Reflections

The stuff I think about, a personal space for my unfiltered thoughts. From everyday moments to deep introspection, this is where I document life as it happens, raw, real, intimate.

Bordeaux by Teekay Rezeau-Merah

Bordeaux, somehow

May 19, 2026 — Leave a comment

Let me tell you about “my” city.

I never planned on living in Bordeaux

Like, at all.

I never thought it would become anything close to “home” either.

Actually, I don’t even really know what home means.

Not in a fake deep way.

Not in the cliché traveler way where people say “home is wherever the heart is” and then post a picture of an airport window or whatever.

I mean it literally.

I’ve traveled too much, moved too much and lived in too many different places to tie that word neatly to one city, one country, one childhood street or one fixed point on a map.

Some people have that.

A place they come from.

A place that explains them.

A place they can point to and say, yeah, that’s home.

I don’t really have that.

So when I say Bordeaux became important to me, I don’t mean it became home in the normal sense.

I just mean it’s one of the rare places where staying made sense.

And for me, that’s already a lot.

Somehow, over the years, Bordeaux ended up being the place I stayed the longest. Funny how these things play out huh?

What’s also interesting is that it wasn’t because I woke up one day and thought, yes, this is the city where I’m going to build my life, or a part of it.

It just kept making sense to stay a little longer.

Then a little longer again.

I’ve been in France on and off for around 20 years now, which is actually mad when I write it down.

At one point I studied in Lyon, and listen, Lyon is beautiful. I’m not one of those people who pretends a city is ugly just because I didn’t connect with it.

Lyon has history, architecture, culture, food, all that heavy old French city stuff.

But I never felt at comfortable there.

In fact, when I left Lyon, I genuinely thought I was done with France entirely.

Then one day I drove through Bordeaux and that was kind of it.

Immediate click.

No long intellectual analysis.

No checklist.

No “let me compare quality of life, transport, rent and cultural infrastructure.”

Just a feeling.

Like, ok, I get this place.

That’s it.

And I don’t get many places like that.

Bordeaux is beautiful, but not in a loud way.

That’s probably one of the main reasons I like it.

It doesn’t scream at you.

It’s not trying to be Paris. It’s not trying to impress you with giant towers, endless glass buildings or some fake futuristic skyline.

There are no skyscrapers eating the sky.

No weird corporate city-centre energy making you feel like you accidentally walked into someone’s LinkedIn profile.

There’s light.

There’s air.

There are streets that don’t feel like they’re closing in on you.

If you’ve lived in big cities, you know how quickly you can lose the sky.

Everything becomes concrete, traffic, glass, noise, pigeons, people walking too fast, cars everywhere, buildings blocking every bit of openness.

Bordeaux doesn’t feel like that.

At least not to me.

It feels softer.

The town hall is genuinely beautiful.

The old churches too.

The bridges, the stone buildings, the river, the way the city catches light when the weather changes.

Walking around the centre feels visually calm in a way most cities don’t.

Not perfect.

Not magical.

Just soft.

And I like that.

The funny thing too is that a lot of people in Bordeaux aren’t even really from Bordeaux.

They come from nearby towns, the Arcachon Bay, Paris, other parts of France and sometimes from somewhere else entirely, like me.

So the city has this mixed energy.

It feels small on paper but bigger socially.

A medium-sized city that doesn’t feel too closed, too provincial or too stuck in itself.

That works for me.

Culture is everywhere too, but again, not in a try-hard way.

Montaigne, Montesquieu, Mauriac, universities, opera, theatres.

That whole old intellectual background is just there.

And yeah, that sounds a bit like something from a tourist office brochure, but you do feel it.

Not every day.

Not every second.

But it sits in the background.

Also, random fact, Bordeaux was the capital of France three times.

Most people don’t know that.

I love facts like that.

But honestly, one of the best things about Bordeaux is how easily you can leave it.

Which sounds like an insult, but it really isn’t.

The ocean is just over an hour away.

And not the kind of beach where you’ve got buildings stacked behind the sand, overpriced ice cream stands and people sitting on top of each other.

I’m talking long Atlantic coastlines, dunes, pine forests, surf towns, wind, space.

A completely different rhythm.

You leave the city and suddenly your body remembers that life doesn’t have to feel so tight all the time.

Then further south you’ve got the Pyrenees. Sure, they’re about 3 hours-drive away, but still, close enough for a weekend getaway.

Mountains, lakes, hikes, waterfalls, caves, little villages.

A totally different landscape again.

And if you drive inland, say to the Dordogne, you find quiet villages, old mills, open plains and places where everything just slows down without asking for permission.

Bordeaux is one of those cities where a short drive can completely change your environment.

That matters to me.

I need nature around me.

Not as an aesthetic.

Not as a weekend hobby.

I genuinely think I get tense without it.

Travel is surprisingly easy too for a city this size.

You’ve got flights to a lot of major European cities.

Paris, London, Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona, Rome, Istanbul and more.

North Africa is close too, especially Morocco.

Then the TGV gets you to Paris in about two hours, which still feels a bit unreal when you think about it.

From there, everything connects.

You’ve also got trains to Toulouse, Nantes, La Rochelle and other places, plus coaches if you want to travel more slowly into Spain or Portugal.

The city gives you options.

I like places that give you options.

The weather has its own personality.

It rains a lot, like, A LOT, and people complain about it, but I’ve never really hated Bordeaux rain.

Most of the time it doesn’t feel violent or miserable. Not to me anyway.

It feels more like a reset.

Like the city needed to rinse itself off a little.

Summers though?

Yeah.

Summers can be rough.

Sometimes too hot.

I usually leave during peak heat when I can, because Bordeaux in a heatwave is not my favorite version of Bordeaux, that’s for sure.

Still, the center has character.

Small local shops, thrift stores, cafés, concept stores, cobblers, vinyl shops, second hand electronics, markets.

There’s even a monthly vegan market, which is rare enough to matter in a city this size.

It’s relatively clean and relatively safe too.

People argue about safety a lot, especially online, because apparently everything has to become a dramatic debate now.

But in normal day to day life, compared to many urban places, Bordeaux still feels fairly balanced.

Public transport is decent.

Not perfect.

Rush hour can be annoying.

The tramway gets packed.

Buses can be a bit much sometimes.

But overall, it works.

And the city is walkable, which changes everything. A city you can walk through is not the same as a city you only pass through.

Cycling is easy too. You can get almost anywhere by bike, which makes owning one feel less like a lifestyle choice and more like common sense.

There’s greenery as well. Parks, trees, open little pockets of space.

Not enough trees in the very heart of the city in my opinion, and still too many cars, obviously.

But the base is solid.

Now, let’s not romanticise it too much.

Bordeaux has problems.

Rent is ridiculous for what the city offers in terms of work.

Transport isn’t cheap.

Bike theft is very real.

Summers can be intense.

And there’s this strange seasonal emptiness where a lot of people leave during summer, especially since many residents aren’t originally from there.

The city kind of exhales and partially empties out.

Some people hate that.

I get it.

It can feel peaceful, but also a bit strange, like everyone quietly agreed to disappear at the same time.

Vegan options are still limited compared to bigger cities too.

Manageable, but limited.

So no, Bordeaux isn’t perfect.

No city is.

And honestly, I don’t even live there anymore.

We moved away to a coastal town a couple of years ago. We’re just over an hour away, but still.

I go back almost weekly to volunteer, see friends, run errands or just walk around for a few hours.

And every time, there’s still something.

Not home exactly, but Bordeaux is one of the few places that ever made me understand why people use that word.

Maybe that’s enough.

Peace and blessing.

Lincoln Continental

Cars and quiet obsessions

May 15, 2026 — Leave a comment

Ok, lemme tell you a secret

For the past few weeks, I’ve been locked in on a very specific type of cars

Not in a “I know every spec sheet and engine code” kinda way. I’m not that guy. My comfort flicks are still the early The Fast and the Furious runs and Gone in 60 Seconds, but that’s where it stops

I just like nice things, and I’ve always felt like what you drive says more than people admit

I don’t want to turn this into a list, but my all-time will probably always be the Lincoln Continental 1975. That car does something to me. The lines, the presence, the way it just sits there like it owns the street. insane aesthetic and aura.

Completely out of reach for me right now though. wrong continent, wrong timing, wrong everything

But recently, another beaut’ hit my radar and I simply can’t stop thinking about it

I’ve been obsessing over the Honda Prelude, 1g and 2g (1st and 2nd gen). late 80s, early 90s.

Is it the popup headlights? Nah, I mean yes but it’s also the straight lines and velvet seats! My God it’s beautiful!

I’ve always hated new cars. they all look inflated, rounded, like they’ve been softened too much. Plastic everywhere, style nowhere. No edges, no character. just… safe shapes

Squares will always win for me, and the Prelude is just that. Clean, boxy, straight to the point

I catch myself thinking about it more than I like to admit, like actually planning around it.

If my finances line up in the next few months, I might just go for it.

Those types of rides are perfect to cruise around, or just stand next to and be.

Old Japanese cars are special. They carry so much presence it’s crazy. It’s almost if they can speak. Looking at them makes me feel nostalgic. It’s not tied to a specific memory, more like a feeling. calm, quiet, almost grounding. I can’t really explain it properly, but I want to feel that as much as possible

I like it when objects are cool without trying, if I can say it like that.

I’ve been thinking about shifting my style a bit for a while, and it feels like the most natural place to start is nice ride. Something old, something solid, something that just works

Idk

Maybe it’s a phase

We’ll see

Lantern by teekay

Note from a sleepless night

May 13, 2026 — Leave a comment

For the first time in a while, I genuinely can’t sleep  

My whole body hurts, in a good way 🙂

Legs super heavy, ankle kinda messed up, toes on my left foot hurt (got stepped on twice in football practice today), ribcage from that knock Friday, plus some hamstring and inner thigh pain.

What I wouldn’t give for a massage right now  

Anyway, I stopped making blog entries like this for a while. No one really wants to read this kinda thing anymore, amirite?

People would rather hear someone yap on video, I get it  

Still, I miss this

And I miss old school blogs in general  

Plus, reading just hits different, you build everything in your head and it feels way more personal and real

I’ve actually read way more this year than I have in the last five combined

I mean books

I’m a big reader overall, I just don’t read books like that, I go on Medium and read random blogs instead

I don’t really do personal stories though, which is probably why I don’t write these either, but I still think there’s a world for it

Even if there aren’t that many people left reading this kind of stuff

I miss Tumblr, I used to spend hours on there  

So many interesting people, so many stories  

And most of them just wrote like this, no structure, no formatting, just thoughts  

There’s comfort in being natural, it makes everything feel more intimate  

I’m rambling  

Pain’s keeping me up, so maybe I’ll just watch Better Call Saul, eat some peanut butter with a couple bananas and wait for the sun

Nights like this I usually don’t sleep until the next evening anyway

Peace and blessing

Small changes to improve life

April 24, 2026 — Leave a comment

An interconnected system that made me healthier and more aligned.

You can’t expect your body to function properly if everything you expose it to works against it.

What you touch, what you eat, what you breathe in, what you surround yourself with matters.

Most of these changes didn’t come from theory. They came from small moments of doubt. Something feels off, you look into it, you adjust, and then you don’t go back. Over time, those adjustments start forming a pattern.

  • Plastic was the starting point

Once I started paying attention, plastic was everywhere. Not just single-use items, but containers, cutting boards, utensils, bottles. Even when it’s thick and reusable, it still degrades over time. Microplastics are already present in food and water, so adding more exposure through daily habits made little sense. I removed plastic containers, replaced cutting boards, and shifted entirely to glass, wood, and metal for anything that comes into contact with food. I now store and consume food exclusively using stable, non-degrading materials.

  • Water isn’t neutral

Tap water is often treated as a given, but once you look into what it contains, it changes how you approach it. I invested in a proper filtration system and regret not having done so earlier. Before that, I went with a basic pitcher, the Brita type, then moved to something more advanced (and more expensive) to remove a wider range of contaminants. That said, I also started being more intentional with how I drink water. In the morning, I’ll often have water with cucumber and lemon, and I’ll leave cucumber slices in the bottle throughout the day. Given how much of the body is made up of water (60%, vs 73% for the brain), it doesn’t make sense to treat it casually.

  • Cookware and daily exposure

Cooking used to be about convenience. Non-stick pans, plastic utensils, quick cleaning. Once concerns around certain coatings and chemical residues became more visible, that convenience started to feel like a trade-off. I replaced everything with stainless steel cookware and switched plastic utensils for wood or metal. It requires more attention, but it removes a layer of uncertainty.

  • Eliminating plastic in hygiene products

The same pattern showed up in the bathroom. Most hygiene products come in plastic packaging, and beyond that, their composition raises lots of questions anyway. Shampoo, shower gels, toothpaste, it’s all part of the same system. Moving away from plastic bottles was supposed to be difficult, till it wasn’t. Toothpaste remained the hardest to replace due to cost and availability, though totally doable. Plus, you can make your own, if time allows.
As for shampoo, it’s been close to a decade since I’ve reduced it drastically, once a month on average, and even less in the summer when I’m regularly in the ocean or rivers. When I do use one, it’s always a natural, oil-based, plastic-free option. The rest gets washed with regular, natural soap.

  • Perfumes and what goes through the skin

I used to collect perfumes. At one point I had around thirty bottles. It was part of how I presented myself. Over time, I learned more about what actually goes into most fragrances. They’re not just alcohol and plant extracts. Many contain compounds that interfere with hormonal systems. Applying them directly on the skin, especially around the neck, didn’t make sense anymore. In fact, it became a health hasard. I still use what’s left of my collection, but only and exclusively on my clothes.

  • Body lotions and absorption

That same logic extended to body lotions. At first, plastic packaging was the issue. Then I realized the formulations themselves raised similar concerns. Long-lasting scents rely on chemical stabilizers that don’t just sit on the surface, they penetrate well into our body and weaken our nervous system. I replaced them with simpler alternatives like coconut oil, jojoba oil, and monoi stored in glass bottles. They do what’s needed without unnecessary complexity.

  • Sound, stimulation, and the nervous system

There’s also what we expose our brain to. I used to listen to music at maximum volume for hours every day. Looking back, it’s surprising there wasn’t more damage in my inner ear. More recently, I started questioning constant exposure to wireless ear devices as well. It’s not easy to step away from, but I’ve made adjustments. I use wired earphones more often, reduced how much I listen to anything overall, and capped the volume so it never exceeds 85 decibels on my phone. Silence has taken a bigger place too, especially through long walks.

  • Food as a baseline

Diet was one of the earliest shifts and it stayed consistent. Processed sugars and ultra-processed foods were removed and haven’t come back. The focus is on whole foods, fiber and stable energy rather than spikes. Fermented foods like homemade kefir became part of daily intake to support gut health. Supplements were added with specific purposes. Creatine for performance and recovery, cordyceps and lion’s mane for energy and cognitive support, vitamin D in winter, omega-3 for long-term brain health, turmeric for inflammation. Fruit is eaten whole rather than juiced to avoid unnecessary glucose spikes. Alongside this, I fast intermittently throughout the year, supporting deeper internal regulation. And of course , everything 100% plantbased and palm oil-free.

  • Sun exposure, corrected over time

Sun exposure is another area where I had to adjust. For a long time I approached it carelessly. I even used coconut oil thinking it would protect my skin, when in reality it was doing the opposite. I rarely burned, but that doesn’t mean there was no damage. Over time, I learned to be more controlled. Less direct exposure on the face, protection when needed, and no more chasing tans.

  • Living closer to nature

One of the biggest shifts didn’t come from removing something, but from changing the environment itself. Living closer to nature makes everything easier. Movement, silence, exposure to natural elements. Practices like grounding or earthing stop being abstract ideas and become part of daily life. Walking barefoot, touching the ground, spending time in natural surroundings. There’s a noticeable effect on stress levels, posture, and overall balance. Even something as simple as leaning against a tree or staying still outdoors changes how the body settles. Oh yeah, and tree hugging FTW!

  • Reconnecting with natural signals

Some changes are harder to explain in purely scientific terms, but still feel real in practice. Hair is one of them. There are older ideas about hair acting as a kind of antenna, a connection to the environment. Historically, cutting hair has sometimes been used not only for hygiene but also as a way to strip identity, control individuals, or disconnect them from something deeper, which is why you often see it done immediately in contexts like slavery or imprisonment. Whether or not that idea can be measured, I’ve noticed a difference since growing it out and stopping the use of chemical-heavy products. There’s a stronger sense of awareness and sensitivity, so keep your hair, guy, unless you’re balding, of course !

  • Positive thinking and internal dialogue

Not everything is physical. The way you think shapes how you experience all of this. I’ve always been confident, but intentional self-talk is something else entirely. It requires awareness, especially when you’ve been exposed to environments where things don’t always go well. I’ve been working on reinforcing more constructive internal patterns. At the same time, I’ve developed more understanding for people who lean toward pessimism. Most of the time it’s not a choice. It’s conditioning. Repeated negative experiences shape expectations, and those expectations shape perception. A lot of people judge that without understanding it, don’t be one of them.

  • Interconnectedness

At some point, all of this converges. What you eat, what you drink, what you wear, what you apply to your skin, what you listen to, where you spend your time, it all feeds into the same system. None of these changes exist in isolation. Each one reinforces the others. Once you start seeing that, it becomes difficult to go back to unconscious habits. So, approaching one’s environment and lifestyle as one interconnected system is the key to all this.

Across all these changes, the pattern is consistent. Remove what is unnecessary, reduce synthetic exposure, and replace it with simpler alternatives. When something can’t be avoided, create distance between it and the body. Over time, those small decisions compound, and life gets better.

Thanks for reading.

Teekay

Bedroom sleep by Teekay RM

How to sleep better

March 27, 2026 — Leave a comment

Small changes, big difference.

This was supposed to be a simple blogpost about a few changes I made to improve my health. Nothing deep, nothing structured. But once I started writing, one thing became obvious. Sleep wasn’t just one habit among others, it was the foundation behind them all. So instead of burying it in a longer piece, I pulled it out entirely. This is a focused breakdown of how I reshaped my sleep and nervous system.

Sleep isn’t just rest. It’s not just recovery. It’s something far more subtle, almost something we’ve forgotten how to experience properly. The french refer to sleep as “la petite mort”, or “the little death”. Nas, the legendary rapper also referred to it as “the cousin of death.” We all know something deep takes over when we’re asleep, we just don’t know how deep.

Whether you see that as spiritual, neurological, or both, one thing is certain. Sleep isn’t passive. It’s something you prepare for, something you enter, something you either respect or disrupt.

  • Heart rate is the real gatekeeper

Most people focus on how tired they feel, but that’s not what determines sleep quality. Heart rate does. If it’s elevated when you’re about to fall asleep, the night is compromised before it even starts. You might still pass out, but the depth, recovery and continuity won’t be the same. What’s interesting is how many things influence heart rate. Late meals, drinking too close to bed, blue light, mental stimulation, these are all factors. Sleep doesn’t start when you lie down, it starts hours before.

  • The four-hour rule

One of the most effective ways I found. Simple in theory but harder in practice: Stop eating and drinking about 4 hours before sleep.
When I stick to it, the difference is immediate. My heart rate drops more easily, I don’t wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and my sleep stays uninterrupted. It also extends my fasting window naturally, which supports recovery and deeper cellular processes during the night. I now aim to stop all intake at least 2 to 3 hours before bed, 4 feels long at times..

  • Warm extremities, faster sleep

Another overlooked factor is temperature distribution. If your hands and feet are cold, falling asleep becomes harder because the body struggles to shift into a resting state. I don’t like sleeping in socks, so I use different workarounds to keep my feet warm, like heating pads.

  • Deep pressure and a sense of safety

Sleep is also psychological. The nervous system needs to feel safe enough to let go. One thing that helped more than I expected is using heavier covers or even placing a pillow on top of my torso. That pressure creates a grounding effect. It reduces restlessness and makes it easier to drop into deeper sleep. It’s the same principle behind weighted blankets.

  • Spinal alignment in side positions

Posture doesn’t stop mattering once you’re asleep. I often fall asleep in a fetal position, and adding a pillow between my legs made a clear difference. It keeps my hips aligned, reduces strain on my lower back, and prevents tension from building overnight.

  • No pressure around the waist

I also became sensitive to anything compressing my stomach. Elastic bands started to feel intrusive once I paid attention. So now I have this black pair of very loose shorts with worn-out drawstrings that barely apply any tension. It’s the only piece I can tolerate consistently. Everything else feels restrictive.

  • Sleeping without layers

I didn’t always mind sleeping fully clothed. However, at some point I started waking up overheated and restless. So I adjusted gradually. First to go was the top, then the pants. My body regulates itself better without unnecessary layers.

  • Never sleep in plastic

For some mysterious reason, I used to think fleece was an ideal material. Light, warm, comfortable. But a friend pointed out that it’s just polyester. Plastic. That changed how I looked at it completely. Since then, I’ve moved away from synthetic fabrics in bed. I still own a few fleece items, but only as outer layers. Never directly on the skin and never in bed. So now I mostly sleep in cotton or nothing at all.

  • No charging by the bed

I always knew having devices charging right next to the bed wasn’t ideal, but convenience has a way of creeping back in. Thankfully, my wife reminded to reset that boundary, and I have. Since then, phones charge outside the bedroom. Simple.

  • Sleep as a system

Once all these pieces come together, you stop seeing sleep as a single action. It becomes a system. Timing, temperature, posture, materials, stimulation, all interacting at once. Change one variable and you might feel a difference. Change several, and the entire experience shifts. I don’t see sleep as something I “get” anymore. I see it as something I build, night after night.

Thanks for reading.

Teekay

Minimalism by Teekay RM

The day I let everything go

March 23, 2026 — Leave a comment

Forty bags in one day.

Toddlers throw things away before we teach them to keep them. Psychologists say it’s how they test limits and watch how adults respond.

But maybe there’s something simpler underneath. What if it’s just our nature? What if we aren’t made to hold on so tightly? Maybe accumulation isn’t what we’re wired for?

I remember the moment clearly. I looked around my old place at everything I owned, and it hit me all at once. Too much. Not just cluttered, overwhelming. It made me anxious just standing there. Every object felt like it was pressing in on me.

That’s when it clicked. Not later, not gradually. Right there.

I didn’t ease into minimalism. I snapped into it. That same day, I gave away around forty bags of clothes, shoes and random things I’d been holding onto for years! No slow process, no back and forth. Just done.

The van came later, and while it didn’t start the shift, it definitely amplified it. When everything you own has to fit into a small space, there’s no room for hesitation. You see things clearly, fast.

After that, I started to understand what had been bothering me. Every object I owned was asking something from me. Care, attention, energy. Shoes, clothes, gadgets, books, even the way I ate and what I wore, all of it took a piece. I hadn’t seen it before, then suddenly I couldn’t unsee it anymore. Everything I kept added pressure, stress.

We grow up hearing that more is better. Keep, buy, own. Security becomes something you can hold. Status becomes something you can show. Identity gets tied to what you wear and what you display. It works, that’s the problem. You follow it without thinking, and slowly you drift. The weight isn’t just objects. It’s habits, routines, expectations, distractions. The more you carry, the harder it is to notice yourself.

Minimalism didn’t feel like loss. It felt like breathing again. The less I had, the more I could see what mattered. I started noticing how much energy I’d been giving to things that gave nothing back. How little space I’d left for thinking, for feeling, for just being. The clutter in my space started to mirror the clutter in my head, and I began clearing both.

And it’s not just physical. Life fills up with noise just as easily. Social media, notifications, obligations, habits that don’t fit. It all accumulates. The weight isn’t just what you own, it’s what you let in. What you absorb, what you feel responsible for. Minimalism became less about things and more about attention. Choosing what deserves a place in my life.

Sometimes I watch a toddler drop a toy and move on without a second thought, and it feels familiar. That ease. That lack of hesitation. They don’t think about cost or judgment. They just let go. There’s something honest in that.

I’ve felt it in my own life. Each time I let something go, space opens. My thoughts get quieter. Focus comes back. Energy returns. Underneath all the noise and habits, there’s something steady that was always there. I just couldn’t hear it before.

Peace isn’t in having more. It’s in needing less. In not being weighed down by things, habits, or the constant pull for more. We’re meant to move lighter, to drop what we don’t need and keep what matters. Toddlers know it, and we forgot.

Minimalism isn’t about aesthetics or rules. It’s a return to attention to self.

Less, so you can carry yourself fully. Less, so you can notice life as it is. Less, so you can remember who you are without all the extra weight.

Thanks for reading.

Teekay

Winter by Tee

Winter knows something we forgot

March 18, 2026 — Leave a comment

You don’t hate winter, you hate how we live through it.

I’m such a winter person. I resisted that idea for years because I don’t particularly enjoy being cold and I absolutely hate humidity, but I’m done arguing with it now.

Winter is my favorite season, the one that makes me feel most alive. Fall comes close behind. Maybe I’m really a fall-first person who only settles once winter arrives. Fall feels like a threshold, a kind of preparation, while winter is the place it all leads to.

Most people say they hate winter, but I don’t even think that’s true. I think they hate winter under capitalism, which is a very different thing.

Winter isn’t simply December 21st to March 20th like we’re taught in school. December 21st is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, the deepest point of darkness. In many ways, that’s peak winter. It’s both the heart of it and the beginning of its slow release.

If you look at older seasonal systems, especially the Celtic calendar, winter is often understood differently. It begins around early November, with Samhain, and transitions toward spring around early February, with Imbolc. I’ve always intuitively aligned with this rhythm, a rhythm that feels more real in the body.

Winter always makes me nostalgic about my childhood. Where you grow up shapes your relationship to it. Below the equator, winter falls during what we call summer months. It’s shorter, less harsh. It’s still winter, but it doesn’t carry the same weight. Above the equator, winter has a presence. It changes everything.

Winter in New York, for example, is unmatched. But to understand it, you have to start with fall. Fall is special in a way that’s hard to replicate. The air sharpens, the leaves start falling, the temperature drops just enough to wake you up. School starts again. People return from summer scatteredness with a sense of purpose. There’s motivation, a quiet hope that something new can begin before the year closes.

Then come the holidays. I don’t celebrate them myself, but I can’t deny the atmosphere. Halloween, with kids everywhere. Thanksgiving, massive in New York. Then the Christmas season, with its films, its smells, its food. Cinnamon, baked goods, warmth. Fall is about getting cozy. It’s about preparing, consciously or not, for winter.

And then winter arrives.

One of my favorite childhood memories is hearing on the radio that a blizzard had shut everything down. Schools closed for days. Travel discouraged. The world paused. I remember the feeling of going back to bed, diving under the blanket, watching the snow fall outside. There was a kind of collective stillness. Everyone was home at the same time, in the middle of the week, which almost never happened.

Winter meant snowball fights with family and friends. Building snowmen. Coming back inside after hours in the cold to drink something hot, cinnamon-heavy or just a simple hot chocolate. Winter also meant shorter days, which I’ve always loved. There’s something honest about darkness arriving early. It forces you inward, and you simply sleep better. At least I do.

Now that I live in a coastal town, winter has taken on a different form. The place empties out. It becomes a ghost town. Only a few locals remain. I can walk through the streets, along the beach, into the forests, and not see anyone. Not hear anyone. Just space, and peace.

Fall here is also the perfect time for mushroom picking. There’s something deeply satisfying about finding your own food, bringing it home, cooking it. I don’t do it as often as I used to, but when I do, it reconnects me to something older than all of this.

Winter also brings unpredictability. Storms, floods, strong winds, snow.

I’ve always been fascinated by storms. There’s something humbling about them. They remind you how small you are without humiliating you. Just placing you back in proportion.

And this is where my relationship with winter becomes more than just aesthetic.

Winter, to me, is supposed to be a time of slowing down. A form of hibernation. Not complete inactivity, but a reduction. A softening. A withdrawal from constant output.

But winter under capitalism is the opposite of that.

It’s when everything accelerates. Black Friday. Christmas consumption. New Year’s, January sales. Valentine’s Day. It becomes a concentrated period of economic extraction. A time where people are pushed to spend more, move more, produce more, exactly when their bodies are asking for less.

I don’t adhere to that. I reject it.

Because biologically, intuitively, winter asks something else from us. Even illness patterns reflect that. People don’t just get sick because of viruses. They get sick because they keep pushing at summer pace in a winter body. They ignore the signal to slow down.

Historically, people understood this. They worked through the year, harvested their crops, prepared for winter. Around the end of October, they gathered, celebrated the end of harvest. And then life shifted. Maintenance replaced expansion. Survival replaced growth.

Nature does the same. Animals retreat. Bears hibernate. Bees cluster. Even plants withdraw into themselves. Winter is not death. It’s conservation.

I sometimes imagine a different life. A cabin. A cycle where summer is for harvesting, fall for preparing, winter for resting. Wood gathered. Food stored. Time spent simply maintaining what’s already there.

Life, at its core, is that simple. But systems built on constant expansion don’t allow simplicity to survive.

Winter, for me, is also about people. Not crowds, but closeness. Seeing friends, family. Sitting together, drinking tea, sharing time without urgency. There’s a different quality to connection in winter. It’s slower, deeper.

Even sports feel different. The air, the light, the coziness of it all. Everything sharpens.

And if I’m honest, part of why I love winter is personal. I’m introverted. I need that inward space. But it’s also something else. A fatigue with what humanity has become. The constant noise, the endless movement, the destruction of everything around us.

Winter feels like a counterforce.

It slows us down whether we like it or not. A storm doesn’t ask for permission. A blizzard doesn’t negotiate. When it hits, everything stops. And in that moment, we’re all equal. No one is above it.

There’s something powerful in that.

To me, winter restores balance. It interrupts the illusion that we can operate at maximum intensity all year long. The shortening of days, the stretching of nights, the way time itself feels heavier, slower, none of that is accidental. It’s a form of design.

Fighting that rhythm has consequences. You see it in people who try to live winter like summer. They burn out. They get anxious. They get sick.

I haven’t had a cold in years. That’s not just because I’m active or because of my diet, though those matter. It’s because I try, as much as possible, to align with that rhythm. To accept that winter is not the time to push.

Winter is about gathering. With nature, with people, with yourself. It’s not about peak productivity. It’s not about consumption. It’s not about proving anything.

It’s about remembering.

And maybe that’s why I love it so much. Because despite everything, despite the systems we’ve built to override it, winter still imposes itself. It reminds us, quietly or violently, that we are not in control of everything.

That there is a rhythm beyond us.

And that we’d probably be better off listening to it.

Thanks for reading.

Teekay.

Sprinter track runner teekay rezeau-merah

Why I misunderstood sprinting for so long and why most people still do

January 19, 2026 — Leave a comment

Insights from a former student-athlete.

I started sprinting in 2004. I made my high school teams, then college teams and for a long time I thought I understood speed. I trained hard, I listened to my coaches, I did what was asked.

I hit my ceiling at some point, then one thing led to another till I completely stopped running. I went into boxing in the meantime, then bodybuilding, and slowly but surely stopped training altogether. I played football here and there, surfed for a brief moment, but it wasn’t sustained. Hiking became my favorite thing. Great for cardio, makes me happy and snappy. I felt right where I belonged.

In 2025, after years of just living and many injuries later, I came back to sprinting as grownup. But this time, I noticed something uncomfortable that became obvious. For most of my early career as a sprinter, I was running fast without truly understanding why or how.

That realization is frustrating because it feels like wasted time, and wasted potential.

In hindsight, I now feel like I never went beyond 80% of my capacity. It wasn’t because of my coaches, I simply didn’t understand what my sport was all about, so today, I want to make sure whoever reads this does, because sprinting culture rarely helps.

  • What sprinting isn’t

Speed is constantly explained using endurance logic. Even the gadgets we use, however technical, aren’t really designed for sprinters. Not at the highest level anyway.

Sprinting, for the longest time, was explained through running more, working harder, suffering more than the competition. That mindset, aka hustle-porn, comes from the fact that long distance running dominates the athletics scene. Endurance events shape how people think training works, even when it doesn’t apply to their sport.

One of the first myths I believed (and most people believe) is that sprinters run a lot. We don’t, at all. I used to, but not anymore. I always assumed volume built speed. Matter of fact, many coaches still believe that, and end up frying their runners.

  • What sprinting actually is

Research has shown that elite sprinters accumulate very little true sprinting volume. Max velocity running is neurologically brutal. You can’t repeat it endlessly without dulling the signal from the brain to the muscles. When the central nervous system is tired, coordination goes first, technique collapses, ground contact times increase and speed vanishes. Running more just teaches you how to run slower. That was the first realization I made when I went back into it. Never again!

Next, I believed gym work was mandatory and that strength automatically meant speed. Lift heavy, get powerful, get fast. Not true! Sprinting happens in time windows so short that slow strength barely matters. What matters is how fast you can apply force and how well you recycle it through tendons and stiffness. I’ve seen athletes with modest lifts run incredibly fast and others with impressive numbers never move well on the track. Strength only matters if it transfers.

Another point, for years I misunderstood elasticity. I thought plyometrics were optional extras or warm up games. Coming back to sprinting made it obvious that elasticity is the bridge between strength and speed. I’m not saying I never heard this beofre, I’m saying I wasn’t mature (or smart) enouigh to understand it.

Tendons storing and releasing energy, joints staying stiff at the right moments, rhythm staying intact under high speed. Bounds, hops, wickets and short accelerations teach the nervous system timing. They turn power into something usable. Without elasticity, power stays trapped.

Speaking of stiffness, it is the mother of all improvement in sprinting, another aspect we hardly talk about, or train.

Body composition myths confused me too. Being muscular doesn’t make you slow. Being lean doesn’t not make you fast. Non functional mass is the issue. Muscle that can’t be expressed within sprint specific contact times is dead weight. Leanness that compromises force output is just as useless. Speed only cares about force, timing and coordination.

Drills were another blind spot. I used to see them as filler. Now I see them as low cost technical rehearsal. Drills allow you to practice posture, front side mechanics and rhythm without frying the nervous system. When speed is high, there is no thinking. The body falls back on patterns. Drills build those patterns.

Last but not least, the biggest lesson I learned in all these years is how important rest is, and I don’t just mean sleep, which is the obvious one. When I was younger, stopping early felt lazy, like I wasn’t hustling enough. Now I know it’s intelligent, the right thing to do even. Speed doesn’t improve inside fatigue, it improves when the nervous system is fresh enough to adapt. That’s why we take long breaks between sprints, to rest the nervous system. Adding sets instead of reps, ending sessions before speed drops, spacing high intensity days and protecting sleep are not soft choices, they’re performance choices.

Looking back, it wish I understood all these things earlier. But sprinting is misunderstood because endurance logic dominates sports in general. Distance runners train more and win more medals overall, so their methods are treated as universal. Well, science and elite experiences say they’re not. Speed lives in a different world.

Sprinting rewards intelligence. The faster you want to be, the smarter you have to train.

Cheers!

Tee

Digital marketing consultant and copywriter

How I Became a Digital Marketing Consultant

January 12, 2026 — Leave a comment

15 years in the making.

I don’t usually write about work here.

But today I’m making an exception. Partly because I like my job, mostly because people don’t really get what I do, so I basically wrote this to send them back to when they ask. Ha!

My journey towards digital marketing

Back in 2011, I landed my very first internship at The Lad Bible, the UK media giant that built its brand on viral and shareable content before TikTok was a thing. It was my first experience with digital content at scale.

By 2014 I was working in PR at the African Union Commission in Addis Ababa. A year later, I moved to Buenos Aires and joined Mundo Lingo, helping with event marketing for their international language exchange meetups. Mundo Lingo was (is?) an event program that held gatherings for hundreds of strangers, usually in pubs or “boliches” and gave them sticker flags to stick to their shirts. The flags showed where the person is from, which languages they spoke and which languages they wanted to improve. My job was to help those events grow and thrive.

In 2016, I chose to focus on the digital side of marketing and complemented my MBA with a second Master’s in Digital Marketing and E-Business in Bordeaux. In 2017, that path took me to Barcelona, where I interned in event marketing and social media management.

By 2018, I was back in France, working as a digital marketer in a startup in Bordeaux, and later as a traffic manager in France’s biggest online retailer, Cdiscount. Each role taught me something new about how audiences behave, how campaigns succeed or fail, and how strategy ties everything together.

Finally, in 2019, I took the leap and created my own business. I started as a digital marketing consultant and social media manager, and eventually carved out a niche as a Meta Ads specialist. This endeavor allowed me the freedom to shape my work around both my skills and my life.

Realizing what marketing really is

Here is something I discovered along the way. Most people know marketing exists, but very few understand its power.

They don’t see how it influences their decisions every single day. Sometimes in an obvious manner, but most times in subtle ways.

That is what pulled me in. Marketing is not just about selling. Done right, it’s about understanding people and connecting with them in ways that feel real.

What I actually do

If I had to strip it down, my job has two main parts:

  1. Marketing strategy, the why
  2. Marketing plan, the how

It’s like building a house. The strategy is the blueprint. The plan is the hammer, nails and step by step work of putting it all together.

Most of my clients usually have their “why”, so they bring me in to put the “how” in place.

The hats I’ve worn so far

Digital marketing covers a lot of ground, so over the years I’ve worked in:

  • Social media marketing
  • SEO and copywriting
  • PPC advertising
  • Event marketing
  • Content marketing
  • PR
  • Direct marketing

Here is what that actually looks like.

Social Media Marketing: I create content calendars, mix promotional posts with user generated content (UGC) like reviews or photos, and keep things engaging across platforms.

Copywriting and SEO: I write blog posts, optimize websites and landing pages, run keyword research and help content get found by the right people.

PPC and Meta Ads: This is my specialty. I have managed campaigns in difficult industries like health, crypto and finance. The results have been high conversions, low costs and strong traffic. The trick is constant adaptation. Algorithms change all the time. What worked last month might be useless today.

Why I stick around

Do I love every single part of it? Not always. But here is why I stay.

I can work remotely.
I have flexibility and rarely more than one meeting a week.
I get to choose ethical clients and projects I believe in.
I learn about new industries all the time.
I have independence, creativity and variety.

I don’t know if I will do this forever. Change will come eventually. But right now it works, and sometimes that’s enough.

Lessons learned along the way

If you’re thinking about a career in marketing or copywriting, here are three lessons I’ve learned so far:

  1. Experiment early and often. I would never have landed in copywriting if I had not first tried PR, events, social media, and ads. Each experience gave me skills I use today.
  2. Adaptation beats perfection. Marketing changes constantly. Strategies that worked yesterday might be outdated tomorrow. Staying curious and flexible is far more valuable than chasing a perfect plan.
  3. Choose work that aligns with your values. Learn how to say no, only the right clients and projects make this job fulfilling. Fulfillment gives you the energy to keep going long term.

There you have it! Welcome to my world.

Till next time,

Teekay

water magic

Water speaks in ways we ignore

August 11, 2025 — Leave a comment

A memory, a teacher, a traveler from space.

Once upon a time, exactly 4.5 billion years ago, Earth was a violent place.

There were no oceans. No rivers, no rain, no life. Just a molten ball of fire and gas, spinning restlessly in space.

And then it came. Not as a storm or a miracle, but as dust, rock, and ice, hurtling through space and crashing into this young planet during what scientists now call the Late Heavy Bombardment.

Over millions of years, icy asteroids and meteorites may have delivered what Earth itself couldn’t produce on its own: water. Drop by drop, this alien substance transformed our planet, cooling its surface, filling its craters, and laying the foundation for every living thing that would ever exist.

In other words, the water in your glass, in your blood, in your tears, may not be from Earth.

This is a common theory among scientists, but how do they back it up?

Well, simply put, traces of deuterium (a form of hydrogen) in Earth’s water match those found in carbon-rich meteorites, not in Earth’s original atmosphere. In other words, water could well be extraterrestrial and we’re walking oceans, born of stardust and comets.

Pretty cool.

“A water molecule is made up of one atom of oxygen and two of hydrogen. Hydrogen was created in the Big Bang, and oxygen in the cores of stars more massive than the Sun. Enormous amounts of water, in gaseous form, exist in the vast stellar nurseries of our galaxy.” – NASA

All that being said, new discoveries have challenged that theory. Science doesn’t care about romance and poetry..

But that’s only the beginning of the story.

Water is alive in ways we’re still discovering

Science has always viewed water as simple H₂O. But the more we look, the more mysterious it becomes.

Water doesn’t just hydrate, it reacts. It listens, and it may even remember!

Case in point, when scientists drill into glaciers in Antarctica or Greenland, they’re not just pulling out ice. They’re pulling out history. Inside those frozen cores are bubbles of ancient air, particles of volcanoes and wildfires, records of rainfall, drought, and dust storms, all preserved in perfect detail. These layers tell us the climate story of Earth going back hundreds of thousands of years.

So yeah, water stores information. It has a memory. It IS a memory, not metaphorically but quite literally.

But what if water also stores something more subtle?

Can water feel ? Like, does it have feelings?

The late Dr. Masaru Emoto, a Japanese researcher, believed it did. In his famous (and controversial) experiments, he exposed water to different words, prayers, music, and intentions, then froze it and photographed the crystals that formed.

On one hand, water blessed with words like “love” or “gratitude” formed stunning, symmetrical snowflake-like shapes. On the other, water exposed to hate, anger, or pollution formed distorted, chaotic patterns.

His work was dismissed by many in the scientific community, as they do. But for others, it cracked open a door. A possibility that consciousness and water might be connected in ways we don’t yet understand.

The mystery of memory in water

In 2009, Luc Montagnier, the Nobel Prize–winning virologist who co-discovered HIV, published a paper suggesting that highly diluted DNA in water emits electromagnetic signals, and that water retains this information even when the DNA is gone.

Another researcher and Swiss chemist, Louis Rey, studied water’s “memory” through thermoluminescence and noticed changes depending on what the water had previously been exposed to.

These findings are controversial, but they echo something ancient cultures have always known:

That water is not just a substance, it’s a carrier. A messenger. A mirror.

Water in religion & spirituality

Across every tradition and belief system, water is sacred.

• In Islam, it is said in the Qur’an: “We made from water every living thing” (21:30). Before drinking or washing, Muslims say “Bismillah”, or In the name of God, inviting His name to bless the water. Then there is the water of Zamzam, a sacred well in Mecca, believed to have sprung miraculously for Hagar and her son Ishmael in the desert. This water is revered for its purity and spiritual significance, and pilgrims often drink it during Hajj and Umrah, and take it home as a cherished gift.

• In Christianity, water baptizes, purifies, rebirths.

• In Buddhism and Taoism, water is a symbol of humility and transformation. It yields but wears down mountains.

• And Bruce Lee, blending martial arts with Eastern philosophy, famously said:

“Be like water, my friend.”

Meaning: stay flexible, formless, adaptive, like the element that takes the shape of whatever holds it, and yet remains itself.

Water teaches us to flow, to remember, and to release.

Our bodies remember too

Our body is made up of about 60% water. Our brain? Closer to 75%.

We are, quite literally, a walking river. Every cell depends on water, not just to survive, but to communicate, to regenerate, to feel.

Our emotions, hormones, sleep, focus, creativity, they all ride on the flow of water inside us.

And yet, for something so vital, we’ve forgotten how rare it is.

Water is scarce and under threat

Earth may be covered in water, but only 0.007% of it is drinkable and accessible. The rest is locked away in oceans, glaciers, or underground.

Meanwhile, pollution, overconsumption, and climate change are drying up and polluting a resource that our very existence relies on. Every environmental campaign is focused on the pollution of air (which causes 7 million deaths a year), which is great, but most campaigns don’t even touch on the irreversible pollution of water (mostly due to the fashion industry and animal breeding). Why? The air is much easier to clean than our fresh water streams. and yet..

Meanwhile, pollution, overconsumption, and climate change are depleting and contaminating a resource essential to our very survival: water. Most environmental campaigns rightly focus on air pollution, which causes 7 million deaths each year btw, but rarely address the irreversible pollution of our freshwater sources, much of it driven by the fashion industry and industrial animal farming. Why? I mean if anything, air is far easier to clean than our streams, rivers, and aquifers..

• The fashion industry produces 20% of global industrial water pollution. Dyes and synthetic materials poison rivers from Asia to South America.

• The meat industry is one of the biggest consumers and polluters of water. One single beef burger requires over 2,000 liters of water to produce. But that’s not it: Waste from livestock contaminates rivers and groundwater. Read about the Green Tide, aka Killer Slime or green algae, a magic seaweed that can kill you in SECONDS, another scandal brushed under the rug because a certain lobby is too powerful to let it be mediatized.

Food production accounts for over a quarter (26%) of global greenhouse gas emissions. 18% of those are due to livestock production. – Stanford

• Plastic and pesticides enter our lakes and oceans at alarming rates. Microplastics have now been found in rainwater and even in unborn babies.

By 2030, the United Nations warns that 40% of people could face severe water scarcity if we don’t act.

Water is strong. It’s self-purifying, patient, ancient. But even it has limits.

A call to return to reverence

We live in a world where water comes from a tap, which is why we forget how sacred it is. We wear clothes made in countries we’ll never visit, eat food raised on land we’ll never see, throw away plastics that outlive us by centuries, and we don’t see the water trails behind them.

But now we know better.

We know that water is more than H₂O. It holds the blueprint of life and the story of our planet. It listens. It reflects us.

So what can we do?

• Plant trees.

• Eat more plants and less dead flesh.

• Repair our clothes.

• Use less plastic and ban single use plastics.

• Speak blessings into our glass.

• Treat water like the rare, cosmic treasure that it is.

Because every drop of water you drink has seen stars. It’s been ice. It’s been vapor. It’s fallen as rain, flowed through rivers, and run through the veins of everything that has ever lived.

And maybe, just maybe, when you speak to it, it remembers you too.

Thanks for reading.

Tee.