Should we do something together?

P1050138

Hello, I’m Julien – welcome to my website.

Strasbourg-born, Paris-trained, Italian-blooded, now based in Melbourne and working across Australia, Sweden and China, I am closely attuned to the many subtle ways that cultural and linguistic diversity translates as difference in perceptions, emotions, behaviours and value systems. As a writer and educator, my work aims to discern and articulate the various manifestations of this diversity, invent better ways to realise that our worlds are different – and rejoice in the possibility to find common ground.

I currently share my time between three main activities:

  • I work as editor-in-chief with the Global Challenges Foundation, a Swedish philanthropic Foundation that aims to stimulate a better understanding of global catastrophic risk, and catalize new global governance models to address those risks.
  • I design and deliver new workshop models with the Marco Polo Project, a non-profit organisation exploring new models to develop cross-cultural understanding.
  •  I am enrolled in a PhD with Monash University, exploring the emerging digital ecosystem of Chinese language learning.

I offer coaching services, workshops, public speaking, and support for new projects. Over the years, I have been fortunate to work with a broad range of organisations on cutting-edge initiatives. I am always open to new projects and opportunities, and would love to discuss them with you. Please contact me at Julien.leyre at gmail.com.

Meanwhile, you can read some of my reflections here – or browse through my portfolio to look at my writing, film and curation work.

Temperance – Week 12

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

This week, I reflected on temperance and the structure of our body.

Why tolerate mediocrity, when excellence is within reach. In Paris, this was my approach to bakeries. We feed ourselves three times a day: asking for good food is a way to respect our material selves. Temperance does demand a capacity to derive enjoyment from simple things – tolerating sloppy food is testing the devil.

Is temperance then no more than deep respect for the body – or better still, deep connection to the body? Monday, after concentrated hours of work, I said ‘it’s over’, respected my inner tiredness, and took rest. Tuesday, I rejoiced in a glass of Shiraz at a concert intermission – I responded to social cues, but respected advice from my Chinese doctor, that I needed ‘warming’ nourishment. I am bored of deliberately practicing temperance, yet my habits have changed over the last eleven weeks: I no longer crave for meat, alcohol, or a second coffee. I feel stronger. The culture of capitalism makes indulgence a default setting, so what if destruction follows; but I feel more willing and ready to resit

Engaging with temperance over three months has left me craving for activity – I look forward to no longer focusing on my body’s inner workings. Yet I do feel a deeper connection to my own weaknesses: appetites uncontrolled, ebbs and flows of energy, structural distraction. I know myself better, how fluid I am. I see potential in this. Solid is not the only state of strength. My body’s animated with constant currents and storms, cravings, passions, triggered by a chaotic environment, true; but if I can swiftly tie knots in the right places, and let the ropes loose in others, I can harness those inner gales, and sail onwards.

 

Temperance – Week 11

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

Over the week, I reflected on the strength of my appetite of pleasure – and how celebrating it may be the best pathway to temperance.

I started the week with a  stomach ache – yet found it strangely difficult simply to reduce portion. Something in me was eager to keep eating more, more, more – as if this would make me heal faster. On Sunday, exhausted, I went to bed at 8pm, with a very light dinner, but all I could think about on the Monday was dinner. We go through much hardship for material satisfaction, yet would not go through the same trouble to prevent much greater personal pain. Is it, perhaps, that we’ve become addicted to pleasure, so much so that its sheer absence is pain. And so, we no longer seek pleasure, we simply try to flee the pain of recovering from our material addictions.

In a workshop I ran on Tuesday, I invited international students to describe their sensorial experience of Melbourne: what are the smells, tastes, sounds, sights and sensations that they’ve enjoyed most in Australia. One of them, a sweet young man from Shenzhen with a beautiful smile, told me, “I can’t do this exercise, I don’t feel anything, I simply stay in my room, and do nothing, feel nothing, or I just go out and buy something.” This absence of any feeling is not temperance, I thought – but it could be the very opposite.

I finished a major project in the middle of the week. On Wednesday, to celebrate, I headed to the supermarket and decided to grab ‘anything I liked’ for lunch. I headed home with beetroot burgers, vegan sausages and unsweetened almond milk. This was not self-restraint though, but genuinely what I felt would give me most enjoyment, not simply the passing caress of pleasure, but a deep, wholistic sense of good.

Thursday was the first day for six-weeks where I didn’t have to think of a major project. I had an acupuncture session scheduled, and focused on rebalancing. All through the day, I allowed myself to do whatever I felt like. I vaguely considered movies, porn, food orgy. Instead, I resumed work on projects I had set aside from various terraces in quiet South Melbourne, enjoying a mild late autumn afternoon. As evening came, I stood on the street and considered my options: what would bring me the most joy: head home and collapse, go to the cinema and watch Alien, or spend as long as the film would last on a long walk through Albert Park, via St Kilda West, and along the beach. This is what I chose, and thought, as I moved through the fresh air, among the eucalyptus trees, and on the sand, this is a genuine act of temperance: given the freedom, I made a sensual choice most conducive to my own happiness.

Our stomachs are me-making machine: food and drinks continuously nurture the machine that is our body, where transformation processes occur non-stop. Intemperance is ignoring of the delicate balance of these internal processes for the short-lived enjoyment of a passing contact, whether food, drink, caresses or images, on our sensitive membranes. Temperance is finding happiness in the quiet, regular functioning of our body. It is deep sensual connection to the simple pleasures associated with well-ordered internal activity.

Temperance – week 10

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

Over the week, I reflected on the meaning of temperance in our historical moment. 

We live in times of  exceptional affluence. For much of the world, abundance is a greater problem than scarcity. Is this a new normal, however, or a passing apex? And is temperance preparation for inevitable collapse, adaptation to plenty forever, or a way to stretch abundance over space and time? Is temperance, therefore, a matter of prudence, wisdom, or justice?

I headed over to university for a workshop on Monday. I was early, deliberately, and looked for a cafe to sit down, relax, and do some writing. None felt inviting enough. After a walk around the block, I grabbed a 1$ coffee from 7/11, and sat on public tables and chairs outside a building. I had a great time. How odd, however, I reflected, that my initial impulse was to trade money for a space, when so much was available for free. And how odd that I was unable to simply sit and think without purchasing a drink.

We live in times of exceptional abundance. Over a billion people today – that’s about as much as the entire planet at the time of the French Revolution  – live in unprecedented abundance. Meanwhile, 60% of species are heading towards extinction, forests are disappearing, and oceans turning to jellyfish. This is the dark side of our times: material plenty for humans, extreme duress on other living forms.

On Wednesday morning, I headed over to Riverland, by the Yarra. Instead of the usual urban Neapoli cafe, I enjoyed the seagulls, ducks and palm trees; the sun rippling on the water, the bristling leaves of a eucalyptus tree. This, I thought, is more nourishing than music or pastry.

What will we sacrifice in the name of abundance? Since the 1950s, exploitation has grown exponentially. This is the trend I inherited, alongside all people my age. ‘I will never be hungry again’, we say in unison, nor experience material frustration. So what if nature goes.

When I struggled with deadlines and multiple pressures on Friday, when the weather suddenly dipped into winter, my body reacted with a deep sense of hunger. I grabbed a block of tofu, spread spicy sauce over it, toppled half a bag of peanuts, and ate. I grabbed a piece of cheese, and ate. I grabbed an ice-cream, and ate. I grabbed a rockmelon, and ate. I stayed clear of meat – but not clear of excess. I followed an inherited script: this is how I was brought up. The practice of temperance requires active resistance not only towards impulses and urges, but towards our ingrained habits and cultural norms. I consume, I conform. Abstinence, even restraint, is an outlier.

Temperance – Week 9

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

Over the week, I reflected on the role of consumption in my present life, how beneficial and easy resisting would be, yet how I often fail to resist.

I have had a fear since a young age, that if I had to do without, I would dissolve: consumption underpins my very sense of self. I inhabit environments which – comparing across time and space – are of extreme luxury. Sunday, I sat inside the Europa cake shop on Acland street. Across my table, a wall covered in various pastries, and healthy, good-looking, well-dressed people outside, through the window. Is this where I naturally belong? Maybe, but as long as I feel that my existence fundamentally depends on this type of surrounding, I will not get rid of that nagging fear.

Obsessed by the French elections, I let media return into my life. Yet, it is no more important now than it was last week. Quietly reflecting might have equal power. Not only do we live among endless flows of information: engaging on social media provides a fake sense of agency. We share, we comment, and for a moment, imagine that this is a form of active citizenship. We forget that the business model of media platforms, whether newspapers or Facebook, is the promotion of generalised intemperance: advertisement is where their money come from. They will only survive as long as we give in, click on the links, and purchase.

Temperance is a slow virtue.  Avoiding haste is a sure way to reduce excess. We rarely get sick on food and wine slowly sipped and swallowed. Temperance goes against our current culture of efficiency calculated as fast achievement of a narrow goal. On Tuesday, I resumed a daily practice of copying a page from a Chinese classic. It is the very opposite of listening to sped-up audiobooks while walking towards the train: copying is a slow-paced way to form a deep, physical connection with a text. Calligraphy tempers our hasty desire for knowledge. It anchors us into a calm present, where knowledge is not accumulation, but ongoing transformation.

Calming down is very simple: deliberate attention to the breath, slow movements of the arms up and down, a few minutes of meditation. And yet, how often we find ourselves in a state of quasi-panic, in which we then remain for long periods, radiating chaos around. I was early for a meeting, and chose, rather than fret or fill my time with deceitfully productive pursuits, to stand beneath a tree, and practice seven minutes of Qi Gong. I arrived refreshed and happy, with a deep sense of connection with the wind and the season.

If I was to eat only one thing for the rest of my life, it might be fried tofu. Food has a sensuality: crisp, soft, pearly, chewy – our mouth does more than taste and smell, it also touches. Quite on the contrary, pornography works an illusion through the eyes: it presents a shortcut, and fails to satisfy. This is the meaning of ‘food porn’, whereby the rich experience of texture, taste and smell gives way to framings and filters.

As the week ended, I a major project also came close to an end. The old goes, the new comes, and I started preparing for the transition towards a new phase of work. Yet I must acknowledge, my natural bend is to welcome the new, yes, actively chase it even; I spend comparatively little time saying farewell to the old. I wonder, however – will this result in ‘the old’ cluttering my brain with ghosts and tatters – or will it create new burrows and recesses where ideas and projects can slowly flourish, shadowed by the fallen remains of old things left in the corners? We might think of temperance as about creating a clear, empty space inside. But, maybe, it is rather about refraining our appetite for external things, so that, nourished by greater attention, the teeming life inside of us can better flourish.

 

 

 

 

Temperance – Week 8

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

This week marked the end of my Lenten Fast, and I reflected on the signs of lasting change resulting from it.

It is purely by chance that timing aligned my engagement with temperance and the Lent Festival – inspiring a fast. Yet, I did not follow strictly religious guidelines, and so, broke it gradually, starting Saturday morning with a short black, then a cup of ice cream in the afternoon, and a Facebook post. I waited until Sunday for a-feast of Korean fried chicken and a drop of beer. Yet I realised, right on the week-end and all through the week, that I did not feel impatience to lift a heavy burden of self-restraint; rather, a sense of spiritual achievement prevailed, far outweighing anticipated sensory delight. And as a way to gently return to my previous life, devoid of the clear restrictions I adopted during Lent, I deliberately focused on minor delays in gratification: slower sips, slower bites.

All through the week, I did notice that this fast had affected me. Monday morning, I was not craving meat, nor alcohol, nor porn, nor media, nor, even, snacks. I chose, on one morning, to not have a coffee – never had nor desired more than one. This feeling of tight contentment continued all through the week – while my reflections on temperance were short, and all obsessively returned to the same point: that the fast allowed me to chance, and now, I should simply maintain habits; and how a lesser appetite for sensory pleasures brought a profound sense of calm, inner strength, and safety.

Temperance – Week 7

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

I initially planned a complete house declutter for my last week of Lent, discarding 12 items a day for 6 days. But inspired by a workshop on minimalism, by the end of Saturday, I had already built a pile in my living room with more than 72 things. So instead, I decided to focus on 6 areas where I face a form of clutter – and look for ways to simplify them. This will also serve as preparation for a personal retreat I am planning at the end of May, coinciding with my last week reflecting on temperance.

I started with learning. I have a list of things I want to learn or better understand – oral and written Chinese, global governance institutions, the limbic system, Qi Gong, facilitation techniques, indigenous languages, how to better relax. I also know various ways to learn each of those things, through reading lists, mentors, regular practice, a course, an experience, or a project. But I have never articulated these two dimensions together. The solution to my cluttered goals was as simple as making a list with three columns, what, how, and importantly, to the right, why?

When I consider my finances, I experience a mild sense of overwhelm. This makes no direct sense: both stocks and flows are in good order. But here is what I realised: in France, after passing a couple of competitive exams, I started an iron-rice-bowl career as an educator. I do more exciting and important things in Australia than I did or would have in France – and I am probably better off financially – but I face much greater short and long-term uncertainty, compounded by irregular patterns of income and spending. So. this is what I did: an Excell spreadsheet with my predicted budget, month by month, over the coming year. I plotted various scenarios on various sheets, none was catastrophic, and I felt nicely calm.

Goals are very prone to cluttering. They are, by their very nature, in a state of flux and change: once a goal is accomplished, another takes its place. I spent some quality time at the beginning of the year setting goals, but after just 4 months, things have already lost their clarity, and for many, the temptation to refocus or simply give up is high. To solve this, I believe the solution is to take inspiration from the non-profit world, and establish a personal theory of change, that articulates my goals (as outputs) in relation to outcomes and impact. This was too much for a full day, but may be the core component of my personal retreat.

When I migrated from France, I folded thirty years of life in one cubic metre. Most of that was books. My library forms a sensual extension of my brain: I like spending time with it, looking at the shelves, remembering books I loved, or anticipating the pleasure of reading new ones. In line with the French tradition, I organise my books mainly by language and country of origin. As my interest and attention shifted towards Asia in the last ten years, some of those sections inflated, while I cut through others to make room. But a deep reset was due: on Wednesday, I clearly separated my ‘China books’ from my ‘other Asian books’, and brought together my slowly growing collective of Arabic and African books. Now the bookshelves are breathing again.

On Thursday morning, I walked through my house pointing at various spaces: the two drawers next to the oven, here is clutter; the green salad bowl by the bathroom sink, here is clutter; the shelf in my study where I keep stationery, here is clutter. I made a complete list, cleared all the bathroom spaces, and made time – in the future – to go through the rest, slowly clearing the house of its various blockages.

I grew up an only child, liking books and movies. I enjoy my current social life, where the boundaries of friendship and work often blur, as do pleasure and duty. But  I I was never properly trained for a life where I’m expected to network and gather business cards. There are dear friends I don’t see quite enough, and events I regret not attending. Rather than a complex plan to decide in advance where I might spend my evenings over the next month, I might organise regular gatherings at my place – as my partner and I once did – and as for outside commitment – maybe take the chance of organisers disliking me, and decide on the day.

Temperance – week 6

This year, I will reflect on the four cardinal virtues through daily practice and meditation, intentionally focusing on one per season. After starting the year with prudence, I continued with temperance – or the capacity to contain appetites and moderate sensual pleasures.

This week, I cut off digital media from my daily life, and reflected on the surprising upsides of fasting.

I originally thought that, as time passed, the fast would cut closer to the bone. But at the start of week 6, habit and adaptation seem to have the opposite effect. The fasts of the previous weeks hardly register anymore – I’ve even overcome the drowsiness of abstinence from coffee – and I found ways of accomodating. On week 6, I originally aimed to fast from Facebook. For professional reasons, keeping off Messenger is problematic: this is how I interact with many contacts and collaborators, and asking each of them to swap for email seems tedious. Instead, I decided to fast from ‘digital media’, defined as anything I would read on a screen and involves ‘scrolling’. That is feeds from Facebook and Twitter, as well as online papers – Le Monde and The Age. My engagement with the outside world will be through personal contacts, environmental clues, or targeted searches. I will see what this does to my brain, but I can’t imagine it being very noxious.

Previous fasts required discipline, this one will require attention. On the second day, I caught myself browsing my Facebook feed without even realising it. Digital media is such an important part of our lives that it no longer registers as an activity. I didn’t crave it, I just entered the URL and started scrolling out of pure, mindless habit. While other fasts had more to do with fortitude – persistence in doing something slightly difficult, even overcoming a measure of social awkwardness – fasting from digital media brings me closer to prudence. What I need is not so much discipline as mindfulness.

We associate temperance with austere discomfort. I am developing a different understanding of the virtue: it is, rather, about acknowledging the power of our appetite for pleasure, and developing a wiser relationship to it. The Lenten fast, by imposing rules and forcing me to give up on habitual sources of gratification, releases a reservoir of energy which I harness towards new pursuits – the lofty kind, yes, but also sensory pursuits beyond my usual scope. By doing so, I might also reset other habits. The week had a difficult start, I was tired and upset on Tuesday. I knew that I couldn’t compensate with meat, snacks, alcohol, coffee, porn or mindless scrolling. So lunchtime, after a large tofu sandwich, I went on a quest for the perfect dessert. It took me to a pastry shop at Emporium I often pass and, for some reason, was always too shy to patronise. One hot cross-bun and caramel Zonut* later, I was ready to face my afternoon (*a Zonut is a blend between a croissant and a donut – and yes, even though my fast is rather strenuous, zonuts clearly fall within the ‘allowed’ category).

In certain traditions, halfway through Lent, you can relax the fast for a day, and have a small portion of something you gave up. I woke up at 5h15 on Wednesday, with a headache and a long to-do list. At 8h30, after a dawn of intense editing, I took a pause on my coffee-fast. At Brother Baba Budan, I ordered a double short black. And you know what, I didn’t enjoy it that much. This made me further reflect on the meaning of a fast, and temperance more generally. It is not about depriving yourself of the thing you love for sheer self-punishment, but to create a temporary distance, and assess whether your relationship to a certain consumption habit – drink, food, sex or information – is a source of deep enjoyment, giving the sense of a life fully lived; or whether it is an inherited addiction, a habit formed in the past vampirising the present. The latter, it handles through cunning. Temperance does not say ‘nevermore’ and face the risk of a backlash, no, it more gently says, ‘of course, but not right now, soon though’. When later comes, simply repeat.

After six days abstaining from digital media, I couldn’t but wonder how pointless the thing is. Not only did I not suffer but, after mindfulness took me off automatic mode, I noticed the lack of scrolling activities about as little as I did their presence earlier in the week. This, even as I saw breaking news of an American missile launched at Syria. Learning more about the what, the why, the where, the who, the how of this potential crisis right away would only distract me from anything else I might achieve on the day. While I believe we should make effort in understanding the workings of the world we live in, at the local, regional, national and global level, I don’t believe that has to be done right here, right now. Much better to wait a little, let journalists and analysts do their work, let the public digest the first wave of emotion – and then only, if the issue hasn’t already died of its own, gather enough knowledge to form a solid opinion, and – if this proves to be the right path – organise action. For the rest, our lives are simply too short to follow the news.