So many occasions cause us to be fearful—that first instinct to stop, to turn back, or to give up.

For me, being in high places causes a sense of paralysis. My legs can feel like literal dead weights. For example, if I’m walking on a bridge I can see through or below, it feels like my feet are stuck in place, almost impossible to make them move forward.

I don’t know why my body reacts this way. I can’t recall a traumatic incident where I fell from a high place, but this visceral feeling is inescapable for me.

But does it stop me from doing the things I love? No, it doesn’t. Because I don’t actually love or need to be jumping from a high place or a plane, walking a tightrope, or climbing a cliffside.

Do I want to jump out of an airplane or walk a tightrope?
​No, not really. I don’t feel a desire or calling to do that.

Do I want to scale a tall cliffside? I do not.

Do I want to go up the Eiffel Tower?
Yes. And I have. Because my desire outweighed my fear, and the method to get there was important.

Did I need or want to go to the very top?
No. I stopped when I reached my own point of bravery.

Did I need to push myself to go further to attain what others considered brave? I did not. I don’t need others to tell me what is considered brave for me.

My second-floor scaling was brave for me.

My desire to not be “up high” didn’t stop me from going to a high place where I wanted to go. But the extreme versions did.

I suppose if I did want to jump out of a plane or walk across a wobbly mountain bridge, I’d find a way to do it. I’d have to if my desire outweighed my fear of the method.

But we need to understand why we’re afraid.
Is it truly fear, or is it simply that we don’t want or need to do something?

People have said to me, “Oh, you need to get past your fear of heights—it’s so freeing.” From their perspective, I can understand why my fear might seem like a limitation, or even a judgment. Perhaps they’ve found courage through that act and want others to experience the same sense of conquering.

But that’s their judgment placed on me, not my own.
I’m here to say: if your fear is stronger than your desire to do something, there may be a good reason.

But if your fear is holding you back from something you do desire, then that’s the fear that needs to be conquered.

You have to want the thing more than you fear it. We can be afraid and do it anyway—that’s called courage.
But to do something you fear when you have no true desire to do it—that can be foolish.

I’m not talking about duty or resolve. I’m talking about compelled action, that psychological drive to chase a freedom someone else has found through means that worked for them.

So what is your fear to overcome? What is your desire to attain?

The physical fears are the easiest to name: climbing a mountain, jumping out of a plane, scuba diving, zip-lining, and so on.

But what about the fears of the unseen? The personal, social, and emotional courage we all need?

What if people hungry for bravery started conquering their fears by confronting trauma, owning their mistakes, speaking up in meetings or public settings, saying “no,” or sharing unpopular opinions?

Those acts would arguably have more impact than simply conquering a fear of heights.

What I mean is this: practicing bravery doesn’t require booking a special trip or announcing your achievement to the world.
 
Lesson 4: Practicing bravery, in both the little moments and the big ones, builds your confidence.

You start to see your own actions lead to courageous outcomes. And those moments deserve to be celebrated just as much as the “Mount Everest” ones.

Saying “yes” to something you’ve always said “no” to because it was too painful or intimidating.

Saying “no” to something you’ve always said “yes” to because it was easier or kept the peace.

Standing up for someone, or yourself.

Sharing your creative work publicly.

Apologizing sincerely or forgiving someone.

Admitting you need help or support.

Setting boundaries, even when it risks disappointing someone.

These are acts of bravery, too. These are ways to conquer fear, and I’d argue that some of them are harder than the physical feats.

From a mountaintop to a difficult conversation in your business or community, bravery is an action and courage is a mindset.



Challenge:
Make a list of 8 fears you want to overcome this coming year. Categorize the list into these buckets: physical fears, emotional fears, social fears and personal fears. 

Give yourself a timeframe that is right for you to tackle one from each bucket for the year. Find the resources, help or guidance if you don't know where to start.

Important: After each accomplishment, write these words down. "I am person who can (fill in the blank)"

Read it outloud.
Post it in your home somewhere where you can see it each day. It can be for just you to see or for others to acknowledge as well.
Share your accomplishment with someone who you trust and that wants to see you win.

Take time to celebrate each milestone, just as you would scaling a mountain, because they are just as important, if not more. 

Emotional well-being:
How can Joy exist when Sadness is also present?

Why write on a topic that can be sorrowful?

Because that is also part of being human. I chose to write on this topic because I want others to understand they are not alone.

How can we move forward when debilitating pain—physical, emotional, or mental—takes up all the space?

Does Joy cease to exist in these moments?

What if the moment was filled with Joy, and then the Sadness hits?

Does Sadness take precedence?
Does it get more space?
Does it settle and take over because it is louder or stronger?

Why does Joy have to give up its space? And if so, when does it get its space back?

Who decides when?

I know each and every one of us struggles with joy and sadness, happiness and grief, sometimes separately, sometimes simultaneously.

A mother who has just given birth to a healthy child but loses her loved one the same week—each tear is both bitter and sweet.

In my life, I have had many seasons of both Joy and Sadness. This summer, in particular, has brought the acute experience of Joy and pain coexisting in the same space.

I often find myself asking how I can exist in this constant ebb and flow. How can I keep one from dominating the other?

We don’t all live in this extreme, and sometimes the timing allows for joy first, then sadness, then back to joy.

But what happens when they come too close together?

I tend to see the glass as half full or find the silver lining, even when it’s clear that the moment is truly a “half empty glass” moment. But sometimes, life’s saddest moments can make one feel like a yo-yo caught in a particularly painful event.

I’m no expert on life’s pain, but what I do know is this:

​Lesson 2: We must not let Sadness take over Joy’s space.

I like to think of myself as a house filled with rooms—one for Joy, and one for Sadness. Joy can give up its space temporarily to Sadness so it has room to spill over at times, but Sadness doesn’t deserve to take over the entire house forever. It must give Joy back its room after a time.

Letting Sadness and Joy both be present, coexisting together—to grieve fully, yet also recognize Joy’s presence, and fully experience both.

There is no right or wrong way to experience our deepest emotions, but I do know that allowing one to dominate the other for longer or larger than its space deserves will lead to missing out on many moments of the other. Time is the only buffer between these extremes, and time is what is needed to fully shift from one to the other.

My hope for you is that you find your Joy again after your deepest sadness. To give both the space to exist. Maybe not simultaneously, but perhaps giving equal space to each, and walking through one door at a time.

I know I am still working on my house—how much room each emotion gets. But we are the only ones who get to decide how much space each one gets, and when one can borrow space from the other.
If you are struggling with deep sadness, I hope you will recognize the need for help and find the appropriate resources to support you through it.

Challenge: Take a moment to write down what is creating the sadness in your current season and what is joyful. Reflect on how many days each of these emotions are getting. If there’s an imbalance that feels off, especially in the season of sadness, create a plan for bringing Joy back into your week and seek help when it seems impossible. If you haven't let your moment for sadness be, plan for a time to process your sadness.

If you have trouble making this plan, reach out to a friend or professional who can help you understand you are not alone. 



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If you like some peaceful ASMR - Turn sound up for the video below. Video from this summer in the mountain village of Ancient Messini where my family is from. 

This past month, I took a much-needed 21-day sabbatical.
Over the next month, I’ll be sharing 21 lessons I learned during that time. 

This summer, my family and I traveled to Greece — to the Peloponnese, where my father is from. We stayed in a small, mountain village I visited often as a young girl. It's a place that feels like home in a deep and sacred way.


We spent three weeks in Greece traveling through the mainland (with a quick stop in Paris) retreating from work stress, family health challenges, and the daily grind. What started as a vacation became something much more: a time to rest, heal, be still, learn, grow, and dream.


Lesson 1: Protect Your Peace


Why is it so important to carve out time to hear ourselves think?


We all know the answer — yet so often, we don't actually make the space. We think we're resting, but really, we're just doing what society tells us is relaxing.
Ever stress in traffic on the way to yoga? Rush to a massage appointment? Cut a peaceful lunch short to make your next meeting?


Weren’t those moments supposed to relax us?
Maybe we’re trying too hard to “do” rest — when true rest comes from simply being.


Turning off your phone and taking a walk, or collapsing on the couch for a nap, can be just as restorative as any spa day. You don’t need a mountaintop to clear your head — though I won’t lie, it helps.


Studies show it takes 8–9 days to fully shift gears and allow our minds and bodies to settle. So yes, the case for a mini-sabbatical is real. But peace is something you can create right where you are.


For me, it often takes removing everything off my plate temporarily— to see what truly matters, then slowly add back the essentials: what aligns with my values, my energy, and my purpose.


Sometimes that reset is 30 minutes, a weekend, or it can be 21 days in a new place.


But the goal is the same: to make space for stillness, to hear what God is saying, to recalibrate toward what matters most.


Our culture is designed to keep us constantly stimulated to the point where we can’t even hear our own thoughts.


What is your gold?
What drives you?
What do you value the most?
Where can you find stillness?


That stillness fuels everything: my creativity, leadership, resilience, and clarity.
It's also why I created Remote & Retreat: Greece — a leadership program for founders, CEOs, and executives who lead at high levels and need intentional space to disconnect, recharge, and return stronger.


Real transformation doesn’t happen in the rush of everyday life. It happens when you step away — to rest, to dream, to see a new path forward.


Challenge:
Find a space outside of your norm—a quieter spot (whether it’s a transatlantic retreat or a local corner of calm). Challenge yourself to find peaceful moments where you can fully relax. Whether that’s one hour, one day, or one week--take the break. Build the pause, and come back stronger.

If you need help walking that path, solving challenges, or leveling-up

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