The Founder and the Teacher

On burnout, Buddhism, Vogue France, and the search for meaning in unlikely places.

For the last three months I think I’ve been teetering on the edge of burnout.

Since launching gentle—noise, chaos has most definitely replaced calm. The irony of a meditation teacher admitting this isn’t lost on me. But here we are, trying to build something meaningful inside a culture that rewards constant motion. Also trying to make a small difference while paying the bills, supporting a family, answering emails, and remembering to get enough protein in a day.

Lately I’ve been wondering whether these two lives can actually coexist and be sustainable.

A few weeks ago I was in Los Angeles moving between meetings with investors, agents, brands, and partners. Conversations about growth, strategy, audiences, and revenue. A few days later I was standing at the gardens at Esalen with my friend Max, leading a retreat for sixty people, many of whom I’d spent years practicing with online.

The first day was harder than I expected.

I couldn’t settle. My mind was racing. I felt disconnected from the room and, if I’m honest, disconnected from myself. There was a moment where I wondered whether I was actually a teacher at all or simply someone playing the role of one.

Fortunately, retreats have a way of stripping away whatever story you’re carrying.

By the end of the weekend I was reminded of a few things.

First, I’m a teacher before anything else. I’ll (god-willing) do it until I croak.

Long before there was a business plan, a podcast, a newsletter, or a brand, there was my practice. I was fortunate enough to receive teachings that have been handed down for more than 2,500 years. My teachers entrusted those teachings to me and, in turn, I try to pass them on as faithfully as I can.

Everything else is secondary. That’s easy to forget.

The second thing I was reminded of is that we’ve collectively lost something important in the way many of us approach spiritual practice.

As meditation, yoga, breathwork, and mindfulness entered the mainstream, they became increasingly framed through the language of optimisation and performance. Better focus. Better sleep. Better productivity. Better leadership. I’ve banged on about this before, i know.

And none of those outcomes are inherently bad. Many of them are really useful.

But somewhere along the way we and maybe even me lost contact with mystery.

The traditions these practices emerged from weren’t self-improvement systems. They were attempts to understand the nature of reality itself.

Buddhism, despite how it’s often presented in the West, isn’t purely secular or psychological. It’s filled with ideas that many modern people find uncomfortable: rebirth, unseen realms, karma unfolding across lifetimes. Whether you take those literally or metaphorically almost feels beside the point. What matters is that these traditions were never solely concerned with becoming a slightly more efficient version of yourself. They were asking much larger questions.

Who are we?

What is consciousness?

What happens when we stop organising life entirely around our own preferences and fears?

Spending days in silence beside the Pacific Ocean, meditating several times a day, I could feel that vastness again. As a genuine felt sense. It was a reminder that practice connects us to something much bigger than self-improvement.

Most of us aren’t living in monasteries. We exist inside a complicated world of careers, families, mortgages, deadlines, algorithms, ambition, and desire. The retreat was a remembering of sorts.

I remembered who I was beneath the noise. Thank you Big Sur.

Then, forty-eight hours later, I was back on a plane.

Home long enough to see my wife before heading to Sicily for a retreat hosted by Vogue France.

Even writing that sentence makes me laugh. One day I’m speaking about Buddhist philosophy in Big Sur. The next I’m teaching meditation at a luxury retreat with a fashion magazine and a group of models.

A part of me immediately got lost in my head again. Was I somehow less of a teacher because I was leading a meditation retreat for Vogue France? What kind of fraudster am I ? (the world kind surely).

Interestingly, over the course of a few days I found myself sitting with artists, designers, writers, photographers, entrepreneurs, and creatives from around the world. Different backgrounds, different beliefs, different lives, yet the conversations kept circling the same themes: meaning, purpose, faith, identity, belonging, love, and what it means to live a good life.

I can get so immersed in Buddhist practice and wellness culture that I forget most people arrive at these questions through entirely different doorways. Not everyone meditates. Not everyone is interested in Buddhism. Not everyone has a spiritual practice. Yet many people seem to be wrestling with the same underlying questions.

How do I make sense of this life?

What can I rely on when things fall apart?

Is there more to life than…this?

It left me reflecting on how differently we all relate to the big questions. Some people call it faith. Others call it God. Some find it through art, nature, family, service, community, creativity, or contemplative practice. The language changes, but the impulse is familiar. Beneath our different stories and beliefs there often seems to be a desire to feel connected to something larger than our individual concerns.

Perhaps that’s always been true. But lately it feels especially visible.

Many of the structures that once provided people with a sense of meaning and belonging feel less certain than they once did. We’re surrounded by information and yet many people feel starved for wisdom. In that environment it’s not surprising that so many people are searching, even if they’re not entirely sure what they’re searching for.

As I write this, we’re moving through Saga Dawa, which coincides with Vesak, the most significant period in the Buddhist calendar. Traditionally, it commemorates the birth, enlightenment, and passing of the Buddha. For practitioners, it’s considered an especially auspicious time to deepen meditation, practice generosity, strengthen ethical conduct, and cultivate compassion.

Whether you’re Buddhist or not, I think there’s something valuable in the spirit of that invitation.

It’s a useful time to reflect on the intentions shaping your life. To pay attention to what you’re cultivating through your actions, habits, and relationships. To be a little more generous than usual. A little more patient. A little more forgiving. To extend kindness when it’s inconvenient. To remember that our lives are shaped less by what we believe and more by what we repeatedly practice.

The rest of the year is simply an opportunity to continue.

By the time you read this, I’ll be somewhere between Sicily and Berlin, heading to a couple of talks and gatherings. If you’re in Berlin this week, come by. I’d love to meet you.