The path that led me to this.
My name is Matthéo.
I am young enough to still have a lot to learn every day, but I have been driven enough to have already sought out a lot of answers. Over time, I have come to understand that everyone has their own truth. No one truth is more valid than another. Mine was born while walking, listening, travelling with an open heart, reaching out to others. I have sought meaning everywhere: in my reporting, in my travels, in the war zones where I have filmed, in spiritual retreats, in the therapy I have trained in, in writing, and above all in silence, sometimes even in those places where there is nothing but ourselves, and where one is forced to reflect.
And finally, I understood something very simple: I found meaning in others and in other places. In the courage of my Afghan friends, the resilience of my Ukrainian friends, the audacity of the writers I love, the kindness and hospitality of people I met at the other end of the world, in the Himalays, in the arts that keep the world going, and in those moments when people truly connect with each other.
On this journey, my role is to hold the space, to ensure the emotional safety of the group and to connect the external experience with inner listening. I am neither a spiritual master nor an undercover guru, simply a travel companion who prefers to listen rather than give grand existentialist speeches (even if, sometimes, I gently vent my frustration about the misery of transhumanism and the consequences of socio-digital civilisations).
The subtlety of support: Although my approach is informed by personal development tools (hypnotherapy, NLP, transactional analysis and life coaching), there is no pressure to perform, no forced transformation and no obligation to participate. These training sessions are solely intended to ensure that the listening space we create is structured, safe and supportive.
I am above all a simple man, attentive to the rhythm of slowness and the richness of listening. I will be there to facilitate sharing and reflection, and to guide certain meditations, but true discovery always comes from within. We are here above all to experience a fabulous journey to the heart of a Himalayan plateau, preserved in ice like a piece of the past that brings us back to the present, because the future is nothing more than an eternal tomorrow that is a little too intrusive, so good at spoiling the moment.
I will walk with you, by your side, like old friends meeting on a beautiful summer's day.
why did I decide to take on this initiative?
I am launching this initiative because it is, above all, very personal. It is because, in France and Europe, I see an entire generation gradually slipping into something that resembles a great inner fatigue. Around me, many friends are victims of mild depression or are in a kind of silent survival mode. It's not even their fault, and that's the worst part: we are forced to appear, to exist vicariously, to be very present on screen, but so absent in each other's eyes.
We tick the boxes, we do what we have to do, we move forward as best we can. Performance, success and the image we project often take precedence over how we really feel. We live constantly connected, but less and less connected to reality: to our bodies, to the seasons, to others, to what is happening here and now.
This journey is a modest but conscious response to this state of the world, which sometimes revolts me. It is a counter-project to isolation, to empty hyper-connection, to the fear of “not being enough”. It is a space where, for a few days, we can stop performing and return to something more embodied, more human.
The people who join us bring with them their stories, their strengths, their vulnerabilities, their questions and their doubts. Some are going through a major transition, others simply need some breathing space; some talk a lot, others very little. What brings us together is not so much our profiles as our intentions, our desire to experience something real, unmasked and memorable.
I’ve always loved this metaphor of the tree.
When we begin this kind of inner work, we start with the leaves, fragile, exposed to the wind, reacting to the outside world. The visible parts of ourselves : our reflexes, our fears, our ways of coping.
Then, slowly, we move along the branches, tracing patterns, connections, protective mechanisms that formed over time.
Until eventually, we reach the trunk, the core. And within that trunk lives the heart.
Once you begin to understand the heart, what it is made of, what shaped it, you are no longer afraid of the leaves trembling above, because you know where they come from.
Through this journey, I learned to know myself more honestly, to understand myself more gently… and, most importantly, to love myself.
