2. Responding to our inner voice

Listening, feeling, and daring to live fully

I have always been a sensitive boy—since childhood. That sensitivity has shaped me profoundly. It has made me live intensely: moments of deep happiness and sadness, of discovery and encounter, of the constant urge to cross boundaries and embrace life.

I have always wanted to embrace the whole world—to seek peace, to give peace—only to discover again and again that my heart feels these things differently each time. As an emotional person, I tend to withdraw when life becomes too heavy. But I keep reminding myself: dare to live, fully. Without daring, life’s most vivid moments never come. You do not want the beauty and amazement of living to pass you by, do you?

Life is a bumpy road, a racetrack, a ravine, a narrow mountain path, a quiet country lane, a highway. So many gears, so many rhythms, so much passage and discovery. Daring to live means learning from being on the road—and from adjusting when necessary.

My own life is no different. I am a child of my time.
1971—the year of my birth—still carried the fragrance of the flower-power era. It was also the year Cat Stevens sang Father and Son on his world tour—a song that has always moved me deeply.

The song is a dialogue between a father and a son, shimmering with peace, a meeting of two hearts that share inseparable love. Stevens once said he never fully understood his father because his father gave him so much freedom.

I think of my own father, who was also gentle and indulgent. He always embraced my choices, even when they were difficult for him. Only once did I see him turn away to quietly shed a tear—when I left for Africa at thirty-four. It must have been a deeply emotional moment for him. But my longing to follow my own path, to live in freedom, was so strong, so intimately rooted in who I am, that he respected it.

Sometimes I wonder: why didn’t I ask him what moved him to tears? Don’t we talk too little about our feelings?

For Cat Stevens, 1971 was the year after he recovered from tuberculosis—an illness that nearly ended his life. Those were difficult years. From his bed, he began to question everything, to seek peace, and to search for a deeper spirituality. From that quiet reflection came some of his greatest songs—music filled with inwardness, simplicity, and a gentle sadness.

In 1976, while swimming in the United States, Stevens had a near-death experience. Caught in a deadly current, he prayed, "If I survive, I will dedicate my life to the struggle for a better world." Moments later, a counterwave lifted him back toward shore — and toward life.

He survived, and his reflection deepened. When his brother later gave him a Qur’an, he began to read and search until, in late 1977, he converted to Islam and took the name Yusuf Islam. From that moment, he devoted his life to his faith and stopped releasing music for nearly three decades. Many saw this as a rupture, a turning away. Yet Yusuf himself insists that there has always been one constant in his life: the search for peace.

Cat Stevens—or Yusuf—is an example of someone who lives deeply connected to his emotional world. That is the nature of artists: they feel, absorb, and translate. And that is beautiful, because our feelings are not a burden; they are what make us truly alive.

For many, however, this remains untrodden ground. It takes courage and introspection to truly face our feelings. It can make us uncomfortable because it changes us. Yet when we dare to respond to our inner voice, it opens paths of meaning we might otherwise never find.

“Do we truly speak with ourselves, down to where our feelings live?”

Ignoring our feelings, on the other hand, can lead us astray. It can make us neglect the deepest core of our being. Over time, this neglect can harden us — leaving us empty or bitter when crisis forces us to confront what we have long denied.

To respond to your inner voice is not to give in to weakness. It is to stand still long enough to hear what your life is truly saying.
Each time you pause, listen, and follow that quiet impulse of truth, you are already doing the work of self-coaching.

So, before you go on, take a moment to listen inwardly.
Ask yourself what your own voice is whispering right now.
Is it calling for rest, for forgiveness, for courage?
Do not rush to answer.
Just listen.
In the listening begins the change.