Strawberry Wisdom
A book on the wisdom of my life, born from 60 years of eclectic international adventures - Coming soon -
Chapter 1 - Childhood - Excerpts
At six years old, I entered primary school and everything changed. My teacher was very strict. She rarely smiled and left little room for error. She taught us to write with a fountain pen and ink. For my clumsy little hands, it was a constant source of anxiety. I could never avoid the blots and stains, and my notebooks were quickly decorated with these little ink accidents. When I made stains, she would hit my fingers with a ruler. Instead of going to recess, I stayed locked in the classroom to correct my mistakes. I often cried. I felt ashamed and rejected. The hardest part was the humiliation. She made us walk in the yard with our ink-stained papers pinned to our backs.
I now practice in my home what I call the "strawberry philosophy":
Gentleness in words, even when the day stings a little.
Patience, because no seed grows in a day.
Gratitude, because there is always something to savour, even in rainy moments.
And above all, Presence. Because what a child desires more than anything is not gifts — it is for us to truly be by their side.
Chapter 2 - Adolescence - Excerpts
Just before the holidays, I was struck by viral meningitis. It began with an intense headache and severe stomach pain, so overwhelming that it felt unbearable. [...] Then came the moment I will never forget: they arrived with syringes the size of rolling pins, the terrible lumbar punctures. They asked my mother to leave the room. That was their first mistake. What followed felt like pure chaos. I screamed, cried, resisted, and fought with everything I had as they tried to perform the procedure. The first attempt failed, and they had to call for two additional staff to hold me still. After another unsuccessful try, they finally allowed my mother back into the room to calm me down. Only then were they able to complete the procedure.
It was four hundred and seventy kilometres of breathtaking landscapes in all their diversity and beauty. Baboons along the roadside, terraced plantations, Maharajah palaces with sublime gardens, gigantic dams, endless fields of agriculture and palm trees, mountains with narrow passes. We stopped along the way to sleep in a lodge in the middle of the jungle in Mysore. The next morning after a hearty breakfast, a surprise awaited me: an elephant ride! Well, the comfort was another story, it felt like riding a rickety castle but what an unforgettable experience, with a front-row view of the flora and fauna, beautiful birds, monkeys and strange sounds! The highlight of this expedition? Coming across an Indian bison! I was not feeling very brave on the back of that massive elephant, just five metres from the beast. The guide signalled us to remain silent, as if to say: "one wrong move, and it's carnage." Terrified, I had never listened to anyone so well in my entire life!
When I succeeded at the flute and in mathematics a warmth rose in my chest. It was not just the vibration of the note, but the realisation that I had had the courage to try despite my fear of not succeeding, pushing myself beyond my limits. It was proof that I was not "useless", as certain adult phrases had led me to believe, yet I held onto a certain pride in my few successes.
My freedom was not ideological or rebellious, but experimental. I took my freedom wherever I was allowed to breathe, and even when it was not given. My freedom did not proclaim itself; I savoured it in small doses as I grew, and I could finally be fully myself.
Chapter 3 - Twenties - Excerpts
New York had given me vertigo, with its hundreds of buildings, its endless crowds of every culture, and its delusions of grandeur. Florida amazed me with its sunlit beauty and dream houses and sunburned my back. Djerba taught me balance on water and the warmth of its people. England taught me to accept difference, in its culture, its people, its food, its way of life. It was where I first built a life as an adult in a couple. I thought I was travelling to see the world, but in reality, I was returning each time and seeing myself differently. Faced with American excess, I discovered my fire. Faced with other cultures, I measured my own habits and beliefs. Faced with the unknown, I tested my courage.
Alexandre was born on March 8th, 1992, at 4 p.m. — a big, beautiful baby of just over four kilos. The birth was natural, with only a TENS machine to ease the pain, and an oxygen mask at the hospital. I was breathing in so much oxygen that the nurses had to take the mask away so I wouldn't fall asleep between contractions! After my earlier meningitis experience, I had refused any injections, no matter what. Alex was so perfect that I fell in love all over again — this time with a little cherub ready to conquer the world.
I clung for a long time to the idea that everything had to be perfectly orchestrated in order to succeed. But life was teaching me something else: perfection is only a reassuring illusion. Resilience, on the other hand, is real. It shows up in decisions made despite fear, in imperfect projects I chose to complete anyway, in my ability to keep moving forward when the original plan collapsed.