03/03/2025 - Dial in if you need me, but for now, I’m just floating.

Hello readers,

I haven’t written here for the last three weeks, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was writing somewhere else. In my book. I started it, and so far, it feels right. Raw, sincere, unapologetically me. Here, I allow myself some filters, knowing that people I know might be reading, people I don’t necessarily want to stir up drama with. But in my book? There are no filters. None. Every thought, every feeling, the purest form of my being, exposed. It’s incredibly therapeutic, in a way, to spill my truth without restraint. And disturbing, too. I contain so many contradictions, juxtapositions, connections that make no sense yet form my reality.

But first, let’s set the scene. I’m sitting in a leather chair at a dark wooden desk in my personal office, inside the sleek IT company building where I’ve started working again. Newport Beach, California. It’s been three days, and I still feel jet-lagged. Nine hours behind Switzerland, it makes sense. It’s currently 13:13, and I’m starving. No surprise there. Since I arrived, I’ve been eating like I was deprived back home. And, well… home isn’t home anymore.

The last few weeks in Verbier were intense. If you read my last article, you know what I mean. I felt unsettled, uncertain, sensitive, exposed, and, at times, unsafe. I knew leaving was the right decision, but that didn’t make it any lighter. The goodbyes, the heavy feelings, the realizations, some old, some new. But I did it. Packed up everything, said my farewells, and took one last look at the mountains that held me for nearly two years. Now, I feel weightless, like I have no roots pulling me back to Earth. I’m floating, no fixed plans, no home, no expectations, no obligations, no partner. Just me. Alone. And it’s peaceful. I could fall asleep just thinking about it.

I think my nervous system is still catching up to the fact that I left a place that stirred so much inside me. Verbier forced me to learn how to transmute emotions at lightning speed, how to detach from the weight of others’ opinions, how to claim who I am even more fiercely, how to love myself above it all. And now? Now, I’m in a transition where nothing seems to touch me. I feel untouchable. Out of reach. Dial in if you need me, but for now, I’m just floating. And, God, it feels so damn good.

Everything is okay. I still need to respond to everyone who sent me messages when I left, I just needed time to process it all before I could. But I’m so glad I did it. So glad I DID IT. My peace is the greatest gift I will continue giving myself. And that doesn’t mean I’ll resist stepping back into the chaos. I know I will. I’ll dive back into the core of the matrix, into the essence of what it means to be human, connecting, interacting, being present in a society that demands presence. But for now? I can detach from my own existence. Fuck yeah.

Maybe I’ll go to a dispensary this week. I haven’t touched THC in two months, but I think I'll enjoy a cosy sesh. A release. And Mary Jane has always helped in that regard. We used to be inseparable, tangled in each other to the point where I lost myself in her. But like anything that takes too much, I had to step away to regain my individuality. Now, I choose when we meet. And it’s always good to see her again. She forces me to face everything I’ve shoved into my unconscious. At first, it’s uncomfortable, but once I surrender, I always come back to the same realization: It's only an experience. There is no need to take it all so seriously.

With love, Loune.