I grew up as the daughter of a diplomat - a childhood of cultures, languages, movement, beautiful food, adventures, and art. Curiosity about the world and how people relate to one another has guided me since before I had words for it.

At four years old, I was given a violin almost by accident. It never left me. For twenty years I was a professional violinist in London - performing, teaching, living and breathing the music I played. It taught me much of what I know about presence and embodiment, discipline, practice, and what it means to give yourself fully to something.

In my thirties, life looked pretty full from the outside. But inside, I felt numb, only half alive. And when everything collapsed at the same time - a divorce that left me penniless, Covid, a custody dispute, and the overnight loss of my identity as a musician - I was left with nothing but raw pain and questions I could no longer avoid: who am I when I stop performing? What truly matters to me? What do I actually want in this life?

What followed was the most difficult and the most alive period of my life. I learned to open fully - to sensation, to desire, to truth. To receive pleasure and pain and everything in between without needing to manage or control any of it. As I learned to befriend the parts of me I had ignored or suppressed, and as I learned to dance with what is, opportunities I never could have imagined began to find me. I now find myself walking a path I couldn't have dreamed up for myself, constantly amazed, curious, and grateful.

London has been my home for twenty-six years. Beyond the work, you'll find me tango dancing, cold-water swimming, cooking, and spending time with friends. I'm also a mother to two incredible boys - which, it turns out, is the most clarifying mirror of all.

Life, I am learning, is a practice rather than a plan - just like learning to play a violin concerto. The more I make my choices - the tiny ones and the big ones - guided by my body's deeper knowing, the more fully I seem to participate in it. I'm still learning. And these days life feels a little like jumping off a high diving board, again and again. It's exhilarating. It's the Turned-On Life!