Dear Me,
As we move through February, I’ve been thinking a lot about the heart—about what happens when we offer our creations, our choices, our acts of living to its altar. It’s been sitting with me, this idea of heart-led living, as I navigate my own evolution and process; both personally and in my work. Lately, I’ve been noticing where I let my mind take too much control and where I allow my heart to lead me instead. SO much of of “work” leads and lends itself to my computer and my head, but I can hear my heart tugging, what’s next, let me try say something, could I have a go…
It’s a delicate balance, isn’t it? The mind is brilliant at organizing, strategizing, and making sense of things, but when it takes over completely, we risk losing the essence of what truly matters. Our work can become mechanical, our relationships can feel transactional, and the things we once felt passionate about can start to feel like obligations. When that happens, I think we lose the plot. The things we create: whether it’s a project, a conversation, a moment of connection—can start to feel hollow. But when we create, love, and live from the heart, everything feels richer, fuller, more alive.
I’ve been especially aware of this when it comes to raising my kids. As Daniel and Elizabeth grow, I can feel the tug-of-war between my mind and my heart more than ever. My mind wants to teach them discipline, structure, and logic—the tools they’ll need to navigate the world. But my heart? My heart just wants to love them well. To be present. To help them feel safe, seen, and understood. I want them to know that beyond all the lessons, expectations, and rules, the most important thing is love—the kind of love that makes space, that listens deeply, that leads with kindness.
And yet, like with everything else, it’s so easy to get caught up in thinking too much about the “right” way to parent, to guide, to lead. The more I try to strategize, the more I feel like I’m missing the point. But when I slow down, when I let my heart lead, things become simpler. I listen more. I hold them closer. I see them for who they are right now, instead of who I think they should be. And it makes me wonder—how much more of my life could be transformed if I just let my heart have more of a say?
I found myself in a bit of a mental spiral the other day—overanalyzing, overthinking, trying to solve something by sheer force of logic. And I could feel it, all the energy rushing to my head, my thoughts getting louder, more tangled. So, I decided to go outside for a long walk, always barefoot and with a banana in hand. As I walked, I heard this small, quiet voice inside telling me to breathe into my heart space. To expand it toward the sky, toward the world around me. Feel the wind in my hair, the sun on my skin, the sound of the earth. It felt like an act of generosity, like giving myself permission to stop figuring everything out and just be for a moment. (We are human beings and not human doings after all)
And so I let my heart shine. I let the light pour into it, filling it with warmth. I brought my worries, my uncertainties, my restless thoughts before it, seeking its wisdom. And in doing so, I found clarity—not through analysis, but through feeling. My heart gave me an answer that my mind never could, one that felt open, expansive, and limitless.
The heart, I’ve realized, holds an intelligence all its own. It doesn’t strategize or plan the way the mind does (and thank you, brain—we do appreciate you!). Instead, it speaks in simpler words, in quiet honesty, in a language of generosity. It may not always be linear or logical, but it is always true.
In a world that often celebrates the loud, the fast, and the calculated, we forget that wisdom is not always found in the sharpness of the mind but in the depth of the heart. Susan Cain, in Quiet, reminds us:
“Solitude matters, and for some people, it’s the air they breathe.”
It is in those still, unguarded moments—when we are quiet enough to listen—that the heart’s intelligence emerges. The heart does not demand; it invites. It does not argue; it knows.
Similarly, Paulo Coelho, in The Alchemist, speaks of the heart as a compass, a guide that always seeks truth, here quoting The New Testament:
“Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find your treasure.”
The mind may try to predict, protect, and rationalize every decision, but the heart moves toward something deeper; toward meaning, connection, and purpose. Its language is not efficiency, but essence. It is the voice that whispers when the world shouts. It is the pull toward an unseen destination when logic says stay put.
The heart’s intelligence is not measured in strategies or calculations, but in its unwavering commitment to what truly matters. It is the quiet knowing that kindness is never wasted, that love is worth the risk, and that sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply trust the direction it points us in.
Perhaps, as we navigate our days, we might do well to give both mind and heart their due. To let the brain structure the journey, but to let the heart choose the road. Because while the mind may be brilliant, the heart is wise. And wisdom, after all, is what leads us home. She gently holds us by the hand and walks us Home.
So, this week, I wonder if this small practice might serve you too. If something has been weighing on you—a decision, a creative block, a challenge you’re trying to untangle—perhaps you could place it in the hands of your heart for a while. Give your mind a break. Let your heart have its say.
What do you think?
With warmth,
Dean
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