control whether it “works”. I can only control showing up, trusting the process, and backing myself. That’s the part I’m responsible for.

What I’ve learned this week

Each week I reach out to 5 people I admire who are masters in their craft or building something cool. These are some of the nuggets they shared:

1. In the beginning, be willing to do work for free/quite little, but in return ask for feedback. The beauty of being a beginner is that you can be explicit with others that you're still learning. A video I made on embracing being a beginner again:

2. Build in public to increase your surface area for luck. You never know the value that people might get from what you have to share, until you share it.

3. Show up consistently. Be consistent in asking for help, in turning up to do the work, in putting stuff out in the world. You cannot control people’s reactions, but you can control the input you put in

4. Minimise the amount of time between thought and creation. Once you have an idea, make it a reality in the fastest, cheapest way possible. That is how you can test and learn to see what works.

If you've read up til this point, I appreciate you being here. I hope you feel just a little bit braver to 'do the thing' you want to do.

With love.

Linda 💗

You’ve reached the fun photo section

I’m now on a sabbatical, taking time to pursue creative work.

What I’ll cover in this piece:

1. Lessons from the past 2.5 years at an innovation fund

2. What inspired this sabbatical

3. My intentions for this year

4. My support structures

#1. Lessons from the past 2.5 years at an innovation fund

I spent my last work chapter at ARENA - an innovation fund that’s supported more than 800 projects with over $3 billion in grants - working on everything from shaping new investment areas to running Board strategy workshops, in areas across solar, batteries, mining, electricity grids, and much more. I got to see how government innovation funding actually works—from the messy reality of tech commercialisation to the hidden complexity of policy-making.

This chapter was an incredible education in the world of deep-tech, funding ecosystems, and global policy.

Here are five core lessons that will stick with me:

It’s bloody hard to commercialise deep-tech

One of my most memorable days at ARENA was driving out to Goorambat with the Luminous Robotics team to watch their robots install solar panels. Standing in the middle of a solar farm, surrounded by enormous rows of panels stretching into the distance, I could touch the technology. I could see the work that goes into trial deployments before you can scale, the hurdles they had to overcome.

Deep-tech innovation often has a catch-22: potential customers need to see market traction before they feel safe adopting new tech, but for technology to gain traction, it needs paying customers. This contributes to what is often referred to as the ‘valley of death’—the gap between early-stage funding and the capital needed to scale up and build first-of-a-kind commercial projects.

Learn from what others have done

ARENA opened my eyes to the global ecosystem of collaboration in climate tech. We constantly looked at how other countries designed their electricity grids, policy frameworks, and accelerators. There was always someone, somewhere who’s either thought about or tackled the same problems we were facing.

This meant often just cold-messaging folks and asking for intros. For example, we talked to folks running programs like CalTestBed in California who provide clean energy entrepreneurs with access to world-class testing facilities, helping expedite their pathway to commercialisation. Then, when it came to running our inaugural global innovation challenge in 2024 in collaboration with Greenhouse and ThinkPlace, we leveraged ideas from all around the world to pull in the best innovation practices.

Get comfortable with making decisions alongside uncertainty

The future is radically and increasingly uncertain. When working with pre-commercial technologies, we were constantly working with the ‘best available’ forecasts for projected costs, market behaviour, and policy changes. For example, given the exponential increase in AI adoption, we watched projections for 2030 data centre electricity usage multiply over the course of a single year.

Being surrounded by uncertainty taught me to get comfortable proceeding despite moving goalposts. This often meant choosing to invest in technologies that weren’t yet ‘bankable’ while identifying future touch-points to revisit assumptions.

Hold space for multiple perspectives

My time in strategy roles drilled into me to always have a defensible perspective—to show that robust analysis and research were behind the recommendations I made. For example, before every interaction with Board and senior leadership, we would prepare for potential questions ahead of time. Every deck or Board paper had been looked at from five angles.

But renewable energy, like an increasing number of topics, is becoming increasingly politicised, with people holding strong and often conflicting opinions. I used to feel uncomfortable when someone would ask questions like “So what do you think about nuclear?” because I felt put on the spot to be an expert.

However, over time, I realised that my job wasn’t to convince people or have all the answers. It was to present a thoughtful perspective that acknowledged complexity and trade-offs. I learned that holding space for multiple viewpoints—and being transparent about where I had uncertainty—was just as valuable as having a point of view.

Skilful facilitation is underrated

I was lucky to be in many rooms where I saw decisions being made. Many of these were when opinions ran hot and there seemed to be an absence of consensus. Multiple Board workshops and countless leadership steering committees taught me that the ‘soft skill’ of facilitation is in fact a hard skill.

I found good facilitation to be composed of two parts:

What happens beforehand: The structure you put in place ahead of a session. A good agenda answers (1) the why—people need to know why they’re there, and (2) the what—what outputs are expected.

What happens during: Knowing how to field questions in a way that allows core decisions to still be discussed while allowing people to feel heard and ensuring their questions will be addressed.

Structure is a secret weapon, but it needs to be paired with someone who can think on their feet. Lowkey, this is why I started taking improv classes.

#2. The pull towards creative work

There’s no surprise that working in an innovation fund, surrounded by new ideas, would spark curiosity into new areas. During my time at ARENA, through the sheer variety of projects and people I worked with, and feedback from others, I began developing a much stronger intuition about (1) What gave me energy, and (2) Where my natural strengths lay.

Three themes have repeatedly come up, not just at ARENA, but throughout my personal and professional life:

• Creating/ building - I love making new things, bringing things that didn’t exist into the world, especially if they can inspire wonder or curiosity in others. When I was at ARENA, I started a newsletter called Energy Untangled. What started as a side hobby became the project which gave me the most energy each week. I loved taking complex climate and energy topics and making them simple and compelling. And 130 people subscribed, so it turns out it was pretty helpful to others, too!

• Storytelling - I love stories as a way of conveying ideas, and being able to capture moments or journeys. One of my favourite personal projects of 2025 was the documentary of my friend Heidi’s 100km Ultra-Trail in the Blue Mountains. I edited the entire thing on my phone in one sitting.

• Empathy / curiosity - I love talking to people, hearing their stories, understanding their perspectives, asking questions. E.g., when I worked at Atlassian, I really enjoyed conducting user experience interviews where I’d ask customers how and why they used certain products.

Understanding these things about myself, at the beginning of 2025 I rearranged my entire weekly schedule to protect a 'creativity timeblock' in my workdays. I started going to bed at 9pm and waking up at 5:30am so that I could go to the gym and then have an hour of creative time' before starting my actual work day. It became my favourite part of the day and gave me so much energy. When I skipped this block, I felt like something was missing in my day.

Through the consistency of showing up for my creative self, I became a lot more comfortable creating content and got a sense of what my creative 'voice' was. I enjoyed making things that felt authentic, and even more-so if it added value for others.

#3. My intentions for 2026

The ‘What’: Honing my Zone of Genius

In “The Big Leap” by Gay Hendricks, there’s a framework called the Zone of Genius. In the Zone of Genius, you are doing work that you love so much that it doesn’t seem like work anymore. You do the work in your own unique way and bring your unique touch to it. This is how I feel when I’m writing, video editing, or iterating on a product design.

There’s another zone: The Zone of Excellence. When you’re there, you are doing something that you do this better than most people, but it doesn’t fulfil you in the same way as your Zone of Genius. This is how I felt about my work in management consulting.

During my last few years in management consulting and strategy roles, I didn’t have a lot of time to cultivate things in my ‘zone of genius’. Take video editing, for instance. I enjoy it, I’m above average compared to most, but I haven’t put in the thousands of hours, that others have, to cultivate the craft.

As such, this sabbatical is an opportunity for me to take a chance on myself, and go all in on cultivating these zone of genius activities. I’ll dedicate time, intention, and attention to them.

The ‘How’: An experiment-led approach

During this sabbatical, I’m taking an experiment-led approach with input-based rather than output-based goals. I’ve found Ali Abdaal’s ‘NICE’ goals framework quite helpful. The goals are (N)ear-term, (I)nput-based, (C)ontrollable and (E)nergising.

These are the goals I’m committing to (in February)

• Weekly videos: I publish on LinkedIn and my YouTube channel with the main goal of getting better at video editing and storytelling. This is a forcing function to help me experiment with new styles and ramp up on editing skills (right now I’m using the software DaVinci Resolve).

• Weekly writing on this newsletter. In addition to writing about what’s sparking my curiosity, I’ll share progress, as well as lessons about what's working and what's not.

• Reaching out to 5 people I admire each week to learn from their paths. They’re either masters at crafts that I want to improve in (e.g., facilitation, coaching, film-making), or have built things that I find remarkable (e.g., businesses, products). In all these conversations, I have my ‘beginner hat’ on, and am trying to soak in as much advice and wisdom as I can. So far, all my conversations have been a mix of eye-opening, informative and inspiring, or all three.

At the end of February (and each subsequent month) I'll do a retrospective and decide what to pivot, double down on, or stop based on what's energising me, skills I'm developing.

#4. My support structures

To keep me grounded during this sabbatical, I've built practical support structures. These include:

A financial plan

I feel incredibly fortunate to have my current degrees of freedom. This is a privilege. I don't have a mortgage and I'm not supporting anyone else financially. I have a clear picture of my monthly expenses and what I need to cover. I’ve set myself a cash runway until the end of March, at which point I'll start actively looking for aligned contract work or a full-time role if the right opportunity comes up. Come March, I'll also begin testing ways I can monetise my creative work through offering services or products.

Accountability

To keep myself accountable, I’ve built structures with friends on similar journeys.

First, I have a daily 9am “sabbatical standup” —a group of creatives who are all doing some mix of contracting, passion projects, and interviewing for roles. During the standup, debrief on what we did yesterday and what we’ll do that day. We act as each other’s sounding boards and accountability partners.

Second, I also have a weekly goal check-in with my friend Maja for more in-depth discussion on what’s working/what’s not, and progress updates on the week as a whole.

Likeminded peers

I’ve grown so much from surrounding myself with people who are also growing in their crafts - people who are equally excited about building, creating, and connecting. Growing community hubs in Sydney like Arrayah have created intentional spaces, such as hackerhouses and accelerators where people can build things they’re deeply passionate about. My friend Marlene managed to write 50,000 words in three weeks in their last accelerator (what a machine!).

I’ve also noticed a shift towards self-employed friends co-working together in the same space, and community-centred sharehouses which host events like writing afternoons, music jam sessions and book clubs. After the post-COVID dip in social gatherings, I’m super excited to see this resurgence!

If you’ve read up til this point, thank you for being here. I’m grateful to have you here. I look forward to taking you on this journey with me!

With love.

Linda 💗

You’ve reached the photo section :)

For the more visually-inclined - here are some fun photos from my time at ARENA…

It sounds excessive, I know. But this messy, unglamorous spreadsheet became the mirror I needed to see myself clearly - not the version I wanted to be, but the version I actually was. It showed me patterns I couldn’t ignore anymore - patterns that gave me the clarity and direction I needed to design my 2026 differently.

Part 1: The spreadsheet

I hadn’t found a tool that combined all the types of data I wanted to track in my daily life - mood, thought patterns, a journal of what energised and drained me, menstrual cycle symptoms, anxiety symptoms (like chest tightness). So I cobbled it all together into one massive spreadsheet.

What it looks like

Some examples of things I wrote (verbatim):

“Craving sweet things - I really want to eat CHOCOLATE. I ate a matcha chocolate cookie, then 3 plums”

“Lack of sleep. My sleep was interrupted (3am wakeup) and then I read for a bit then went back to bed before waking again at 7ish. I probably got like 5.5-6hrs all up?”

“Grappling with feelings of jealousy and navigating them in a way that serves my future self well”

“Messaging [friend] made me very happy- she is so sincere in her encouragement, her curiosity and her joy - she’s been asking me about my videos and it feels so nice to have her as a cheerleader in my camp”.

“At 9.15pm I went down a negative spiral thinking about my time at [place], where I never really felt like I fit in”.

“Feeling drained by [person] ignoring me lol. I’ve noticed this over the last 2 months where she doesn’t look at me or greet me like she used to”.

Why I started and stuck with it

I started recording observations on this spreadsheet because I was tired of my days being hijacked by things I couldn’t name. Some days, a single message from a friend would light me up for hours. Other days, one small comment would send me spiralling by evening.

I wanted to understand the patterns so I could design my life around what actually worked for me - not squeeze myself into someone else’s blueprint. A custom build, not a cookie-cutter life.

What started as energy tracking evolved into something deeper. I began noticing recurring thought patterns - the same struggles appearing over and over. So I added columns for things I was grappling with, mental scripts running through my head, lessons learned, wins to celebrate.

I wanted to observe myself with curiosity, not so different to how a biologist would track and study an animal or a plant - observing patterns, seeing outlier behaviours, connecting dots. To take my ego out of the picture and just look at me. My behaviours. My humanness.

Part 2: What I discovered

At the end of 2025, I sat down and spent a couple of days reading through all 281 rows (at this point it was still December, so we hadn’t hit 315 yet). I synthesised forty-three thousand words of raw data into a document with themes like ‘Sources of emotional safety and comfort’, ‘Days where I felt like I was floating’, ‘My biggest insecurities and triggers’, and many more.

The evidence I couldn’t argue with

I couldn’t argue with the data. The same patterns, circling back month after month. The same fears. The same beautiful micro-interactions that made me smile.

I’d been vaguely aware of these patterns for years. But now I had proof I couldn’t dismiss or rationalise away.

Two things became clear:

1. The parts which no longer served me

Insecurities that I projected onto others. Remnant childhood experiences that made me freeze up in situations that really weren’t dangerous. Big emotions that I felt internally but didn’t show externally.

I’d dug up some old diaries from early adulthood and noticed similar thought patterns from years ago. Some of the same negative scripts were still there, playing on repeat.

I kept thinking about that quote:

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results.”

Here’s what I’ve come to realise: my body and mind became comfortable with these old patterns. Identifying with “this stuff makes me anxious” or “this stuff makes me jealous” had become familiar parts of how I saw myself.

I was carrying blind spots I couldn’t see just living day to day. I liked to believe I was living with full agency, but the data showed me how, in quiet ways, I was still being shaped by my past - sometimes without even realising it.

2. The parts which were already thriving

I was also given an appreciation for how much love I had in my life. How much kindness was present all around me. How many compassionate and loving humans I was so lucky to coexist alongside.

It reminded me that while I was wrestling with negative patterns, I’d also built deep friendships, found a beautiful community of like-minded people, managed to stick to daily exercise for over a year, and leant into my creative passions. The data also showed me the things that gave me flow and resulted in days where I felt like I was floating: movement, laughter, creating, solo journalling.

The part of me that needed healing was just one part - I had so many other parts that were already thriving.

Sitting with what I’d learned

I sat with these discoveries for a few days. Things came into sharper focus. I began to imagine what an integrated life looked like - letting go of past patterns while uplifting the things that already made my life rich.

Part 3: Taking action

Around the time of this reflection, I was in a (privileged) spot where I had the emotional capacity and time to act. The spreadsheet gave me clear indicators of things to change.

What change actually looked like

I re-started therapy with very clear intentions and goals based on the data I’d tracked. For the first time, I wasn’t walking in with vague feelings - I had specific emotional and physical patterns to work on.

These flowed naturally into what I wanted 2026 to look like: a north star (”heal by doing”), three pillars (courage in creation, connection, and self-love), and concrete experiments to run in monthly ‘sprints’.

Part 4: What courage looks like in practice

Whenever I’m given opportunities to sit with discomfort - my feelings of anxiety, my urge to run from hard conversations - I take that opportunity. Because the only way through discomfort is, well, through it.

Courage now means having conversations that involve uncomfortable feelings. Sitting with my fight-or-flight responses and practising self-regulation when old patterns try to take over. Being honest about my goals with friends who want to know the actual me - not just the safe, palatable version.

The reflection isn’t always pretty

It’s not easy, because we’ll all find things that aren’t palatable to say out loud. Jealousy. Insecurity. Resentment. But once I say them out loud, they become a lot easier to manage. Because like happiness, sadness, and curiosity - they’re all just parts of the human experience.

Learning to talk to my gremlins

These gremlins in my brain and body - like anxiety - are trying to protect me. At one point in my life, they did. But now, when they become activated, I need to reassure them that things are okay. That I’m no longer in danger. Eventually they begin to trust my ‘adult brain’.

I found a TEDx talk called “How to talk to the worst parts of yourself” by Karen Faith that helped me a lot with this. She lets the different parts of herself talk, and she reassures them they'll all get a turn but they need to be respectful to each other. That's what I'm learning to do, too.

Part 5: What I’m still learning

The spreadsheet did its job, right? It gave me more than enough life homework for 2026.

But here’s the thing - I’m still filling it out. Because I’m still learning new things. There are so many small everyday moments that give me joy, and I love tracking those. New negative thought patterns still crop up, and it helps to see them clearly.

Yes, it’s time-consuming, and it isn’t something I can always get around to - but similar to exercise and making my bed, it’s become part of my morning routine now.

I’m learning compassion for my past self - for the way I acted and made decisions - and also marvelling at how I found creative workarounds to cope and manage.

I’m learning to be grateful for a hyperactive brain overspilling with thoughts, because on some days it gives me anxiety but on others it makes idea generation and drafting storylines in my head a breeze.

Most importantly, I’m learning that maybe the point isn’t to “fix” myself and then start living. Life is happening now. The small moments of joy, the deep friendships, the morning matcha, the gym sessions - they’re not rewards for getting better. They’re just... life.

My Frankenstein Excel is quite unwieldy, but it’s been life-changing for me. And if you, my dear reader, have found a system of reflection that works for you, I’d genuinely love to hear about it.

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for being here. It means a lot.

With love.

Linda 💗

What’s been happening these last two years?

Quite a bit! After leaving my job at Bain, I lectured at the University of Sydney, worked in renewables strategy, started a climate-tech blog, made videos, finally did my first pull-up and pistol squat, and met wonderful humans who’ve helped me flourish.

But the biggest shift? Getting genuinely curious about how my brain works instead of wishing it worked differently. I've built systems to observe my patterns in thinking and operating. This includes an Excel spreadsheet tracking on a daily basis what energises and drains me (over 300 days now!), a Notion database for random thoughts (which I treat as a second brain), and lots of journaling.

Recently, a few friends and I had our annual “Life Strategy Day.” It’s a day where we each share our dreams and goals for the year. Everyone’s intentions are wildly different, but we all share something: kindness, curiosity, ambition, and creativity. After observing patterns in my thinking and my experiences over the past year, I decided on this year’s theme: courage.

Why ‘courage’?

The past year was huge for finding my creative voice. My friends were so encouraging, and I pushed through the immense discomfort of putting myself out there. I published videos and articles, had conversations that scared me, worked through really tough feelings, and—perhaps hardest of all—got better at asking for help.

It turns out it deeply rewarding to be consistently pushing myself to the edge of my comfort zone (with in-between periods of being a potato, of course). So I'm doubling down.

My north star for 2026:

Heal through doing. Show up courageously every day—creating fearlessly, connecting vulnerably, loving fully. Work with my nervous system: lean into divergent thinking, design creative workarounds, build the support I need to succeed. When I show up as my fullest and bravest self, abundance finds me.

My three underlying pillars:

1. Courage in creation – making things even if it scares me, sharing work boldly even when it feels vulnerable, trusting the world is ready to receive it

2. Courage in connection – showing up vulnerably in relationships, initiating hard conversations, loving generously, asking for what I need

3. Courage in self-love – treating myself with the compassion I give others, working with my brain instead of against it, healing by showing up (not waiting for perfection)

What I’m experimenting with this quarter:

Experiments have been a fun way for me (and others in my life) to be ambitious without being wedded to rigid, linear goals. There’s so much delight in learning new things about oneself through rapid experimentation.

There are three experiments I'm running this quarter that align with my north star and three pillars. And critically, they all require me to work my courage muscle.

Each experiment has a clear decision point at the end of each month: each experiment either iterates or graduates. What matters most is showing up consistently—the learning comes from the doing, especially when it's hard.

Experiment 1: Video storytelling

Filming and publishing weekly interviews with founders, operators and other sparkly individuals. The goal is to level up my video editing skills while exploring what drives people to build and do things.

Experiment 2: Learning from people I admire

Reaching out to people whose work or path intrigues me - e.g., coaches, creators, founders - to understand their stories and what motivated their choices.

Experiment 3: Writing in public

One article per week about whatever’s on my mind - creativity, mental health, these experiments themselves, or wherever curiosity takes me.

What you can expect from my writing this year:

• Curiosity wormholes – deep dives on human relationships, mental health, food, music, or whatever I happen to be obsessed with that week

• Evolving thoughts – writing as thinking, letting ideas surface, being okay with changing my mind. As my friend Maja says, “writing is a process of thinking...by releasing your thoughts, you see what surfaces”

• Real-time experiments – what’s working, what’s flopping, what I’m learning in the process

• Possible tangents into new blogs or projects (I’ll link them if that happens)

I’m embarking on a new chapter and I’m delighted to take you along. If anything resonates, I’d genuinely love to hear from you!

If you’re reading this, I’m very grateful you’re here.

With love.

Linda 💗

You have reached the fun picture section

Here are some things that have been filling my cup…

Happy 2024! After a long hiatus, I am back writing again.

What’s happened since my last post?

• I went travelling: As part of my half-year career break, I had my first solo backpacking trip that spanned 10 weeks and 11 countries.

• I started two new roles: one in the Climate space at ARENA and another lecturing at the University of Sydney.

• I started prioritising my physical health: I’ve gotten back into bouldering, swimming, and netball, and am loving every minute of it!

  

I want to start talking about work, and here’s why

A quick trip down memory lane:

When I first became 14 (i.e. legal working age in Australia), I had no idea where to start. I remember handing out my resume to local cafes asking if I could get work experience (in my head, a cafe seemed like the logical place to start to begin working), being rejected by everyone I asked, and feeling demoralised. I had no connections, no mentors, no family members who’d worked in “professional services”, and certainly had no concept of what a future “job” could look like.

What’s the significance of this story?

I’ve gone from knowing basically nothing about navigating the working world, to knowing a lot. I didn’t come to this realisation until recently, when I was delivering lectures to first-year uni students at USYD and had answers to their questions about career, networking, and interviews.

I want to share what I’ve learned over the last 12 years. During high school and university, I didn’t stop working. I did 20+ part-time jobs/internships/volunteer gigs at all sorts of places, 200+ hours of interview prep, and I’ve had my fair share of burnout and emotional rollercoasters associated with work.

Key mindset shifts I’ve had about work

• Work doesn’t define you. I used to be hesitant about talking about career because I didn’t want it to be my defining aspect. I hated people asking “What do you do for work?”. But now I more greatly appreciate how work can be so tightly linked to mental health, financial independence, and what you’re enabled to do in your spare time.

• Money should not be taboo. Only in the past year have I begun talking to my friends about money. Growing up, I was told to “never talk about finances outside the home”, but money is what gives us the freedom to do the things we love and support those we care about.

• You are not your job. When I was working in consulting, the reaction I’d get quite often was “Consulting is terrible”. But the ironic thing is that my consulting job got me my current job in the Climate space, to which the common reaction is “Wow, what a great cause”. I’m still the same person, I just do a different job now.

What’s to come

My next few posts are going to be centred around things I wish I’d known around work, career and money, and the lessons I’ve learned along my own career journey. I can’t wait to share more over the coming weeks and months.

Here’s to a great year ahead,
Linda

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A BIG THANK YOU: I made this blog only two weeks ago, and my last blog post got over 60 views! It might sound like a small number, but it’s a lot more eyes than I’m used to having on things I write. Thank you for reading this post and any others you have, it means a lot! :)

LIFE UPDATE: In a few weeks I’m going solo travelling for the first time (OMG! I’m excited). It’s got me thinking about the everyday interactions we have - with friends, flatmates, colleagues etc., hence, the topic of today’s post.

The endless cycle of “How are you?”

• Person 1: “How are you?”

• Person 2: “I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

• Person 1: “I’m good, thanks.”

There - I’ve summarised 95% of every small-talk interaction I’ve had with any colleague.

From greeting customers at Hoyts cinema at age 15 to being a management consultant at age 25, those three words “How are you?” have been my handy companion at those jobs and each one in between.

I find this pretty hilarious, because we’re not actually asking how the other person really is. Rather, it’s a courtesy. It’s like saying “Hello” or “Nice to see you.

Small talk doesn’t have to be shallow

At some point, I stopped giving the auto-pilot response of “Good thanks, how are you?”

I wanted a real conversation, whether it be one that lasted for two or twenty minutes.

Over the last ten years, I’ve gone from actively avoiding any sort of corridor conversation (sometimes literally hiding in corners), to relishing opportunities to chat with a new colleague at the coffee machine.

What changed? Confidence, for starters, which came with time.

But more importantly, it was learning that small talk can actually lead to meaningful conversations. You can connect over commonalities, learn new facts, and get to know someone a lot better.

5 tried and tested responses

Here are five real (albeit paraphrased) responses to “How are you?” I’ve had next to the work coffee machine:

Scenario 1: If I like the look of what they’re eating

• Q: “How are you?”

• A: “Honestly, I’m starving. Your sandwich looks incredible! Is that your favourite go-to?”

Scenario 2: If I’ve never seen them before

• Q: “How are you?”

• A: “I’m pretty well. I haven’t seen you around much before. Have you been working here long?”

Scenario 3: If I was curious about what they’ve been working on

• Q: “How are you?”

• A: “The project [X] I’ve been on has been really interesting. How about you, what are you working on currently?

Scenario 4: If the weather had been a bit haywire

• Q: “How are you?”

• A: “Lately, feeling way too warm. I think I lay in bed for two hours last night not being able to fall asleep. How are you finding the heat?”

Scenario 5: If I’d just come from somewhere else

• Q: “How are you?”

• A: “Really refreshed! I just went for a swim at [location]. Have you been there before? It’s stunning!”

Lessons learnt

• Small-talk can lead to genuine connections. I’ve found that well-thought out questions more often than not lead to genuine answers. And then, over time, these short interactions can lead to real and meaningful friendships.

• Micro-interactions matter. I’ve had some days which have been ‘meh’, and then they are completely flipped by a short but positive 5 minute interaction with someone I bump into, especially if it’s at the start or end of my day.

• When people ask “How are you?”, it’s an opportunity. Society might have trained us to respond with “Good, and you?” but the way you steer the conversation is completely up to you.

That’s all for now! Thanks so much for reading :)

See you next time!

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We all start from different bases

We aren’t all born equal in the “willingness to ask for help” department of life.

Some people find it naturally easy to ask for help. Others, like myself, have needed to do a bit more catching up.

My parents are extremely stoic - they grew up in an environment where they had to be self sufficient and independent. Therefore, growing up, I learned to mimic this.

It worked pretty well for me for a while…

…until it didn’t.

In the Sydney lockdowns of 2021 I realised, “Far out, I actually have no idea how I can get the help I need”.

Every time I thought of reaching out for help, my fear of being a burden overwhelmed me. My thoughts went a bit like this:

• “Don’t dump this on your friends. They’ve got their own stuff to deal with”

• “You’re a mess. This is not the time to be exposing yourself”.

• “Sharing this is going to be a huge mood-sink in their day. It can wait”.

In the end, I realised that asking for help was similar to any other skill like cooking, writing, or gardening. If I was going to get good at it, I needed to practice.

Getting over my fear of burdening others

This has been a work in progress for a few years now.

At the very start, I needed a bit of extra support, so I worked with a counsellor. Together we:

• Talked through my fears (e.g., my fear of being a burden, my fear of not getting the supportive response I hoped for)

• Set goals to reach out to people (e.g., “in the next week, I’m going to call [friend X] and share with them what I’ve been going through”)

• Reflected on how these reach outs went (e.g., how the interaction played out vs what I expected)

Having this accountability and support was what I needed to get me over the initial hump of fear.

Let others show up for you

People want to help.

People get joy from helping.

It makes them feel good to know they’ve done something good.

Close friends, family and mentors have said to me on numerous occasions:

Internalising this has given me the courage to just hit send when I’m umm-ing and ahh-ing about reaching out.

Now, I have a rule for myself if I find myself on the fence:

It can be a quick message like “Hey, I’m in a bit of a pickle about [situation]. Any chance you might be free for a quick call sometime in the next day?”

When I’ve been vulnerable and let my support network to show up for me - they have.

Again.

And again.

Lessons learnt

1. Say “Thank you for being there for me”, not “Sorry for bothering you”. Gratitude is so powerful. It leaves the other person feeling better knowing that you’re grateful to have them in your support network.

2. Give people the opportunity to say no with grace. Sometimes, timing means that your loved ones can’t be there for you at this current time; they could be having the worst day or in a very stressful period. Let them know it’s okay for them to protect their space, but don’t let it stop you from asking for help in the first place.

3. It gets easier the more you do it. I look back at the last few years and I’ve come a heck of a long way from the mental paralysis I used to feel around reaching out. Trust me, it does get easier.

Have experiences of your own?

If you’ve ever faced similar experiences, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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I blamed myself for burning out

In late 2021, when I found I couldn’t push myself as hard as I used to, who did I blame?

Myself.

I was in a negative spiral I’d never experienced before, and I had convinced myself if I’d set myself up with a better daily routine, or tried harder to protect my personal time, I wouldn’t have landed where I did. I didn’t think that burnout could happen to me.

On the surface, it looked like my issues were purely work-performance related:

• My speed to output was slower

• My thinking was less sharp than it used to be

• Tasks that should be “easy” for someone at my tenure became a struggle

In reality, behind the scenes:

• I was barely looking after my own personal needs

• It was very difficult to regulate my emotions

• I had become increasingly dissociated not just with work but everything in my life - my loved ones, my hobbies, pretty much everything that used to spark joy for me

Hindsight is 20/20

Now that I know what burnout is and can recognise the symptoms, I now know to be a lot kinder to myself when I feel myself experiencing similar feelings.

Of course, I only know this in hindsight.

In the moments where I was spiralling downhill, my brain wasn’t thinking:

• “Linda, you’re burnt out. It’s impacting all your executive functioning skills of problem solving, emotional regulation, critical thinking and decision making”.

Rather, my brain was thinking:

• “Surely, if I exercise more, meditate more and timebox my tasks more effectively, things should get better, because that’s what everyone keeps telling me”.

A 2020 publication evaluating the 48 longitudinal studies of burnout and work stress comprising 26,319 participants1 demonstrated that burnout was related to a decrease in people’s ability to cope with stress.

In other words, things that used to be easy can become challenging.

You can’t just sleep it off

What I know now, that I didn’t before, is that burnout isn’t something that can’t just be “slept off”.

For myself, and for other friends I’ve spoken to, it usually takes weeks, if not months to feel back to our “normal” selves.

So if you’re wondering,“What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just shake this off?” - there’s nothing wrong with you.

You’re not lazy.

You’re not weak.

Professor Christian Dormann, an academic researcher on burnout from Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz2, summarises it pretty well:

Lessons learnt

• There’s a difference between being tired/stressed and being burnt out: You can sleep off being tried, you can’t sleep off being burnt out. I had plenty of well-meaning loved ones give me suggestions to fix the symptoms of burnout (e.g., sleep, exercise), but being able to recognise when you’re burnt out is crucial.

• There’s no quick fix: Burn out is a slow descent, and likewise it can be an equally slow ascent back to a feeling of normalcy. Sometimes it felt like the cynicism and detachment I felt was so core to my being I was worried it would never go away. But eventually it did.

• Burnout can happen to anyone. At work, I only ever heard people talk about burnout in edge cases (i.e. consultants talking about how consecutive 2am work nights led them to burnout), and so I never thought to recognise it in myself. In reality, there are a lot of causes of burnout, and there’s no one-size fits all.

Have experiences of your own?

If you’ve seen great examples of tackling the burnout in the workplace, or reflections about burnout itself, I’d love to hear from you!

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References

The expectation gap

When I burnt out, there was a massive disconnect between two things:

1. The expectations of myself (in terms of what I work performance, being a “functioning adult” etc.) and

2. What I actually was able to motivate myself to do

I went from being on top of my game to not being able to do things nearly as productively. In my head, I logically knew all the things I needed to do to perform at my best, but my mind just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

This was a disaster for self-confidence, because at work I’d be plagued with thoughts like:

• I wish my current work isn’t what my supervisor was making judgements on

• I usually can perform way better than this

• I’m too embarrassed to admit I’m finding this basic task difficult

How not to approach closing the gap

I used to have a pretty unhelpful mindset when it came to closing this gap between expectation and reality. That mindset went something like this:

“Just push through. You’ve been able to push through before”.

The root of this mindset is (surprise, surprise), my childhood. Growing up, my parent’s work had been about survival - there was no choice but to just keep going and to find a way to push through.

In reality, this “just push through” mindset is not productive, because the context I’m living in is completely different to my parents.

I waited until my breaking point to pull the plug and take personal leave (which I highly do not recommend).

What helped

This is what eventually did get me out:

1. Seeking help. Admitting that I was struggling, not coping and barely keeping myself together was the first step. I reached out to EAP when I knew if I didn’t talk to someone about it I actually was going to have a mental breakdown. It lifted the veil of shame.

2. Being vulnerable. What was hard was it was in the middle of Sydney’s lockdowns, where basically all my colleagues and friends also were struggling. I didn’t want to burden anyone on top of the load they were already carrying themselves. But, eventually I did tell a friend, and bless her, she said “Please call me if you want to talk about anything. No excuses. Just call. If I can’t pick up when you do, I’ll call you back as soon as I can”.

3. Reframing the narrative. I was lucky that I had friends and close mentors to remind me that I wasn’t broken, and that my worth wasn’t determined by my productivity.

Lessons learned

• Surround yourself with cheerleaders. Lean on the people who have seen you at your best, you can remind you that what you’re currently going through does not reflect who you are, or what you’re capable of.

• You’re human, not a machine. Whilst it can when we have colleagues that seem to “balance it all”, they’re not you, and you have no idea what is actually going through their head. Listen to your own body .

• Reach out, even though it’s hard. Being vulnerable and admitting that we’re struggling can a terrifying thing. I certainly find it so. But, it’s always worth sharing the burden amongst people who want to help you carry it.

Have experiences of your own?

If you’ve seen great examples of tackling the burnout in the workplace, or reflections about burnout itself, I’d love to hear from you!

Leave a comment

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