Moon Letters: A Newsletter for Life Navigation

The Sky We Forgot

In a previous life, I lived in a big city. It was mostly an indoor existence. The outside environment had concrete high-rise buildings littering the horizon and bright lights obscuring the night sky. In that world, the moon played an insignificant part. The meanderings of celestial objects are easily taken for granted, and rarely experienced, when you are boxed in by a city.

Sailing changed that.

On the ocean, you are forced to re-discover the sky. You learn that a full moon can illuminate the darkest night on the water, while its absolute absence reveals an infinite, brilliant canopy of stars. Its position grounds the navigator, simplifies the helmsman’s job, and alters the physical reality of the sea.

Moon Letters sprung from this renewed connection. It is a deliberate attempt to bring the stubbornness and indifference of the physical environment into the fluid world of language.

Two Incompatible Worlds

A few years ago, while working on luxury superyachts in Hong Kong, the intense demands of the job made it nearly impossible to maintain my online psychology practice. Despite my efforts, I was simply too busy to see clients. Yet, I refused to close the door on the realm of psychology.

To operate as both an ocean-going captain and a psychologist is an anomalous path. On the surface, these roles are incompatible. One demands rigorous physical mechanics, external situational awareness, and the absolute resolve to lead people. The other requires internal, intersubjective presence and a precise command of language and symbolic representations.

Inhabiting this space requires a high dose of patience. There is no script to follow. I am constantly forced to suspend judgment as I step between these two worlds. It is a highly liminal existence, one that requires constant shifts, adaptation, and the transcending of boundaries. Writing these letters became a natural way to cultivate my thoughts around the two practices that most deeply define my work and my life.

The Recursive Function

I needed a vehicle to keep my psychological practice alive, and I needed a cadence to deliver it. The celestial procession of the moon offered a convenient, regular, and organic calendar. I certainly wasn’t the first human being to think of it.

But more than a schedule, I needed a motivational force. Writing requires motivation, and the moon does not wait for inspiration; it shows up in the sky on an unyielding, cyclical rhythm. This became a constant, silent reminder that I, too, need to show up to the blank page.

Following these phases is a good excuse to learn something along the way, to stay actively engaged with the natural changes occurring around us, and to seek a vital connection into the very network out of which we grew and that generously keeps us alive.

Ultimately, my hope is that this ongoing effort proves useful to others who are curious about the multiple ways our species has learned to coordinate with the environment, and how those dynamics profoundly alter our psychological outlook.