I just got back from a weekend retreat centred on breathing and yoga. As I was driving home, I found myself reflecting on how important it is to do something just for myself. Taking the time to prioritize my well-being, pamper myself, and simply be kind to myself—it felt incredibly satisfying.
This weekend, I let myself focus entirely on me. I worked through personal goals, nourished my body with good food, and allowed myself to rest without guilt.
I realized that being good to myself isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity. I need to nurture my mind, body, and spirit because it’s simply essential for my well-being. This weekend was a powerful reminder of that.
It’s good to be kind to myself. It’s good to show myself care and compassion. And I’m so glad I took this time, just for me.

There are so many things I’d like to do. Things I want to do for myself and for others. Conversations I’d love to have, activities I’d like to engage in, experiences I’d like to try. But sometimes, even when I have the time, I find I don’t have the emotional capacity. Other times, I don’t even have the time.
Today, I’ve been reflecting on how important it is to let things go. Not to dwell on missed opportunities. Because, in life, not everything is meant to happen. Sometimes it’s not the right time, the right person, or the right opportunity.
And that’s okay.
What I want to give myself is the freedom to make space—for what matters, for what feels right, and for what goes with where I am now. Letting go isn’t easy, but it’s quite liberating. It creates room for peace, for presence, and for possibilities I might not yet see.
This is what I’m learning today: to give myself permission to let go.

Today is St. Nicholas Day, and it’s got me thinking. St. Nicholas is known for his generosity and giving spirit, and this feels like a good opportunity to reflect on how I show gratitude to others. 
I’ve been thinking about what I can do today, especially today, because this day feels like a reminder for every other day. What could a small token of gratitude look like? Maybe a handwritten note—those are so rare these days—or a single flower. I have to admit, I’m not usually a fan of giving single flowers; I prefer bouquets. But even a single flower, given with care, can carry a lot of meaning. Maybe I could bake something sweet to share, make a small donation—perhaps to a dog shelter, since they’re in a tough season right now and would appreciate anything from a small donation to some dog food or snacks—treat someone to coffee, or give them a ticket to something fun. I guess that sharing an inspiring thought, a photo or picture could brighten someone’s day too.
The sky is the limit when I think of the possibilities. Today has reminded me to think creatively about these small tokens of gratitude—not just for today, but for every day. How can we make showing appreciation a natural part of our lives? That’s the question I’m asking myself today.

 Today—or maybe it’s been on my mind for a while—I found myself thinking about what truly makes me happy. What gives me joy? And while there are probably a few things, one stood out to me: feeding. Feeding others. Feeding ... the hungry.
I realized how much I love cooking for people, sharing food, and creating those moments around a table where we can just talk, connect, and be together. It’s something that makes me happy, it brings me joy—not just the cooking itself but sharing something I’ve made.
And then it hit me: feeding the hungry isn’t just about food. It’s about more than that. I can feed people in so many ways—with kind words, just as I wrote the other day. With ideas, with inspiration, with hope. Sometimes, it’s just about giving someone what they need—whether it’s food, comfort, or encouragement.
Today, I felt really good thinking about this. Feeding others, in any way—whether with food, kindness, or connection—brings me happiness. And maybe that’s all I needed to think about today: feed the hungry.

I have a friend who is absolutely amazing at noticing the good in people. She has a remarkable gift for pointing out talents, offering praise, and saying simple things that make me feel valued. Every time I talk to her, I feel uplifted and inspired. I often think that I would love to scoop up just a little of her talent.
I, on the other hand, can easily recall the last sarcastic comment I made—it wasn’t long ago - just earlier today. For some reason such comments come to me so naturally, especially when the joke is at someone else’s expense. 
What I am trying to say is - that for someone who deeply values the power of words - I definitely need to catch up with the lesson on kindness. After all, that shouldn't be so difficult once you start practising. And I am starting ... now. Or tomorrow. Just kidding. 

I often think that I have experienced loss far too often, and I know this is something that happens to everybody. Loss changes us. It has changed me. Not once, not twice, but many times. There is no easy way—or perhaps no way at all—to remove the sense of missing from deep inside. Fight it, and it will only push back harder.

Now, I think the last thing  I want to do is to cherish my losses. But I know I need to ... embrace them. I need to cry over them till I can't cry any longer. Time after time. They matter to me because they are part of me. Each loss, no matter how painful, has shaped me, and I can’t separate them from who I am. And... Maybe I don’t even want to.

Is helping good? I’ve been asking myself this question lately. Does helping, or should helping, make me feel better? Do I help primarily for myself, or for others? And is it even important to think about it this way? Why do I help? Why do I want to help?

When I take a step back and think about it, I realize there’s no simple answer. Helping often feels good—it gives a sense of purpose, of connection, like I’m doing something meaningful. But then I wonder, does that mean I’m helping for me? Does it matter if my reasons are partly selfish as long as someone benefits? Or is true helping about putting others first, without thinking about what I gain?

​I also notice that not every act of helping feels the same. Sometimes, I help out of instinct, without questioning it. Other times, I feel torn—do I have the time, the energy, the right intentions? And when I do help, I find myself reflecting afterward. Did it really make a difference? Was it what the other person needed, or just what I thought they needed?
​
Helping is something I want to explore more deeply, to understand what moves me to act and what holds me back. These questions don’t have to be answered all at once, they event don't need to be answered at all but I think they’re worth carrying with me this season, or maybe every season. ​

If there’s one thing I’d say to anyone caught in the Autumn Blues, it’s this: Don’t be a salmon. Yes, you heard that right. Don’t be that fish that insists on going upstream when all nature is suggesting the opposite.
Salmon, of course, swim against the current for a very good reason—a deeply ingrained instinct to reach their spawning grounds and complete the cycle of life. For them, it’s a necessary, even noble struggle. But here’s the thing: we don’t need to be doing that. There’s no reason for us to fight against the natural rhythm of autumn, a season that invites us to slow down, not push harder.

​Somewhere along the way, we got this idea that we’re supposed to be in constant motion, always pushing for the next goal, the next accomplishment. And don’t get me wrong—I’m all for growth. But growth doesn’t only happen when we’re charging forward. I think we all need to get into our heads that rest isn’t laziness; it’s fuel. It’s part of the cycle, a necessary chapter in our own stories of growth. Here’s how I see it: I let myself sink into those cosy comforts, savour quiet moments, and embrace those gentle evenings where doing “nothing” feels like everything I need.

One of the first things I do to go with the current and ease into the autumn season is to honestly let myself eat and drink what I want and what feels right. Autumn, to me, is definitely the perfect time to embrace the comforts around us, and that includes those warm, cosy drinks I crave. I especially enjoy a lemon and rosemary infusion or a ginger brew with a bit of kick—both perfect for chilly days. As for soups, I’m all about the ones that are loaded with ingredients, the kind that feel like a meal in a bowl. And I don’t shy away from a sweet treat now and then either. If my body’s craving something, I let it have it—no guilt, just enjoying the season.

Another thing I immerse myself in during autumn is my love for Baroque music. I’m not looking to change my taste—Baroque already gives me exactly what I’m looking for. But this season, I’m especially drawn to exploring Jakub Józef Orlinski’s pieces. I recently wrote a post about him, and now I’m diving deeper, discovering more of his work. His music feels like the perfect match for this time of year, bringing just the right balance and hint of nostalgia, setting the tone for slowing down and settling into autumn’s rhythm.

I’m also leaning into reading light books this season—nothing too heavy, nothing packed with facts or dense history. Just simple, enjoyable stories. I’ve discovered how relaxing it can be to dive into something that doesn’t ask too much of me. It keeps my mind gently occupied, and adds a bit of pleasure to my routine. 

​I also make it a point to surround myself with different sources of light. Honestly, I start putting up the lights pretty early—usually by the end of October, when the days start feeling shorter and darker. There’s just something about the glow that lifts the mood and creates a cosy, inviting atmosphere, perfect for settling in. Especially in autumn, when I’m spending more time indoors, these little pockets of light make all the difference.

I try to keep a balance between indoor comforts and outdoor time. I never skip my walks—heading out into the woods is something I enjoy all year round, and that doesn’t change just because it’s autumn. But when I’m indoors, I like to add in some gentle, relaxing exercises, like yin yoga, usually in the evenings. I’ve never been a fan of super intense or high-pressure workouts, so this season is perfect for me—I can really lean into that slower, calming pace. Yin yoga promotes exactly that, helping my body and mind to get in tune with the season.

​For me, discovering that autumn is a season to slow down and stop swimming against the current has been truly liberating. Allowing myself to embrace that slower pace isn’t always easy, but it’s worth it—sometimes, it’s better not to be a salmon and just go with the flow.

Last Saturday, I had the incredible opportunity to attend a concert at NOSPR in Katowice—a night that left me utterly spellbound. The artist gracing the stage was none other than Jakub Józef Orlinski, a name that, until a while ago, I knew little about.
​Let me take you through the journey of how I discovered this brilliant countertenor and how his music has become such a significant part of my life.

​I first stumbled upon Orlinski quite by accident, during Mika's concert. In one of the songs, Mika invited a special guest to sing with him—Orlinski. At that moment, I had no idea who he was, let alone that he was a famous Polish countertenor with a rapidly growing international reputation. But his voice captivated me from the very first note. There was something ethereal about his performance, and I knew I had to explore more of his work.

That’s when I came across one of his performances of Prząśniczka by Moniuszko. The piece is pure magic. For me, it encapsulates everything beautiful about Polish culture and heritage. The melody, the emotion, and the deep sense of tradition it evokes are truly breathtaking. It was in that moment I realized that Orlinski was an artist who had the rare ability to touch the soul through his voice.

And then ... Lets BaROCK happened. 
The Lets BaROCK project is a bold and captivating venture that blends the timeless elegance of Baroque music with modern elements, surprising the listener with unexpected twists while preserving the genre’s essence. The album is a masterpiece, showcasing Orlinski’s range, not just in his stunning vocals but also in his ability to infuse contemporary flair, such as rap, into traditional Baroque forms. Aleksander Debicz, the brilliant pianist alongside Orlinski, has crafted music arrangements that inject a fresh pulse into those already stunning centuries-old classics. Honestly, I don’t think Orlinski could’ve pulled it off without his magic!

In the days leading up to the concert, I deliberately chose not to listen to the Lets BaROCK single releases. I wanted the live experience to be my first real encounter with the music. In retrospect, that was one of the best decisions I could have made. No sound system, no matter how high-end, could replicate the richness and grandeur of hearing those pieces live. 

The magic of hearing Orlinski live is something that stays with you long after the final note fades. There’s a certain energy that comes from a performance like this, something raw and real that you simply can’t capture in a recording. Now that I’ve heard the concert, I’m finally able to listen to the album and relive those moments.

I wanted to share this experience with you, not just as a concert recap, but as a personal invitation to see Orlinski live or explore his latest album, Lets BaROCK. I hope it offers you, as it did for me, the chance to experience something truly profound and utterly beautiful.