“Come back when you have written the book,” they said at the New York Central Library, this time last year. So here I am. Sitting in a taxi at 10pm heading to my hotel for one meeting with the US arm of my publisher Hay house which I have flown out to New York to take.



This time last year the book was a non-entity. I had no deal and nothing but a 3am outpouring from my soul scribbled on the back of an envelope one night in the midst of an awakening which began to happen in the spare room of the childhood home id grown up in. The words tumbled on to the page from beyond Jessica. They were too honest, too pure and full of a wisdom and music which had a power that I cannot lay claim to. I was just the vessel.


And yet this time last year I knew that my scribble would evolve into tens of thousands of words bound into a book which must meet the world. I knew that Hay house would be the publisher. And I knew that I would be back here as I am tonight, looking out at the Brooklyn bridge skyline, the ground decorated with icing like snow, clueless as to where this adventure of a life will carry me to Next.  And yet despite the uncertainty, I have never been more composed. for each step toward my calling is a step toward me.  Back to me.  And in that knowing there is peace.


So often we tell ourselves that we don’t know what is for the best in our lives because the answer requires more of us than we are willing to give or do. And so we kid ourselves into denial and opt for the easy route. The option in which we feel secure from which we can predict the likely outcome. That option is the one that keeps us shackled and cosseted. It restricts our growth and promises only a life of more of the same than that which we have had thus far.


There is more for you. More for all of us. Stop for a while, slow down, Dim the noise of the activity of your existence, listen carefully and you will hear the whisper of your calling.