Dear friends,

I can’t believe it’s been almost two months since I last wrote to you, while en route to Paris. I had planned to bring you along on the journey. I had planned on sharing the experience in great romantic detail…

Of how we attempted to explore Paris in the middle of a heatwave, and instead consumed copious amounts of ice cream and cold beverages, and frolicked in waist-deep fountain water at the foot of the Eiffel Tower.

Of how we successfully surprised the kids with a (very expensive) trip to Disneyland that was so worth it for cheeks that ached from smiling so hard.

Of how we spent seven quality weeks in Germany, drinking questionable amounts of beer with friends and family, soaking in their presence that we had so dearly missed over the past 18 months.

Of how the children were spoiled by their grandparents while Jan and I headed east by train. We wandered around arguably Germany’s most beautiful city, Dresden, then immersed ourselves in the natural beauty of Saxon Switzerland, followed by a few days soaking in the architectural and cultural marvels of Prague. We relearned how to be together, without the distraction of parenting, indulging in long walks and late nights that would otherwise be reserved to our child-free years.

Of how I marvelled at every window box, florist shop front, garden and wildflower. My camera roll is a pastel palette inspiring my next season of floral design.

Of how I visited my secret nature sit spot almost every morning. How it has become my home away from home over the years. How my willow tree is the best listener, especially when I’m feeling conflicted or sad. And how this special spot came to be known as Beaver Creek after this wonderful encounter:

But aside from the odd indecipherable pearl of wisdom scrawled on the back of a colouring-in, I’ve barely written anything. I have been so deep in the experience of life that despite an internal pressure to record every detail, I now recognise that I just needed to fully be IN it.

Because although there is an incredible highlights reel that will shape the stories I tell about this trip for years to come, there is also a heaviness winding its way through this experience.

After a long battle with dementia Jan’s grandmother waited until she was surrounded by family to part ways with the earthly realm. A profound feeling of peace and relief washed across the family, yet her passing marks the end of a generation and the emergence of a new era. And despite not being terribly close, I felt her spirit depart that night, further adding to the theme of pondering my own mortality.

I received some personal health news that, although I saw coming, I wasn’t prepared for. I’m not dying (well, we all are) however, I will need to surrender to the wisdom of medical practitioners and undergo treatment once we return to Australia. The idea of my children living without me is my worst nightmare, so there has been plenty of juicy mental and emotional meat to chew on here. I might share more about this experience later if it feels right.

As my closest circle of humans hovers around 40, big life themes emerge. Relationships are being questioned, challenged and recalibrated. Some are navigating divorce, and perhaps getting a second chance at love. Some are planning weddings, while others work through unimaginable loss. Some are entering a new era of physical fitness, while others are accepting the impermanence of the physical body. Meanwhile, our parents’ health battles begin to compound. We are having to show up for each other in new and intense ways that strengthen some bonds, and loosen the ties of others. And I notice us becoming a little braver in releasing our truths into the world.

Most of all, I feel guilty for getting exactly what I asked for.

I am travelling the world, with my family, after establishing a community home base in Tasmania, with the ability to work on my business both online and offline, where deposits flow in for the upcoming season of work. I’m writing to you from the front porch of my beachside Samui bungalow, after spending the morning splashing around with my children and helping my eldest with his school work… and I might pop next door for a $12 Thai massage later.

Even after all these years of forging a path outside of societal expectations, there remains a little voice inside my head whispering “Go home, get a normal job, commit to a mortgage, burn yourself out, and then I will let you enjoy your holiday.”

Isn’t it ridiculous how the human mind clings to misery? How it is possible to feel guilty for living a life we actively dreamed into existence?

If this resonates with you, then please join me this week in releasing guilt and fully owning the life we so courageously envisioned. I would love to hear from you.

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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If you follow along on Notes you would have received little glimpses along the way. If you’re yet to discover this fun little corner of Substack, the Notes feed can be viewed on the app. It’s still social media, but I find it far more inspiring than other platforms, especially among nature writers.

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I write to you from a brightly lit, bustling boarding gate at Singapore’s Changi Airport at 1am. The family snoozes in various uncomfortable positions on the floor and seats. I’ve been awake for 24 hours, our trip strewn with delays. Yet somehow I feel quite alive (but if I sound delusional, you’re probably right). One measly 13-hour flight to go and we’ll be melting in a 40-degree Paris heatwave.

This is a different kind of wild.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for joining me here on Substack over the past year. I adore reading your comments and sharing a deep appreciation and fondness for the natural world with you. I hope you won’t miss my Tasmanian sunsets as much as I will as we venture to the other side of the globe. Rest assured, we will return to our slice of southern paradise later this year.

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Week 1 - Between Worlds

It’s only been a week since we left our humble Tasmanian abode with that iconic view, yet it feels as though this journey began a month ago. We decided to move out of our rental and back into our bus-home while we’re overseas, resulting in a whirlwind of culling, sorting, and packing to fit a household’s worth of belongings back into a bus, two cars, and four carry-on suitcases. I love the process of downsizing and refreshing our possessions, but it carries a massive mental load.

We began this trip in my hometown in Queensland, with a week to sort out life admin, attend health appointments, and do the rounds visiting friends and family. I ticked a lot of boxes, but my nervous system was still operating at full throttle. I found solace in the familiar embrace of loved ones, tropical “winter” blooms, and my favourite childhood beach, but daily rhythm eluded me.

It’s easy to forget how far Australia is from the rest of the world until you take a 5:50am five-hour flight, only to find yourself still in Australia. From Perth, it was another five-hour flight to Singapore, and then 13 to Europe.

Despite being stuck in a tube at 10,000m with a few hundred strangers, I can finally relax for the first time in weeks. All of the planning and preparation is now stacked neatly into a travel box in my mind, ready to be archived so we can get to the fun part.

Next stop - Paris (and I hear it’s hot hot hot!) See you there.

Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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7:05am I'm huddled in the passenger seat of our bus-home, book resting on my knees and my favourite coffee mug in hand. I glance up and notice the kids hovering over a puzzle, concentrating hard. They are whisper quiet. The most delightful sound for a parent of seven years.

It feels like we’re waking up as the last remaining survivors on Earth.

We have just slept off an eventful evening. Arnie projectile vomited his dinner all over Grace's dinner, my legs, all of our shoes, the couch and floor. Classic night one ( of a bus trip) shenanigans. I sensed he wasn’t feeling himself yesterday, but assumed it was due to the long, winding drive through the mountains.

9:35am Arnie boldly declares walks are boring, so takes it upon himself to create a checklist for each of us. We get to choose four things to put on our nature bingo card. Off we go…

Hand in hand

We wander into the wild

Uncovering earthly secrets

Discovering truths

That were really there all along

But were obscured from view

by the collective brain fog

12:45am The fire is lit, the kids perched on the edge of their camp chairs toasting the last two marshmallows. I hear them chattering away about their nature bingo findings - colourful fungi, mossy gullies, pademelons, and why could we hear but not see any birds? I’m watching them from the kitchen as I finish assembling our burgers. Did you know that food tastes better when eaten by campfire, under a canopy of gumtrees?

Time expands on these offline trips. There’s less in-between. No societal distractions. More life. More togetherness. More intention.

2:54pm Jan and I turn to each other “This would have to be the most spectacular mountain vista we’ve visited in Australia.” We giddily pace the gravel clearing, our gaze stretching out past the lake and into mountainous wilderness in every direction. The dark patch of forest we spent the past 24 hours seems so minuscule compared to the peaks towering above it. I feel simultaneously insignificant and full of life, as I’m consumed by awe.

Like most great things, the photos don’t do it justice. You’ll have to take our word for it.

3:41pm I ask Jan to pull the bus into the trailhead carpark. I’ve heard hikers speak of the wonders and challenges of Mount Anne. I study the map and route options, envisioning how I would approach exploring the area. In front of me a narrow trail snakes its way up the first hill, with jagged peaks just visible behind the clouds. A familiar buzz settles across my chest, and that’s how I know I’ll be back for this one.

4:30pm We’ve set up camp, this time on the shore of Lake Pedder. Generally, I find dammed lakes eery, shrouded in death and destruction, but this one feels different. Perhaps I’m just enchanted by it’s beauty. Arnie and I skip rocks across the glassy surface as the sun dips below the headland at the Western end of the shore.

Sunday

8:35am I wake to the blissful sound of rain pitter-pattering on the window. It’s Sunday morning so pancakes are on the menu. The campsite has a large covered picnic area, with wide windows overlooking the surrounding bush and lake. I’m grateful for the electric barbecues as I forgot to bring the fry pan. I flip pancakes as the kids set up a family game of UNO. Breakfast tastes better out here too… weird.

12:05pm A few phone notifications sneak through as we wind our way East. I haven’t missed anything. I can feel my brain rebooting, wondering what it should be doing with this small black brick in my hand.

1:40pm Standing on the platform in front of Russell Falls my entire attention is fixed upon dripping moss and giant tree ferns swaying in the breeze generated by the pounding waterfall. Once again, It’s all-consuming. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, bathing in rainforest mist, but it feels like a gift.

3:11pm Whiplash. I’m pulled back into my phone as civilisation looms. There is a lot going on in our “real life” and picking up my phone feels like the most unproductive productive thing I can do on this drive. It’s an illusion.

Once again I’m doing instead of being. I realise our little trip into the mountains wasn’t a cure, it was a lifeline.

Maybe next time, we’ll stay longer, until we forget that anything else ever felt this important.

Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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It’s been a little while between letters and I’ve missed you. There are a few new faces here, too. Welcome, I’m so glad you made it.

Lately, I’ve been thoroughly enjoying connecting with you over on Notes through my mini Nature Immersion films. They seem to offer a welcome mindful pause in a sea of information.

Offline, I’ve been deep in my real-world creative work as a florist and flower preservation artist, exploring our new home in Tasmania, and most importantly, being mum to my two favourite little people.

Later this week I’ll be sharing about our recent trip deep into the Tasmanian wilderness, seeking out beautiful mushrooms, lush moss and reconnecting as a family. Plus, the most incredible mountain vista we’ve experienced in all our years travelling around Australia.

Pull up a chair

As we prepare to embark on our next big family adventure, I’ve decided to bring you along for the ride in a much more intimate way.

Paid subscribers can now choose to receive handwritten postcards, letters, and little field notes from our travels.

💌 Use this link to Receive 30% off your first month.

Pour yourself a cuppa, find a comfy place to perch, and slow down with a tangible treat to hold in your warm human hands. A small antidote to the speed of the internet and life in general.

If you’re already a paid subscriber, I’ll be in touch to confirm your details.

Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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When we spend time in nature, we allow the space to return to our true nature.

Where would I find you?

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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The year is 2006.

You’re in your final year of high school. Your friends convince you to attend a Bikram yoga class.

You discover a whole new way to move your body and experience deep relaxation. It feels incredible.

The year is 2008.

You move through several life crises, including two trips to the ER.

An alternate life path is calling. You drop out of university, of what you thought was going to be your dream career. You let go.

Casual yoga classes anchor you to the ground. Music becomes your medicine.

The year is 2011.

You’ve thrived in your new degree and graduate at the top of your class. Some important relationships break down, making space for a new era. You learn to listen to nudges, and follow curiosities. You backpack solo through South-East Asia and sit in reverence with Buddhist monks in Bhutan.

The year is 2012.

You experience a richness in life you’ve never felt before. You learn to trust the process and hold on for the ride of your life as you start your business career on the other side of the world. Lifelong bonds form. You introduce the guy you’re dating to snowboarding and yoga...

The year is 2016.

You marry that guy, three times. The year of love.

For the past few years, weekly yoga classes have (only just) maintained the thread of connection between mind, body and spirit. You work too hard, play too hard and drink too much. But life feels so exciting.

The year is 2017.

You get sick again. A big fat stop sign from the universe. You correct course and eliminate animal products from your diet. You resonate with the yogic principle ahimsa - non-violence toward all living beings, including self.

The year is 2018.

You begin floristry study, taking weekend classes while you reluctantly continue your professional career. You convince your husband to spend a week in Cambodia meditating at a rustic village retreat. It’s life changing in itself... and then you find out you’re pregnant.

Your pregnancy alters your life perspective. You learn hypnobirthing techniques, and practice yoga asana several times a week at the cosiest Sydney studio. You feel held and prepared.

The year is 2019.

You become a mother. A family. You’re a qualified florist. You pack up your city life, move into a bus and begin travelling. You practice yoga every day but feel a little lost without a regular studio. The good views somewhat make up for it. By chance, you pick up an Eckhart Tolle book (A New Earth). It awakens something deep within.

The year is 2020.

You begin working for an event florist, falling in love with weddings, venues, and Tasmania.

You are forced to stop travelling and end up bunkering down in an idyllic mud-brick cottage. You deepen your self-practice. You finally understand money magnetism. You graciously accept a severance package, and two years after going on maternity leave, allow yourself to grieve your corporate career. You shed an old identity. You hike, a lot, baby in tow.

One day while winding your way home from town, you feel a new soul connect with you. Her name comes through so clearly, like a lightning bolt. You fall pregnant a month or two later.

The year is 2021.

You return to Queensland to avoid being seperated from family during ongoing border restrictions. You feel deeply connected to spirit during this pregnancy, more so than the last. You have the time and space to honour and nourish your body with asana, meditation, ocean swims, sunshine, food and rest. Her birth is long but light, fun, and then explosive. That sums up your daughter. You receive your first reiki attunement, babe in arms.

The year is 2022.

You’re on the road again, travelling as a family of four. You begin casually studying Ayurveda. Your morning routine becomes your salvation. You move to Europe, buy a shitty motorhome and have a great time exploring Italy and France but realise buslife is better suited to Australia. You read the Law of Attraction, and many, many things make sense. You start your YouTube channel, filming ambient nature soundscapes.

You work through your dark night of the soul in the depths of German winter. You begin your Yoga Teacher Training. You embody everything you learn, in real time. It saves you.

The year is 2023.

You begin teaching yoga to other expats in your cosy home studio. It makes you come alive. You witness wild spring blooms like never before. You build deep human connections and experience big creative surges. You write, illustrate and publish a children’s yoga book, before moving back to Australia, and buslife.

The year is 2024.

Your sunrise asana and meditation practice anchors your days on the road. You film in the most incredible landscapes. You call in community, and end up travelling with your soul fam for two months. You spend a month in Bali, and pull away from social media. You begin studying forest bathing and nature therapy. By the end of the year you completely burn out from constant movement and travel planning. Yoga helps you accept this, and allow the process to unfold as it needs to.

The year is 2025.

You have just spent a nourishing two months in German winter, visiting family for Christmas. You complete your Yin Yoga teacher training and find it deeply nourishing and restorative. You feel your creative spark return and begin writing on Substack, revealing a beautiful community of nature lovers and deep thinkers. As you travel down Australia’s East coast during one of the wettest autumns and winters on record, you’re deep in the portal, feeling yourself being pulled toward a new version of life. The mountains hold you through it all.

Parenting becomes increasingly challenging and your relationship suffers as the family outgrows your beloved tiny home on wheels. You grieve the end of buslife.

You land in Tasmania and after the initial excitement, then overwhelm, you move into a beach shack with the most incredible views. You re-learn how to function as a family, and establish routines and social structure. You begin to reconnect with and love your body again.

The year is 2026.

Your morning routine is still sacred. You can feel your visions turning into reality, and the process is just as exciting to witness as the dream itself. You’re drawn to create floral art and begin pressing and framing wedding bouquets. You really want to teach yoga but feel nervous after a long break. You begin your children’s yoga teacher training.

You prepare to monetise your soundscapes in a new way and to share your digital business expertise with the local community. You are ready to integrate all aspects of yourself - personal, professional, creative, spiritual, wild - and show up as a multifaceted being.

You incorporate yoga nidra into most afternoons, and continue to swim in the ocean and walk barefoot on the beach every chance you get (which delights you because you had expected those pleasures to end with buslife.)

You fall in love again. With each other, with your family, with the island.

tbc...

Yoga is not a trend. It’s a way of life. I’m here for the journey - a forever student.

Narrating the past 20 years of my life in second person was oddly cathartic.

Stick around to find out what happens next ✌️

Stay curious and kind,

Simone

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So far some things I’ve jotted down include:

• My 6yo son saying “I’m gonna make us lunch, mummy.” (And it was the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten)

• The profound positive mindset-shift I experienced during a late afternoon swim at our local beach. I notice the water warming up as Summer (finally) sets in.

• Skateboarding around the playground, following the kids riding their bike and scooter. (More play in 2026 please!)

• Meeting my best friend’s gorgeous bubba for the first time. (I’m in love)

• My 4yo daughter “would you like a samage (massage)?”

• Lying on a park bench, face drenched in sunshine, watching the bright green leaves dance with the wind.

At the end of each day I jot down one line. It doesn’t need to describe my day, or even be the biggest thing that happened; just one thing that brought a smile to my face, deepened my presence, felt magical, or generally something I’m feeling grateful for.

It turns out that it’s easier to commit to something when it’s a) achievable (just one line per day!) and b) you do it with friends. So, join me and The Wild to Live community as we weave more magic and joy into our lives. Each week I’ll post a little miracle of my own and prompt you to share a line from your own week. It’s a great way to get to know each other and encourage one another to keep up with the practice (even if you only get to it once a week for the purpose of sharing it - that absolutely counts!)

To new subscribers, welcome to The Wild to Live where we’re cultivating a life of courage, presence and curiosity, with nature as our muse. Sometimes it means taking BIG steps towards our dream life, and other times it means leaning into and embracing the magic already around us.

To those who have been on this journey since the buslife days—witnessing our transition from one big life dream to another—thank you for being here. To share our journeys, ups and downs; to connect with you on a deeper level, across the seas; it fills me with gratitude, and reinvigorates my faith in humanity. I love you all.

Stay curious and kind,

Simone

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I’ve come to realise that cold digital marketing feels really hard when you’re not really selling a product, but an invitation. An invitation to connect, to be present, to lead with kindness, and to spread love. (I just read that sentence out loud and maybe it’s more marketable than I think. My 2009 marketing professor would probably be rolling her eyes.)

Anyway, it only just occurred to me that I haven’t shared much about it with my wonderful community here.

Back in 2023 I wrote, illustrated and published I am Little Yogi - sweet yogic teachings for little souls and My First Gratitude Journal. At the time, it was a project to keep me sane during my first German winter. Something meaningful and creative that would help me share my experience in yoga with my kids.

As I sprinkled copies of the books around the world, I realised I had created something quite special... a sacred moment to connect with our children.

This year I digitised them. They are now available as an eBook and PDF, ready to print, read, colour, and connect.

For now, the mindful digital pack is 20% off. It’s available for instant download and includes some sweet printable gift tags too. If it feels like something your family, or a little one you love, might enjoy, you can find it here:

https://www.sacredbloom.com.au/product/mindful-christmas-digital-pack-ebook-pdf/

Most of all, I want to thank you for being here this year. This community has been a steady, thoughtful presence in an overwhelming online world. Substack really is changing the landscape and I’m deeply grateful to share this space with you.

Wishing you a calm and joyful Christmas.

Love Simone xx

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You are invited to come home to Earth and self while reconnecting with deep presence, joy, and vitality.

Designed to gently weave into daily life, each month you’ll receive a themed living nature immersion. Learn more here.

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Dear friend,

Welcome back as we walk the path together to cultivate our Wild Paradise. Our journey here began in July as we practiced returning to presence, reconnecting with our breath while migrating whales played in the distance. In August we allowed joy to return through soft noticing and small, intimate moments in nature. September was a homecoming—to ourselves, to the Earth, to humanity. Last month we focused on growing our roots into a stable foundation from which to flourish.

This month we’re flowing with ease down the river of life…

This series invites you to slow down, reconnect with the Earth and Self, and cultivate your own wild paradise, both within and without. 🌼🌿

💡Bookmark this page to access the series anytime

Subscribe now

Row gently down your stream

I’m exhausted, uninspired and frustrated. A tense, uncomfortable feeling takes over. It manifests as a headache or a tightness in my chest and I catch myself saying “I feel like I’m swimming upstream.”

That’s become a signal for me to pause, find the tension in my body, and notice what’s naturally trying to flow through me so I can move forward in a way that feels easeful.

I’m learning to recognise when I’m fighting my way upstream on my own river — and when I’ve somehow ended up in someone else’s river altogether.

The saying “go with the flow” is misleading.

It implies we should just accept whatever life, society or circumstance throws our way. That we keep the peace, grin and bear it. But true flow isn’t passive, and it’s certainly not floating along on someone else’s current.

We want to flow down our own river of life.
Your flow will never look the same as mine, or anyone else’s.

Our dreams, desires, values, emotions, personality and life experiences all carve out the shape of our river. When we’re aligned with our own river, we glide around obstacles instead of slamming into them. We transform, adapt, soften, expand. We stop battling upstream. So maybe what we really mean isn’t “go with the flow” but “go with your flow.”

Row, row, row your boat gently down your stream.

Life force energy flows through us like water down a mountain. When it moves freely, it nourishes everything in its path. And when it can’t, it builds pressure. It pools and stagnates, then finds ways to spill over, often destructively.

Find your way back to your river. Ride the waves of emotions that course through it. Tune into your natural energy and enthusiasm. When we are truly flowing, we feel empowered, energised, alive.

Today I invite you to flow...

Read more

Last month was all about deep rest and taking it when I needed it. Mid-afternoon yoga nidra. The odd movie session with the kids. Slow yoga flows. Sesame-oil self massage. A long exhale after the excitement of years of nomadic living.

Then something shifted. Just before that last new moon. Lately, I’ve been drawn to movement and rhythm, like I’m being called back into my body to actually process. I’m grieving buslife. Adjusting to big lifestyle changes. I feel lonely as we slowly build new community here. The visions I held so tenderly for the past few years are being revised in real time… no longer a distant dream, they now have reality to wrestle with. And there’s probably a whole bunch of other stuff I’ve neglected to tend to.

So while I am indeed in paradise, I’m using this time to dig deep. Drawing upon years of study and practice to move through what’s needed, to process emotions, to listen for what I need in each moment, and to take it one breath at a time.

It’s looked like high-energy dance parties, alone or with the kids, stomping, shaking, twirling. It’s looked like late-night sobbing under the stars as the ocean holds me so tenderly (figuratively… I’m not night-swimming, eek). It’s looked like writing, sometimes one word, sometimes pages. Yoga asana has been fast, fiery flows one day, intense yin holds the next.

And I feel a quiet rage bubbling as we enter the silly season. Seemingly sillier than ever. Black Friday sales clogging our inboxes as we lust over shopping carts full of things we “need” but definitely don’t need.

Too many gifts, not enough presence.

And then there’s the humbling contradiction that I’ve spent the past few weeks intensely marketing my children’s book as a Christmas gift. Not because I want to feed the consumer machine, but because I genuinely love the idea of spreading love, kindness and gratitude, especially at this time of year.

Somehow selling my art feels somewhat immune to the madness. Nevertheless, it's on my mind. How do we mindfully navigate this time of year without becoming total party-poopers, while still honouring the values we live by the other ten months?

If my books call to you, and you feel they would add to your festive cheer, not make you collapse in despair, i invite you to take a look at I am Little Yogi and My First Gratitude Journal.

This year I've put together two bundles: one is a hybrid physical/digital gift pack and the other is digital delivery only. Get them here. Use the code WILDLOVE for $5 off.

(The Christmas order cutoff for physical books is this weekend. Be sure to get your order in if you want them in time to go under the tree.)

So while I've been busy making, mumming, marketing, and feeling my big feelings, I haven't been able to pour as much heart into my Cultivate Wild Paradise series as usual. The topic we'll be working through next is flowing down the river of (our) life, and it is only fitting that I honour my own flow and give myself some extra time to do it justice.

Take this as an opportunity to get up to speed. Over the past few months we've woven our way through topics of presence, breath, joy, grounding, and laying our foundations to flourish. Access the archive here.

Upgrade for guided nature meditations, foundational yoga poses, and wild reflections for integration into your day-to-day life.

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Meanwhile, I'm craving adventure. It's been too long between hikes, so my focus over the coming weeks is to reconnect with my rhythm in the wild. Getting outside of my idyllic bubble and exploring some of this rugged Tasmanian wilderness.

Thanks for joining me on my swim today. That was cathartic. I hope you ask for what you need today, and that what you need arrives with ease.

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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1. 🔥 Rage, not as a flaw, but as sacred wisdom.

Including practical tools to harness your fire.

Post by Ayana, Root & Ritual

ROOT & RITUAL

The ‘Unfeminine’ Emotion That Will Change Your Entire Life

I am going to tell you a truth that systems and polite society work very hard to hide…

Read more

10 months ago · 6 likes · 1 comment · Ayana Madrone 🌼

2. 🌻 What if Nature took over, and we had no option but to embrace it?

A whimsical short story, rooted in truth.

Post by The Morning Chirp

The Morning Chirp

What If Flowers Could Walk?

It started with a shiver in the soil…

Read more

10 months ago · 5 likes · 3 comments · The Morning Chirp

3. 😈 Are we more interesting and funny because of the internet?

Post by Jessica Mills, Taboo + Toast

I took this personally — as a self-confessed “boring” person who regularly refrains from the internet and couldn’t think of anything worse than rotting my brain with TikTok garbage. Yet I often find myself unable to contribute to general chit-chat and wonder if I’ve completely disassociated from society.

I know I’ve found my people when they get equally excited about sunsets, “holding space,” or a new use for chia seeds. Send help. But don’t. I’ll probably be OK without the internet. You’ll find me at the beach or in the rainforest, whispering sweet nothings to the Earth.

Taboo + Toast

If I Die, Clear My Browser History and Keep the Router On

I sometimes imagine my body without the internet, and it looks like a medieval fresco. Lungs clear, eyes luminous, gut uninflamed, a woman in a field chewing on wheat like a contented horse. My skin would glow with the radiance of someone who has never seen their own pores under the magnification of an iPhone camera. I would live like a monk, rising wit…

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10 months ago · 12 likes · 2 comments · Jessica Mills

It’s important to occasionally read things that challenge our beliefs, share a different perspective, and, in this case, result in a doubling down on our proclivities. It may not sound like it, but I find Jessica’s perspective refreshing, and regularly indulge in her work.

Let me know your thoughts on this (quite random) selection of posts.

Share the love. Which posts have lingered with you recently?

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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Are you curious about the different paths people take to live and raise their families? I’m thinking of starting a little interview series. Let me know in the comments if you’d be interested—or if you have a story to share!

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Living like Kings

So that feeling of homelessness I was battling with last month? Gone. We’ve moved into a humble beach shack with a million-dollar view for the next six months or so. And we feel rich. It’s an affordable rental because it’s small, uninsulated (cold), a bit of a drive from the city, and a little rough around the edges. But that view. It’s the perfect place to spend summer, when it finally arrives.

We’re taking this time to fully land in Tasmania, reset our nervous systems and set ourselves up in the community while we work out next steps (Work? Buying land? School? Which visions are we bringing to life?)

We tried to do all that from the bus, but after a long winter on the road, we felt on top of each other and couldn’t think straight. We were in desperate need of space and stability.

It was from this perspective that I wrote the latest Cultivate your Wild Paradise post. We’re (re)building our foundation, a nourishing reset with a stable base, in order to bloom into our next season, which I sense will be high-energy.

🌟 I’ve lifted the Wild Paradise paywall until mid-November so you can take a look around. View the archive.

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This month, laying the foundation has looked like:

• Revising my Ayurvedic eating principles and focusing on simple, nourishing whole foods that balance my Vata and pacify my Pitta.

• Establishing a little herb and veggie garden, something we’ve been pining for.

• Regular warm sesame oil self-massages to combat the relentless spring wind. It’s my favourite wellbeing ritual—an instant pick-me-up. I can almost feel my immune system rebooting.

• Incorporating almost daily Yoga Nidra sessions as an afternoon energy reset.

• Enjoying an assortment of beverages while gazing out over the bay. Bathing in gratitude for what unfolds when you leave space for magic in life.

• Mindfully choosing a handful of weekly activities for the kids, while we continue homeschooling. It’s giving us a chance to gently integrate into the community without feeling overwhelmed.

• Returning to a daily rhythm where one of us takes the kids for the morning or afternoon while the other focuses on work, writing, self-care. Honestly, a lot of my time here has been spent cleaning and organising our new home and that feels great too!

I felt creatively stagnant when we first moved in. Overwhelmed by the logistics of life. But by listening to my body, and assessing what I really need each day, I can feel my creativity and motivation returning. Which is great, because the reality is, establishing house life is expensive, no matter how frugal one is. It’s time to generate more income.

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(Intentional cheeky upgrade button placement 💛)

The reality of normal life vs buslife

From a practical lens, here are a few things I’ve noticed as we transition from travelling in a bus to living in a house…

How much stuff we accumulate. Even living in a tiny space, we just got really good at storing (hiding) it efficiently. But seeing it spread out in a house is eye-opening, and I’m ready for a stuff-cleanse.

We spent so much more time outside when we were “forced to”. When playgrounds were our backyard, cafe’s our homeschool desks, and our dining table a picnic rug.

Entertaining kids initially felt easier in a house, but after just a week the novelty wore off and we had no choice but to put effort into meeting people and activities. In the bus, every day is a novel activity.

Houses take so much more effort to clean. Living in a small space you’re constantly putting things away and cleaning up, but it’s fast and efficient. In this house, just a two bedroom shack, I noticeably spend more time cleaning and tidying.

How much my body exhaled having more physical space to move within my home. This year especially, the bus felt small and my personal space almost non-existent. I spent more and more time outside, just to escape it. On the up side, that resulted in lots of walking and fresh air. But now I can rest and relax inside, and that feels really good.

Is one way of life better than the other?

I’ll always be a huge fan of buslife. I’m a nomad through and through. But in this season, being in a house, building community, and settling into a weekly rhythm feels nourishing and exciting. It’s a new kind of adventure.

See you in the comments, and don’t forget to check out Wild Paradise for deep earth connection, yoga and guided nature meditations.

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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Dear friend,

Welcome back as we walk the path together to cultivate our Wild Paradise. We embarked on this journey in July by returning to presence, reconnecting with our breath while migrating whales played in the distance. In August we allowed joy to return through soft noticing and small, intimate moments in nature. September was a homecoming—to ourselves, to the Earth, to humanity. A deeply rooted reconnection that grounded us in this shared time and place.

This month we take a step further, growing our roots into a stable foundation from which to flourish.

This series invites you to slow down, reconnect with the Earth and Self, and cultivate your own wild paradise, both within and without.🌼🌿

ARCHIVE:

☝️Bookmark this page to access the series anytime

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#4 · Laying the Foundations for a Beautiful Life

We humans love a good “hack”, a shortcut, a fast track, the promise of instant results. Drink this, get that. Don’t eat that, get this. Repeat the affirmation, change your life. We want the glory without the groundwork. But without the groundwork, an aligned and flourishing life will always feel muted or just out of reach. The good news is, laying a solid foundation doesn’t have to be gruelling, time-intensive or expensive. It really only asks for one thing: a steady commitment to yourself.

A solid foundation is the basis for all further growth and all the challenges that come with it. When we feel strong in our centres—of body, mind and spirit—we can flourish with more ease.

Think of a tree. Poor soil, little water and lack of nourishment yield weaker branches and fewer blooms.

What does a strong foundation look like?

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But it turns out that manifesting your dream life requires more than woo-woo positivity. It also requires inspired action, grit, sacrifice and hard decisions. And facing ugly truths we’ve ignored for years.

We boarded the Spirit of Tasmania (ferry) in late August, and after a sleepless night rolling around on Bass Strait, we landed in Devonport to a spectacular sunrise as brave locals gathered for their morning (icy) ocean swim.

I felt like I had arrived home.

After the initial excitement wore off, we began to panic. We need to get our sht together, to begin our new lives. And it’s not just internal pressure either, we’d been talking about this move for years, with plenty of cheerleaders watching from the sidelines.

Within a week we had bought a car, a sassy red RAV4, a beacon of independence and flexibility. We learned how to travel in convoy, and manage negotiations over who’d ride with Mum or Dad.

Tasmania is surprisingly big. It still takes 5 hours to drive across the island. We still haven’t decided which corner of the state to call home. We also haven’t sorted out our finances, or decided if we’ll need to rent first or buy right away, which makes job hunting feel pretty ambiguous.

We felt overwhelmed by possibility, with no idea where to start.

So we headed out to our favourite free campsite for a week of beachside living. We set up camp and used the car to explore the local sights, and took turns to visit the nearby town while the other stayed “home” to work and research housing and jobs. And despite the chilly spring wind blowing most days, we had a nice thing going.

But something felt off.

Our conversations seemed to be happening across different realities. Little miscommunications turned into big life disagreements. We seemed to have a million ideas on where, when, and what our life should look like, yet no idea on the how.

Reality set in. The logistics of starting a life from scratch in relatively unfamiliar territory is not as simple as manifesting it. And I felt like we needed to have all the answers and a solid plan.

We’ve been travelling full-time for the better part of six years so why does it suddenly feel so urgent to move on to the next phase of life?

And as the mood turned sour, we seemed to be increasingly living on top of each other as our little bus-home closed in around us. We were snappy and exhausted.

I spontaneously decided to take the kids on a ten-day trip home to Queensland, to give my husband some time to recalibrate, and me some much-needed sunshine and family time.

I expected this to be a big energy reset for us, and despite all having a wonderful time, we returned to a worse vibe than before. We didn’t actually address any of the roots stressors, we just stepped away.

With a few job applications pending, a list of properties across the state to check out, and a growing shortlist of potential rentals, we were under the illusion of being productive.

What’s really going on here?

On the surface, money’s an issue. Lack of clarity’s an issue. Unsettled kids is an issue. But I know deep down, this is a story of energetics. This is the juicy stuff. This is the point where we can either back down to what feels comfortable and easy, or take the leap and prepare for some serious growth, both in our relationship and as individuals.

As we move into new phases of life, we stretch and morph. It feels uncomfortable. It feels unsafe. Our nervous system needs to adapt to keep up with our growth.

So what’s next?

💫 We clean up our energy

This looks like leaning into focused family time and playfulness. Having hard conversations with openness and compassion. Spending quality time together to chat over tea once the kids are asleep. We’re nourishing our nervous systems through daily yoga, meditation, cold plunges, routines, and affirmations. Nourishing our bodies with good quality food, aligned with the season and Ayurvedic principles.

💫 We realign our shared values and broader family vision

Finding our way back to the same page. We might envision the future differently and that’s OK, but what values are at the core of our decision making. How do we want our family to feel? → Time spacious and flexible with a stable foundation.

💫 We tune into and follow what naturally excites us

What are we day-dreaming about? Which conversations naturally light us up and which drain us?

Bringing our vision to reality should be the fun part, so let’s take urgency and unaligned action out of the equation (stop flailing about). Instead we’ll tune into conversations and opportunities in the communities we enjoy spending time in.

We still have a lot of this uncomfortable work to do, but we’re back to enjoying life as it is, while feeling excited about the future, and that feels so good.

Do you have some wisdom in dream chasing and big personal growth? I’d love to hear your experiences! See you in the comments.

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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Dear Wildling,

Thank you for being here. Today we’ll be coming back to down to Earth as we explore our deeper energetic connection to our planet and all living beings.

This series is an invitation to …

Read more

Occasionally, I go completely off-book.

This morning I woke up with a really strong urge to go home… to Queensland where my parents and siblings still live. I often wake up mid-thought when I’m processing big life changes, and this morning’s prompt told me I was in desperate need of a circuit breaker — doing something completely left field, with the intention of resetting the energy in the room (or bus, in our case).

Arriving in Tasmania has been a rollercoaster of emotions. It’s mostly excitement and anticipation, yet we also feel somewhat overwhelmed by possibility. For many years, we’ve envisioned wrapping up our full-time travel life and setting up a home base here in our favourite little-big island state.

Now the time has come, and it’s a lot to process.

We’re looking for housing, jobs, homeschool community groups, and trying to book overdue dental and health care appointments. All while still travelling, working, and homeschooling from the road. Our space seems to be shrinking with each passing day.

We spent a week on the remote north-east coast, parked up by an often windy, but spectacular turquoise and white sand beach, and began the process of establishing “normal” life from scratch. But despite the idyllic location, our nervous systems were still operating in overdrive. With parcels to collect and a call-back for a job interview, we found ourselves returning in the direction of civilisation.

So this morning, when I awoke at sunrise in an isolated mountain village about 1.5 hours outside Tasmania’s second-largest “city” (a medium-sized town by global standards), this epiphany hit me…

We aren’t yet tied down to anything, my husband could really use the space to get our ducks in a row, and I’m in serious need of warm water and family time.

I caught Mum off guard when I called, but after a short pause, a smile spread across her face. “What time should I pick you up?”

Three hours later, with the kids buckled in listening to The Wiggles, we set off toward Launceston Airport*, leaving our beloved bus and bus driver behind in the rear-view mirror.

*My four-year-old referred to it as a “Plane Station” and yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Kids are so wise.

Before I know it, the paved road unexpectedly turns to gravel and the forestry plantation closes in around us. I have a quarter tank of fuel, which would normally be more than enough to drive 80 km… on what I thought was going to be highway.

Noob lesson #1: Tasmania is a small state but a big island full of wilderness and timber plantations. Sometimes, there are fewer opportunities to fuel up than one would expect. When we left the east coast two days ago, we didn’t know that would be the last opportunity to fill up until Launceston (based on the scenic route we naively chose). The next “servo” is by the airport.

Can you tell I haven’t been in daily charge of a vehicle in 6 years?

To be fair, the bus is also running low, but we carry spare diesel for these scenarios and my husband doesn’t have a plane to catch…

I’m driving carefully, trying not to use fuel unnecessarily while still maintaining traction on the loose gravel. I lose phone signal during the hour-long mountain pass. Everything in my mind is screaming panic. My chest begins to tighten.

We wind through dense alpine forests of towering grey gum trees, interspersed with pine plantations, then cut back into cool-climate rainforest. I’m barely able to notice, let alone enjoy the scenery. Another hill climb. Another switchback. Another gear shift. Another tight shoulder to let an oncoming car pass.

There was an official sign to Launceston on this route, mind you, alongside logging truck “Use UHF40 radio” signs. This was an operational forestry track, being used as a highway. I’ve been on similar roads in Bhutan or Indonesia, but with someone else in charge of the vehicle; never with my kids, and never as a route into an Australian city.

It’s time to activate my bubble of safety.

I take three deep breaths in and out through my nose. I soften my chest, shoulders, and jaw. Then I imagine a giant transparent bubble inflating over the car. Inside this bubble I am safe. I am calm. I envision us arriving safely and on time. Then I return my full attention to the task at hand — drive safely and efficiently.

I’m well-versed in the bubble of safety. I first learned it as a fear and pain management practice during the birth of my first child, and it’s become a technique I rely on in all sorts of hairy situations — bumpy plane trips, scary drives, and any time that “Mum fear” creeps in (when their little lives suddenly seem so fragile and you’re sapped of joy wondering how you could possibly survive without them.)

It works by cutting through the noise and overwhelm to return to a place of calm confidence.

We turn a corner and as we emerge from the forest, I see the bitumen beaming like a shiny black security blanket. The view opens out like the promised lands — lush green farmland backdropped by the staggering cliffs of Ben Lomond National Park. I let out a laugh and a sigh of relief as my phone regains signal.

I still have 20 km to go, and just as I’m wondering if the fuel gauge on my newly acquired car even works, the fuel light turns on. My emergency buffer of time has now also been gobbled up by the mountains.

Noob lesson #2: It often takes twice as long as Google Maps promises to drive anywhere in rural Tasmania. And you’ll probably be sharing the road with logging trucks.

We roll into the airport service station 20 minutes before check-in closes. I put in just enough to get us in and out of the long-term airport car park. The kids understand the assignment: backpacks on and run.

Breathless and in classic Aussie form, I tell the check-in agent about our ordeal and explain my relief. She responds with a breathy laugh of mild amusement. “Oh, you went that way.”

What a Tassie noob.

Stay curious and kind,

Simone

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PS. I’m handwriting this somewhere over New South Wales while the kids watch a movie on my laptop. Planes are one of my most creative spaces, where ideas and words flow easily in the absence of distractions, while I’m essentially chained to my desk. Is it just me, or do you too experience this creative haven inside a flying metal tube?

PPS. My Cultivate Wild Paradise post will be a little later this month while I spend time with family. Paid subscribers, this month you’ll receive Down to Earth, a grounding meditation that will be worth the wait 🌿

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“There’s always a sunrise and always a sunset and it’s up to you to choose to be there for it. Put yourself in the way of beauty.”―Cheryl Strayed

When the world feels heavy

When everything is uncertain in life

When you feel unmotivated

When you feel unworthy

Put yourself in the way of beauty

When you feel powerless

When you feel stuck

When you feel like a failure

Put yourself in the way of beauty

Seek it out

In the cracks of the concrete

In the midst of deserts and storms

Open your senses to the beauty right in front of you

Beauty keeps us humble. It reminds us of our place here on this Earth. The miracle that it is to be alive and the wonder that surround us.

Beauty isn’t superficial, and it’s not just about appearance. It’s an expression of love and creation. Science confirms what we’ve always felt… that beauty in nature doesn’t just lift our spirits, it directly soothes the nervous system.

How so?

🌼 By inviting calm… Natural scenes awaken the parasympathetic system, reminding our body to rest, restore, digest.

🌼 Easing stress… Just twenty minutes in nature lowers cortisol, the stress hormone, bringing the body back into balance.

🌼 Soothing the body… Studies show time in nature improves the physiological markers of stress including lower blood pressure, feelings of anxiety and improved heart rate variability.

🌼 Restoring focus… Natural movements like drifting clouds, swaying leaves, or flowing water gently captivates our attention, sending more demanding thoughts to the background and giving our minds the opportunity to rest.

When you put yourself in the way of nature’s beauty, your body responds in kind.

Seeking out beauty isn’t indulgence, but a way of caring for yourself.

And a reminder that even in uncertainty, even in the shadows, even when it feels ugly, the world is abundant with wonder.

So trust the little blooms, the sunsets, and the forgotten wild corners to guide you home.

Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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I took Leti's soul-stirring music and wove it together with rainforest footage I filmed in Kuranda, North Queensland. The result is a short film that is more than simply music or visuals — it’s an experience. A meditative journey of love, transformation and rebirth, an invitation to pause, feel, reflect, and reconnect with the Earth and spirit.

I’m so excited to share it with you here. Below you’ll find the film, along with a short Q&A where Leti shares more about the inspiration behind Forest Fire, her creative process, and her own connection with the Earth.

Q & A with Leti

What was the inspiration behind “Forest Fire”?

Forest Fire began with a songwriting brief I was given during my MA: the title “Forests need fire.” At first, I thought: okay, I’ll write a climate song. I’d written about the climate crisis before, and it’s a theme close to my heart, so I was keen to expand on it.

As I started researching, I learnt about natural wildfires—those essential to the renewal of ecosystems. That idea of destruction creating space for new growth led me to reflect on relationships. I realised how important it is to let go, to not hold onto resentment, and to allow the past to transform so that something new can flourish.

From there, the forest became a metaphor for a relationship on the edge—fragile because of the old wounds both people bring into it. Eventually, I stepped away from the original brief, simplifying the title to “Forest Fire.”

While the song explores relationships, I believe its lyrics can resonate more broadly—whether in love, in life, or even as a reminder of the urgency of the climate emergency, a theme I continue to hold very close.

What’s one quirky ritual or habit you have when creating music and writing?

I don’t have just one way of writing — every song has its own process. I’m actually really passionate about experimenting with different approaches to spark creativity. Often, I’ll come up with melodies while I’m walking and quickly record them on my phone, or test out something I’ve written at home to see if it sticks. People sometimes look at me funny when I’m singing out loud on the street, but when I’m in my element, I’m completely in my own world.

Where or when do you feel most connected to the Earth and to yourself?

In Switzerland, in Ticino where I’m from, I’ve always loved the forest. I grew up close to a wood, and being among trees makes me feel deeply grounded—like I completely belong, part of something bigger. It feels like a call to tune into the cycles of nature.

It’s a reminder that while I love a creative lif, often energetic, vigorous, and full of variety—there’s also a call within me for simplicity, calm, and wholeness. The forest always brings me back to that truth: we are nature. We can embody both part with the same wisdom we see in Mother Nature.

The Cosmic Songbook 🌌

From dissecting my creative processes to intimate stories about living an artistic life on my terms and mindset coaching for artists and creatives. An introspective - at times philosophical - publication to ignite your creativity and soothe your heart.

By Leti

If Forest Fire resonates with you, maybe you know someone else who would also enjoy the experience. Please feel free to share the love. If you have any more questions for Leti or me, drop them below. We’d love to hear how this nature and music immersion felt for you.

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Stay curious and kind,
Simone

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You are invited to come home to Earth and self while reconnecting with deep presence, joy, and vitality.

Designed to gently weave into daily life, each month you’ll receive a themed living nature immersion. Learn more here.

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🎁 Founding Members also receive a personalised guided Nature Immersion meditation

She is exhausted and resigned, not from the anguish of childbirth in the ‘60s, but from over a decade of raising a family while largely self-sufficient and isolated from society. As the depression deepens, devotion to her family keeps her moving forward… another harrowing winter, another gruelling summer, another hour-long drive to the nearest outpost for basic supplies.

No one is to blame for this predicament. My grandparents sought an idyllic life in a pretty valley to raise their family. And it was perfect, at least to begin with. I undoubtedly walk in their footsteps, yet I heed their experiences and approach with caution. To escape society completely, to rely primarily on one’s spouse and offspring for social connection, work, education and food production puts immense pressure on the family unit.

They were dreamers. And lovers.

My grandfather lost the love of his life to injuries sustained in a car accident along that winding gravel road. My father, the youngest of six, was just twelve years old and left to grow up overnight, facing the real world with the street smarts of a bush kid who grew up shooting rabbits for dinner and taming brumbies for fun.

I knew my grandpa as a jolly, social, community-centred veteran with the lungs of an opera singer, who could bring any room to tears with his bellowing rendition of “Hallelujah”. If he was pained, grieving, or regretful about the way his life played out, I was none the wiser. He passed away when I was a teen.

Where blood meets water

It’s a crisp winter day in a little country village in eastern Victoria. The kids tuck some flowers into an old vase left on the headstone of their great-grandparents’ shared grave. Not quite grasping the concept of dead and alive, but trying their hardest to honour the moment, my six-year-old can’t help but feel excited at the prospect of old bones (like dinosaur fossils!) underfoot. It felt symbolic and respectful to visit my relatives here, yet unemotional, disconnected somehow.

As we weave our way deeper into the valley, interspersed with eucalypt forest and green rolling farmland, I notice a distinct shift in the energy. I realise that this pilgrimage we are on has led me here, to the banks of this river.

I rise at sunrise, passing wombat burrows as I make my way down to the riverbank. The water is icy, melted snow that’s taken the short journey from the nearby mountains to my increasingly numbing hand. I fold my mat in half and settle into a loose cross-legged position, facing where I expect the sun to appear. The steady flow of water creates a soothing rhythm, and my thoughts begin to slow.

Their stories are held tenderly by the river. Water never forgets, you see. It transforms, moves across the land, and through the atmosphere, yet keeps memories. So I listen and feel, the old gum trees adding their quiet observations. But no one truly knows what lies beneath another’s skin. We can know stories—but how can we ever truly know them?

I didn’t know her, yet I feel the anxious excitement as she sets off on an unknown voyage across the Earth. How her English skin never quite adapted to the harsh Australian landscape. How isolated it would be to raise children in harsh mountain country while in mental health survival mode. Was this the kind of adventure she signed up for? Did she expect to fall in love with a Victorian farmer? She was a trailblazer, both literally and figuratively. Did she know this? The inspiration she would become to sixteen grandchildren decades later?

I am left with more questions than answers, which makes me feel anxious and at a loss. I slow down and begin again. I reconnect to my breath, slowly, intentionally, in and out. I feel warmth as the sun crests the ridgeline. The rhythm of the water overtakes my senses, and we become one.

A strong sensation of deep presence and warmth washes over me.

I feel a hand on each shoulder. My grandparents’ spirit is grounded and supportive, a pure expression of love cultivated when their blood in my body meets the pristine waters they created life with all those years ago.

Their guidance and encouragement manifest as a wave of sunlight, as they whisper:

Follow the call.

Work patiently toward your vision.

But heed the warning of the martyr.

Maybe their wisdom has been inside me all along. I’ve noticed their presence at seemingly random moments throughout my life. Perhaps I crave so deeply to know them that this experience is entirely a figment of my imagination. Nevertheless, I’m left feeling calmer and more connected, grasping my vision with both hands as I move forward. Their blood still flows within me, their bodies one with the Earth, and their wisdom lives in the water. Onwards.

I’d love to hear about your experiences connecting with your bloodline. Is it random, or can you cultivate this connection?

Leave a comment

Stay curious and kind,
Simone

Ps. Stay tuned next month, as we flow towards our vision and into the next phase of our adventure—we’re embarking on the Spirit of Tasmania ferry tomorrow!

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Dear Wildling,

Thank you for joining me here, in this shared space where each month we explore what it means to cultivate your Wild Paradise. This series is an invitation to slow down, reconnect with …

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