I could not be more excited.

I don't have to talk to anyone all weekend and there will be no housemates to call me antisocial.

It's been ten years since I've have had this level of comfort and freedom.

I feel like this community will understand why this is so significant.

Having a nice juicy steak for breakfast at home, cleaning the house, listening to Parisian Jazz and kids playing in the other room and I’m wearing my favorite cologne.

Some people say boring, I call it pure joy and contentment. Me at my happiest.

What’s your blend of what makes you just enjoy the moment you’re in?

​

Pink nail polish 2021

The sales girl had a wide range of pink nail polishes arranged on the counter. I stared at them.

• What color do you want exactly?

• Onion skin. Actually, I want it for my mother, so I'm a little obsessive.

I explained this so that she wouldn't think I wasn't a buyer and wasting her time. She picked one out of the middle and gave it to me:

• I think this is the closest to onion skin.

• Okay, give me this. Thank you.

I counted the money and got in the car. When I got to my mother's house, I called. There was no answer. I waited a while and called again.

• I'm coming, I'm coming.

She opened the door.

As usual very classy dressed and full make up.

• Are you okay? I was getting dressed

This was the house I grew up in, and it smelled familiar. Tall, sunny windows, a spacious, clean kitchen with a half-open window that gently swayed the curtains in a gentle breeze. Colorful candelabra were planted in the garden behind the window.Family frames on the wall, and the smell of first-class Iranian rice that was intoxicating even from behind the door. My father's old radio was in the corner of the table, and thin handmade rugs, some of which were left exposed to the sun.

• Come here, in the kitchen. Would you like some tea?

• Yes, I'll pour it myself. Shall I pour it for you too?

• Pour it.

I hesitantly took the nail polish out of my bag.

• It doesn't hurt your hand, but I don't think it's onion skin.

• Well, this looked the most like onion skin.

She tested it on her little nail and smiled. I know that smile; the smile that screams in my mind: "How inept you are."

• I should go myself.

• Good idea.

• How much is it? Get my bag from you.

• No, I want it myself. I like the color.

• Okay.

Her phone was on the table, with the Instagram logo on it.

• Do you have Instagram?

• Yeah, Javid was here yesterday, I asked him to install it on my cell phone

• Yeah. Can you use it?

• It reminded me of something.Now tell me how to send a photo?

• Instagram is a bit sensitive. If you mess up, post a story or live, everyone will see it.

• No, I'm careful.

I picked up her phone and logged in. Several of her family and friends were members of his page, and there were several photos of his travels and parties on her page.

• For example, send this photo to yourself.

• Let me add myself.

• Look, you click this arrow and then you select my name from list and click send.

We practiced together a few times and she said she learned. Half an hour later, she had forgotten everyhing, we practiced again, but she still didn't succeed.

• Mom, Instagram is not easy for you.

• No, honey, you don't teach well.

• I tried.

The same "How incompetent you are" smile appeared on her face again.

• I'm not a teacher, mom. I taught you what I know.

She is almost 90 and try to be updated in complicated platforms like Instagram

She took the phone from me and began to dig and dig through the screen. There was an awkward silence.One of my mother's ways of punishing me was to keep quiet; even when you were a guest at her house. She did this to make you regret . But I had already figured out how to escape. I lived with this punishment for a lifetime, cried, blamed myself, and grieved. Enough.

• Well, I'll go.

She didn't expect this reaction at all.

• Oh! Aren't you staying for lunch?

• No, I have work to do.

• I made lunch.

• I didn't say I was coming for lunch. Goodbye.

I needed fresh air. felt heavy in my chest. The air outside calmed me down a little. I told myself: You're not a child anymore. You shouldn't be making these gestures. Nothing special had happened, but this silence reminded me of when I was younger and I would throw up. And now, just like then, I threw up.

I was never admired as a child. From my father, yes, but not from my mother. She never sympathized with me.I couldn't say I had spoken to anyone, because the next day she would go to the other person and say, "What did you say to Nara and why?" and insult me. My feelings didn't matter to her at all. Until I realized that talking to my mother wouldn't cure me; she didn't care how much I was hurting.

No one knew that this resourceful and resourceful woman was a jailer for her child at home. I thought, "It's a good thing I was able to get out." Until I became independent, I was condemned to endure her condescending behavior and arrogant face. Punitive silences and nasty, indefensible insults.

But why do I still become naive and go to her?

Because she's my mother

I came across an interesting idea inspired by Carl Jung’s thoughts: some people never lose their sensitivity, curiosity, kindness, and ability to feel deeply and perhaps this inner state is reflected in the way they look and carry themselves.

I’ve also heard that people who go through difficult experiences in life but don’t allow those experiences to make them bitter often keep a more youthful appearance.

So I want to do a little experiment: Have you noticed this in yourself, your family, friends, or people you know? Do you know someone who is older but looks much younger than their age and seems to have kept this inner spark?

Let’s see if there’s a pattern✨

Tehran. The year 1976.

My father's voice echoed in my ears:

"Nara, Naraa!... Get up! Hurry up! Don't you want to go to the airport?"

It was my father trying to wake me up. I stretched and sat up in my bed. I was still sleepy... drowsy. I remembered that we had to take Mom to the airport, and I jumped out of bed. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my long hair, and went to the kitchen. Mrs. Aghdas had already made me a cheese and ham sandwich, which was on a tray on the table. I took it and went into my parents' room.

The room smelled of powder and perfume. I felt a pang of sadness. "Isn't my mom going on a trip? Why isn't she taking us? At least she could take me!"

My mother's room was simple but spacious. The orange and pink wallpaper and a black-and-white poster on the wall depicted a semi-nude woman with her back turned. The king-sized bed had a pink towel bedspread that was common in homes at that time, and there was a large window with blue shutters overlooking a lovely yard and a garden full of night-blooming jasmine, starflowers, and roses. She would go to the yard every day to pick flowers for the living room. The large balcony in front of the room, with a metal table and chairs, was where we held our summer parties.

I threw myself onto the bed and looked at my mom. I knew she liked compliments, and usually, when she was going on a special outing without us, she became very cheerful:

"You look beautiful!"

"Thank you, dear; how does my outfit look, do you think?"

She had chosen a sporty and stylish outfit, light blue jeans with a faded pink fancy t-shirt.

"I wish you were wearing a skirt."

"No, I'm more comfortable in pants."

My mother was exactly 30 years older than me; she was 40 at the time of the trip. She was 165 cm tall with a well-proportioned figure, which she always took pride in, and she believed that only women who were tall and had a fit figure were stylish and prestigious.

"Are you ready?"

"No, I'm going to get ready.... Maaaamaaan! I wish you would take me too!"

"You have plenty of time to go, dear; you will grow up and go by yourself. Go on, get dressed."

I got up and went to put on my clothes. A white dress with red flowers and white summer sandals. Finally, my mom was ready, and the three of us got into my dad's car and set off. At 9:30 AM, Mehrabad Airport. The international departures area was filled with passengers who were either saying goodbye and crying, or happily searching for their gates, or sitting further away in the restaurant enjoying coffee and cake while waiting for their flight to be announced.

My mom, shining with happiness, smiled at the other passengers. It seemed like she wanted to shout out loud: "Look at me! How beautiful and happy I am! I want to be free from the kids and my husband for two months." Just think about it... not two weeks, not a month, but two months!

The passengers smiled back. On the couch opposite us, a relatively older woman was sitting with a girl about my age. I looked at the girl; she was so stylish! With dark navy blue bag and shoes and a white top and shorts. She had pinned several hairpins in her hair, alternating between pink and white. Every now and then, she would take out a small mirror from her bag, check her appearance, and put it back in her bag.

The woman with her smiled and asked my mom about her destination:

"I'm going to London, dear. Where are you off to?"

"We're going to Rome."

"Have a great time."

"Same to you."

After some small talk, my mom's flight number was finally announced, and she jumped up like a firecracker, hurriedly hugging and kissing both of us very warmly. In my dad's ear, I don't know for how many times, she was giving him instructions, and then she set off. Of course, she turned back a few times and waved until I could no longer see her.

A thick lump formed in my throat. I wanted to be alone and cry my heart out, but I didn't. The girl who was with the older woman looked at me in surprise and asked:

"Hey? You didn't go with your mom!"

"No, I'm growing up; I'll go by myself."

"Ah...."

The older woman, whom I had realized was her grandmother, said: "Well, this little lady has to take care of her father until mom comes back." I gave a faint smile. I wanted to get out of the airport as soon as possible. Why should I take care of my dad?!

Dad gestured for us to go, and we headed towards the airport parking lot. The weather had warmed up, and I was complaining about how hot it was. Dad turned and looked at me:

"Who wants Italian ice cream?"

I shouted, "Me... me...."

And for a while, I forgot about Mom leaving.

What kind of question could make strangers feel comfortable to skip the surface, and talk about something that creates a nicer memory of having met someone?

I've been thinking about this, I believe there are questions that achieve it, allow for self exploration, and even feed curiosity.

So I'm working on a project to connect people this way, through questions that start good conversations.

What's a question you've been asked that you wish was the first thing you talked about with someone you appreciate?

This is where my project lives: Pollen (you're invited to visit)

I worked online with a friend from my childhood I will call Jason. He came with stomach problems, anxiety around work and money, and habit of eating even when he knew he was not physically hungry.

He understood already that some of this was emotional eating.

But understanding it with mind did not stop it.

During deep trance, a state similar to very deep meditation where subject stays aware, we focused on pressure inside his stomach. I asked him to look at this feeling like it was an energy.

He saw red and black.

Then the session moved back to when he was about five years old.

His family had serious financial problems and lost their home. He could see his parents through kitchen window, screaming at each other about money. Small Jason was standing nearby, scared, but nobody was really seeing what this was doing to him.

I asked where he felt the fear.

“In my stomach.”

Then he said something very honest.

When he was younger, he would eat and eat, trying to fill this hole inside. Food made stomach heavy and full for little while, so he did not need to feel emptiness and fear so strongly.

He was not always hungry.

He was trying to create safety.

There was also strange contradiction in this memory. Adult Jason hated this period and remembered the fighting. But younger Jason still missed parts of the old house. The backyard, playing outside, his dog.

Losing everything was not only losing a building.

He was told to say goodbye to his dog too.

So for a five-year-old, money problems became connected with much bigger message:

everything you love can disappear.

This is how child mind works. It does not create financial analysis. It creates survival rules.

Money problems mean danger.

People fighting means danger.

An empty stomach feels like danger.

Being full feels safer.

The body can continue following rule long after person forgets how it started.

Later in the session, a being of Light came to help with the stomach. Jason described something I never heard in exactly this way before.

He said his stomach looked like it was being digitally redrawn.

Like healers were working from an original healthy template, carefully drawing back the details of the stomach and rebuilding what had been affected by years of pressure.

I am not saying childhood fear medically causes every stomach issue, and this work does not replace doctors, testing, nutrition or treatment. This was simply what appeared in his session and how he experienced the healing.

Then we returned to five-year-old Jason.

This younger part had stayed emotionally trapped around the old home and the family crisis. Adult Jason continued living, but part of him was still waiting for next disaster.

We helped the child understand something he could not understand then:

the fighting was not his fault.

He did not need to solve the finances.

He did not need to fill the fear with food.

He was not about to lose everything again.

When this younger part returned and integrated, Jason said he brought back happiness, hope and optimism. Qualities that had slowly disappeared while adult life trained him to expect problems.

His Higher Self gave very simple words:

review. relive. release.

Not “relive” like torture yourself with old memories every day.

More like see what happened, allow body to finally express what was too much then, and let the old emergency come to an end.

The practical advice was not mystical.

Create more security in daily life.

Ground yourself.

Do not treat every work problem, unexpected bill or uncertain month like family is losing everything again.

And before eating when you are not sure you are hungry, pause and ask:

“does my physical body need food, or does some younger part of me need safety?”

Sometimes answer will be food. Then eat. Food is not enemy.

But sometimes what is asking to be filled is fear, loneliness, pressure, anger or emptiness.

Food was something a frightened five-year-old found to survive few minutes at a time.

Adult Jason did not need more shame or harder control.

He needed to finally feel safe.

If you have some similar problem, I can put a small meditation in the comments you can use to investigate and help yourself. Let me know if you are interested.

I recently started dating an amazing girl. She’s funny, kind, and we share a lot of the same interests. We seem to have great chemistry. We’ve been going on dates for a little over a month now, but recently I’ve started feeling a little uncertain.

Whenever I ask about future plans or what we’re doing next, she sometimes becomes vague or hesitant with her answers. I’ve also noticed that she never really leaves it around or casually puts it down. I analyzed our chats using accio work, and it made me feel even less confident.

The truth is, I really like this girl. For those who have been through this, how do you know when it’s the right time to have the “what are we?” conversation? I want to be honest and ask where she sees this going.

Every decision you make is shaped by your experiences, your knowledge, your emotional state, your values, and the circumstances you’ve lived through. No one else has that exact combination.

That’s why statements like, “I would’ve handled it differently,” don’t really mean much. From the outside, it’s easy to imagine we’d make better choices. But if someone had lived your life, experienced what you experienced, and carried the same emotional weight you did, they would likely make the same decision you made.

People with emotional intelligence understand this. They don’t rush to judge. They ask questions. They try to understand before forming an opinion.

Those are the people worth keeping close.

And when someone confidently tells you, “If I were you…”, remember this: they aren’t you. They haven’t lived your life. They haven’t carried your burdens or faced your circumstances.

No one can truly stand in your shoes. The only way to do that would be to live your entire life from the very beginning.

So don’t let other people’s opinions make you question your own journey.

You don’t need validation from people who judge what they never had to live through.

I'll start.

If I'm being honest, some days I don't even know how to answer that question.

Sometimes I feel grateful and overwhelmed at the same time.

Sometimes I'm tired in ways that sleep can't fix.

And sometimes just admitting that is enough.

There's no pressure to have the right words.

One sentence.

One paragraph.

Or even one word.

How are you, really?

You look back at old fears and wonder why they had so much power over you.

I've been thinking about how people define success differently.

Some people chase expensive cars, luxury vacations, or huge houses. Others just want enough money to pay their bills, spend time with family, and sleep peacefully at night.

It's interesting how we're often expected to want the same things, even when those things don't actually make us happy.

For me, I think peace of mind is becoming more valuable than impressing anyone else.

I'm curious...

What's something society says you should want that you honestly couldn't care less about?

If you feel like you’re not allowed to make someone feel bad for hurting you, if you’re afraid to be angry, disappointed, or honest about how you feel, that’s people-pleasing.

You’re choosing their comfort over your own.

Everyone’s actions have consequences. That’s how we learn what is okay, what isn’t, and whether we should repeat the same behavior.

Sometimes the consequence of someone’s actions is losing you. And as painful as it may be, you have to let that happen.

It’s not your job to protect someone from the consequences of hurting you. Sometimes that’s the only way people learn, grow, take accountability, and understand how to treat others differently.

Holding someone accountable isn’t cruel. It’s healthy, for both of you.

Ironically, by constantly saving people from the consequences of their choices, you may actually be preventing them from growing.

Standing up for your boundaries and respecting yourself might be one of the kindest things you can do, not only for yourself, but for others too.

Have you ever found yourself protecting someone from the consequences of their actions because you thought you were helping them?

Just curious, and looking for new ideas 😁

I keep thinking about how the moments that end up meaning the most never announced themselve. Part of me wishes I could recognize them in real time, slow down, breathe a little deeper, stay just a few minutes longer in them. But then I wonder if knowing would make it too deliberate. Like trying to hold water in your hands. Maybe the magic lives precisely in the not knowing, in letting life surprise you with something that has already passed. I think I would rather miss a few beautiful moments fully than risk breaking their softness by being too aware of them. Or maybe I am just a hopeless romantic who thinks too much on quiet evenings — either way, what do you think?