Eulalie was four years old when she first experienced flow.

She stood in the kitchen while her mother cooked, a small violin tucked beneath her chin. She doesn't remember the piece she played, only the physical sensation of sound moving through her. Something aligned. Something settled in her body.

"I remember having this feeling of: Wow. This makes sense," she says. "It was very physical. Like my body recognised something before my mind did."

For a child growing up between countries, that recognition mattered. As the daughter of a diplomat, her early life unfolded across borders – geographical and cultural, often emotional. Home was never fixed for long. Languages shifted. Schools changed. "I feel like I've had quite a few different lives."

Music entered her life almost by accident. There was no plan, no expectation that it would lead anywhere in particular. Yet once the violin appeared, it was immediately clear it belonged. She wanted to play constantly, driven by delight rather than ambition.

"From the outside, it probably looked intense, but from the inside, it felt like recognition. Music wasn't something I was trying to get good at. It was something my body already understood."

That bodily knowing carried her forward through years of disciplined practice, international training, and a professional life as a classical musician in London. It quietly shaped how she moved through the world, teaching her when to adapt and what was expected long before she consciously understood those patterns.

She learned early that she didn't quite fit in, so she performed fitting in. Reading cues, delivering what was asked, mastering the art of alignment. Performance extended far beyond the concert hall – into marriage, motherhood, and a freelance career that looked stable from the outside: concerts, contracts, respected institutions. She did what was expected, and for a long time, that was enough.

But slowly, the structures began to crack. The economics of working as a musician in the UK grew fragile. The projects that truly felt alive rarely brought in money at all.

Still, she persisted. Discipline had always been her ally: showing up, practicing, delivering. Then 2020 arrived, and the ground disappeared. Nearly everything she had built vanished. Concert halls fell silent. The career she had devoted herself to no longer existed. At the same time, her marriage ended in a long and painful divorce, shaking the foundation of her personal life and leaving her financial stability in tatters.

"I lost my identity as a musician overnight. At the same time, my identity as a mother was being dragged through the mud."

What followed was a quiet reckoning. Eulalie found herself without the emotional, physical, or financial reserves to return to the life she had known. Rebuilding a freelance career under the same conditions felt not only unappealing but impossible.

"I will always be a musician," she says. "It's who I am." But her relationship to her work, to herself, to others, to life itself had to shift. Her recovering nervous system needed discipline realigned - not abandoned, but experienced differently. Having lost almost everything, she had to ask herself what truly mattered, what was genuinely important to her.

She began to ask different questions. Not How do I fix this? but What am I being asked to listen to now?

The answers didn't arrive as plans or solutions. They arrived through reconnecting to Desire as a life force, a powerful motivator and compass.

There was no plan for coaching. When she describes what drew her to it, she doesn't mention strategy or timing. She talks about sensation – a full-body 'yes' she chose to trust, even when she couldn't explain why.

And to her surprise, coaching didn't take her away from music; the more she listened, the more she recognised the same skills she had been practicing all along, albeit in the narrow context of music.

She often refers to a particular state as "the spot." Difficult to define, unmistakable once felt. A state of presence where attention sharpens, and something alive begins to move.

"It's like being right on the edge of something," she says. "There's a subtle aliveness, an energy. Music or people – the practice is the same: presence, surrender, listening, devotion. I'm learning to stay on the spot - that place of exquisite aliveness, where you can feel the energy of what's emerging. I'm no longer performing, even on bad days."

In this space, resistance offers guidance. When the mind pulls away and the body tightens, she waits. She notices, listens, and lets the body soften naturally. This understanding has reshaped her relationship to practice. Practicing her violin, meditation, coaching, and, increasingly, simply living now feel like expressions of the same creative devotion - listening closely enough to be moved. In music, she places herself in service of the work. In coaching, in service of another human being. In both, the task is to allow what is already present to emerge.

"The practice almost doesn't matter. What matters is how you meet it."

She describes teaching and coaching as a form of midwifery – guiding what already exists to emerge, rather than imposing form from the outside. Control, she says, is often mistaken for clarity; effort, for devotion. True guidance is quiet, attentive, and present, allowing what is ready to unfold on its own.

This shift has changed not only how she works but how she understands leadership and success more broadly.

"We're taught to override what we feel in order to function, but there's so much intelligence in the body that we've been trained to ignore."

What happens, she wonders, if we stop trying to control life and learn instead to participate in it?

For Eulalie, this isn't a rhetorical question. It's a daily practice. It shows up in how she listens to her sons, how she approaches uncertainty, and how she lets go of the idea that she needs to know where everything is going.

Art remains essential, but differently now - integrated into the larger creative act of living. A doorway to the transcendent, accessed through staying exquisitely attuned to what is.

The invitation she offers through music and coaching is simple: notice what is already happening beneath the noise and trust the subtle signals that arise before the mind intervenes.

Every moment, she believes, carries the possibility of expansion. "Even the difficult ones. Especially the difficult ones." - she laughs. The question she lives with now is no longer "Who am I becoming?" - It is quieter. And far more demanding:

What is being asked of me now?

And as for yourself - what is being asked