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The earthquake hit on a Wednesday afternoon. I found out the way most people find out about something this large — messages arriving from everywhere, all at once, overlapping. I read them standing still. I was already in my day, already fully awake, and then suddenly I was in something else entirely, something not real, not possible.

I want to be honest about what the days that followed looked like, because I think honesty is the point. Wednesday night I collapsed into it — into Instagram, into X, into the relentless scroll. I was in shock, still I cried hard, but not in a straight line. That's what I want to share, because I think it matters more than the grief itself: none of this moved in a straight line.

In the days that followed — really, within the same minutes — I could be watching footage of government teams blocking…

There’s something I’ve been sitting with for many years now — something that began to take shape after my divorce, and deepened through the loss of another very meaningful relationship.

No one really teaches us how to be in a relationship. We’re taught how to succeed, how to perform, how to navigate the external world. But when it comes to love, intimacy, and building a life with another person — most of us are left to figure it out as we go.

That was certainly true for me. I got married completely in love. We built a family, shared twenty-five years, and there was so much goodness between us. But if I’m honest, a lot of what worked was also luck. We didn’t have the language. We didn’t have the tools. We were improvising with something that deserved to be built with intention. It wasn’t a lack of love. It…

I watched the movie Her a while ago, and then I watched it again recently — and both times, what stayed with me wasn't the technology, or even the love story. It was the loneliness. Theodore is surrounded by the most sophisticated companionship imaginable. Samantha knows him completely, anticipates him, grows with him, never criticizes him without care. And yet, he is profoundly, achingly alone.

That paradox is exactly what I've been sitting with this month, because we are no longer watching science fiction. We are living it.

I've been talking a lot lately about how extraordinary AI is — how it solves information problems, how it can serve as a thinking partner, how it expands access to knowledge in ways that are genuinely remarkable. I believe that and I use it. But there is something that AI simply cannot do, no matter how sophisticated it becomes, no matter how…

I absolutely loved this book. It’s such a simple, step-by-step guide to creating conscious relationships, and it offers a framework that’s both practical and deeply rooted in psychology. I’ve read a lot about romantic relationships—partly because of my passion for understanding love and partly because I’m currently working on my Vita Major for Relationship Coaching—and this book has become one of my all-time favorites.

What makes it so special is how well-structured it is. The authors base their approach on Imago Therapy, which focuses on the unconscious patterns we develop in childhood and how they shape our adult relationships. It’s an eye-opener to see how much our early experiences influence how we love and communicate as adults. The book is filled with actionable exercises and tools that help couples identify their patterns and work toward healthier, more fulfilling connections.

One concept that really stood out to me from this book is…

May has always carried the energy of the mother. Of origin. Of where we come from. And this year, inside Seekers Circle, I want to use this month to explore something deeply personal and profound: the inner child.

The inner child is not a metaphor in the abstract sense. It is the living imprint of who we were when we were small. It is the collection of experiences, fears, dreams, wounds, joys, and unmet needs that shaped the way we learned to see the world. It is where our nervous system first learned what was safe and what was not. It is where we formed beliefs about love, about belonging, about money, about power, about worth.

Whether we consciously acknowledge it or not, that younger part of us is still very present.

If our inner child learned that love had to be earned, we may overextend ourselves in relationships.And if…

Hay una película japonesa que me dejó pensando durante días. Se llama Rental Family, y su premisa es simple pero perturbadora: en Japón existe un servicio donde puedes contratar actores para que hagan el papel de tu familia. Un padre para tu hija. Un prometido para tus padres. Un abuelo en un funeral.

Lo primero que uno siente es una especie de sopresa, e incredulidad. Lo segundo, si se queda con esa incomodidad el tiempo suficiente, es reconocimiento.

Todo ser humano llega al mundo con necesidades que van mucho más allá del alimento y el abrigo. Necesitamos ser vistos. Necesitamos ser nombrados por alguien que nos conozca de verdad. Necesitamos pertenecer a algo que nos sostenga, que nos reciba, que esté cuando llegamos a casa. Esas no son necesidades caprichosas ni culturales — son constitutivas de lo que somos. Sin ellas, algo en nosotros se detiene.

Lo que la película…

Ser madre o padre puede ser la experiencia más desafiante del mundo. No por el esfuerzo físico, ni por la logística, ni por las noches sin dormir. Lo que más nos sacude es lo que emerge dentro de nosotros.

La infancia que regresa, las heridas que despiertan, las emociones que nos desbordan… y, casi siempre, la culpa.Nos sentimos culpables por no estar disponibles, por perder la paciencia, por gritar, por no saber cómo acompañar. Nos invade un pensamiento silencioso pero feroz: “No soy suficiente buena mama.” Y desde ahí, empezamos a castigarnos.

Pero… ¿sirve de algo?

Por qué la culpa no repara — y esto es fundamental entenderlo

Aquí está uno de los mayores engaños que cargamos como padres y madres: creemos que sentir culpa nos vuelve mejores personas. Que, si nos castigamos lo suficiente, algo cambiará. Que el sufrimiento interno es una forma de compensar lo que hicimos.

Pero…

I really loved this book.

It felt like sitting down with a friend and having a fun, meaningful, honest conversation—light at times, but also deliciously deep.

As I was reading it, I kept reflecting on my own relationship with creativity, and especially on the environment I grew up in. I come from a very creative family, and not just in a casual sense, but in a very real, almost overwhelming way. My great-grandfather was a published writer, and my great-uncle was also a prolific writer who received one of the highest recognitions in Spain for his lifetime work. My uncle, Alberto Vázquez-Figueroa, is one of the most widely read authors in the Spanish-speaking world, with more than one hundred published novels, many of which have been adapted into films. My brother is an internationally recognized plastic artist whose work lives in some of the most important art collections in the world…