<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0"><channel><title><![CDATA[Be your best!  Strengthen your growth through coaching]]></title><description><![CDATA[If you feel stuck in your career growth, uncertain about your next steps, or struggling with leadership challenges, coaching can help. ]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/blog</link><generator>RSS for Node</generator><lastBuildDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 15:13:42 GMT</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/blog-feed.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title><![CDATA[The shore and the sea]]></title><description><![CDATA[There is a moment when the boat pulls away from the harbor. The sound of the rope slipping into the water, the cry of the seagulls, the houses slowly drifting away. Staying on the shore may always seem safer. No waves, no storms. But that is not where things happen, the great, life-changing things. There is no need to wait for the wind to be perfect before setting sail. Sometimes you set off anyway, trembling a little, but with a fire in your heart. It is out there, between one wave and the...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/the-shore-and-the-sea</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a78305f7e238b0b8ae29d6b</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:46:53 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_41eaf04828f2406fbed88061049ed0d6~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[1%]]></title><description><![CDATA[Even if there is only a 1% chance, if this is truly what you want, keep going. Fight for it. Solutions will come.]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/1</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782fcd2dc76a37da433e7f</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:44:58 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_94b75d0f9e5048ec9511eb9110a6b0aa~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_987,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Listen for real.Ask from the heart]]></title><description><![CDATA[There is a difference between hearing someone’s words and truly listening to them. It’s about asking "how are you?" and actually waiting for the answer; not just planning what you’re going to say next. You don't need to fix anyone’s problems. You just need to be there, fully present, with eyes that say, "what you're telling me matters." It’s a gift we don't give often enough, even to ourselves. Because everyone, absolutely everyone, needs to feel seen. Especially those who pretend they don't.]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/listen-for-real-ask-from-the-heart</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782ae62dc76a37da4332e0</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:23:53 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_f2ecf4528212412aa3327bbd59490e7c~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Roles]]></title><description><![CDATA[We live through many roles, many seasons. Some we choose. Others arrive on their own. Child, friend, parent. I think that’s about trying, failing, learning. Growing, one step at a time. Sometimes the stage helps us see who we really are, and also who we are no longer. And maybe that is fine. Entering, leaving, changing scenes. Until, somewhere, we feel at home.]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/roles</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782a5d7e238b0b8ae28f5c</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:21:40 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_b185220f21bc420c8558050e2b331992~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Granpa]]></title><description><![CDATA[Last day Grandpa finished writing his story. Some call it the 'last chapter,' but I see it more as the sacred moment the pen is passed from his hand to ours. It isn't easy for me, but I find comfort in thinking that this is the completion of a lifelong work of art. It’s a bit like listening the Grand Crescendo of a great opera, where every note comes together and everything finally makes sense. A melody that doesn't stop. It lingers in the air, one you keep singing in your mind. Grandpa’s...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/granpa</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7829f9421979b2d976542b</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:19:24 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_2c8640de92324d99bab9b18c3dbcdd20~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Perspectives]]></title><description><![CDATA[I was thinking about how easy it is to convince ourselves that the small part of the world we see is the only one that exists. It is like living in a vast building full of windows: sometimes we become so attached to the view from our own balcony that we forget to explore the other rooms. Look out from a different window. You may be surprised by what you discover: a garden that reveals itself as a forest, a single note that unfolds into a whole symphony. Seeking other perspectives brings light...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/perspectives</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782925421979b2d9765296</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:16:06 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_c84682181d764688977d813ff7fdf805~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Come with me]]></title><description><![CDATA[I imagine you on a stage. The lights are bright. The crowd is cheering. This is your moment. Look beside you. There is space. And no rule says you have to fill it alone. The word “extraordinary” is deceptive. It sounds loud, massive, inevitable. But in reality, it is often quiet. It is the silence before a hand reaches out. It is two simple words: Come with me.Because growth is almost always a collective act. Sharing the stage takes courage. The spotlight is warm. It feels like yours. When...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/come-with-me</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7828d32dc76a37da432f1a</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:14:45 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_f8470ade18a548949f7f45812479910a~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_510,h_641,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Where no one knows you]]></title><description><![CDATA[Sooner or later you will sit at a table where no one knows you. No one who knows who you are yesterday. No one watching you, waiting for the version they already accepted. Just a seat, a chair, and the simplest question in the world. Where do you want to begin. You are used to the usual ones. The faces that already know how you laugh, what you order, when you are about to leave. And it's good. It's home. But it's also a weight you don't feel anymore because you've been carrying it forever....]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/where-no-one-knows-you</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a78286f2dc76a37da432e7d</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:13:03 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_005b2f3ec27e49a2922dbd5529bd16f3~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[What stays]]></title><description><![CDATA[Around that table no one was in a hurry to finish. The kitchen was warm. The old wood oven had been going for hours. The air smelled of citrus and yeast. Of something that has no name but you recognize with your first breath. Our grandparents’ hands were choosing the wheat grains one by one. And we were right there with them. Someone was looking for the right scent among a basket of citrus. Someone else was kneading in silence. No one explained anything. And we were there. Without...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/what-stays</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782810c352c6247782e489</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:11:24 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_06cfe07bf7374f6da169cbbceff01b97~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_665,h_658,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Box]]></title><description><![CDATA[On Sundays, on grandmother’s table, there was always a box of chocolates. The thick cardboard lid. The tissue paper on top, to be lifted slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound. Underneath, the chocolates lined up, each one in its dark paper cup. No legend. You chose by looking at the shape. We would stay there, finger hovering. Searching for clues in the folds of the chocolate. Afraid of the liqueur, of the bitterness, of the pink filling that had once made us twist our mouths. Grandmother didn’t...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/the-box</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7827afc352c6247782e3cb</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:09:51 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_5f36e19eb58f4b3b87b595a65fa9ba7d~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Mirrors]]></title><description><![CDATA[In a hurry in front of the mirror, fixing a detail before heading out. The light is good, it reflects almost everything. Yet something stays out of frame. By nature, mirrors show. They don’t tell. We do the same with people. We see a face, a gesture, a word said wrong. And we judge. As if good lighting were enough to see everything. But behind every face there’s a room we don’t know. A morning argument, a sleepless night, a fear that hasn’t found its name yet. Judging is easy. A bit like...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/mirrors</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7826fa2dc76a37da432bd1</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:06:54 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_9806c8d0dc2b456a9e139d219580a297~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The silence is full of you]]></title><description><![CDATA[You come home late. The key turns twice. You know the sound. Inside it's dark, but not completely. You left the kitchen light on this morning. A mistake, months ago. Now it's a habit. The coat goes on the chair. Always that chair. Nobody ever told you not to. There's a glass in the sink. Yours. You left it there last night. It will still be there tomorrow, if you want. In the bathroom the towel is folded badly. You folded it badly. That's fine. You go to the kitchen. You open the fridge for...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/the-silence-is-full-of-you</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7825ee2dc76a37da4329dc</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:02:52 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_2339b6fd51464c968454f05eb6bccc8b~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Zazu]]></title><description><![CDATA[The lights go out. The songs of Africa fill the air. The drums. The music. The curtain rises. A yellow beak appears. A bird, serious, precise, a little awkward. His name is Zazu. His job is one: never lose sight of Simba. He follows him everywhere. Even where he shouldn't go. Even when Simba doesn't want to be followed. Then Simba grows up. Learns to roar. Takes his place in the world. And Zazu stays there. With the same look as always. Because caring continues even when the other no longer...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/zazu</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782568421979b2d9764bc4</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:00:09 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_3c6e913798ca405fa3e48075c4bf9eed~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Before the first mark ]]></title><description><![CDATA[I was holding your hand in a quiet room. The light came in sideways and our shadows followed us across the floor. We stopped in front of a large canvas, one of those that fills a whole wall. We stayed there for a while. It wasn't by a famous painter. But it was full of colour. You asked me why a man had put all those colours there, in such a messy way. I remember making something up. The real answer I didn't have. But maybe that's not the point. When we stand in front of a painting, we should...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/before-the-first-mark</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a78244e995243adc7c8ca99</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:57:46 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_0a909366b2fa479cb33324a4cd448508~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Silence isn't always a question. ]]></title><description><![CDATA[There's something that wears me out. It's when someone tells me a story that isn't theirs. They circle around the problem, drop a line, and before I notice I'm already thinking about how to fix things. Nobody asked me anything. Yet I feel guilty, as if I had to answer questions no one had the courage to ask me. Maybe the other person was just afraid to ask. It happens, I understand that. But meanwhile my mind starts on its own, and I take on a task no one ever gave me. Silence isn't always a...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/silence-isn-t-always-a-question</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a78237f7e238b0b8ae2825e</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:53:12 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_57643397efdd4ebfa6ec3e56d434b03f~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[There was a last time i held you in my arms]]></title><description><![CDATA[I don't know when it was. I have no date, no photo, no clear memory. It happened in the middle of an ordinary day, between a rush to work and a dinner to cook. And neither of us noticed. First times, we remember. The first day of school. The first job. The first home. They arrive announced, prepared, photographed. Last times don't. They pass dressed as ordinary days. I think about it sometimes. How many things end this way, without a sound. A last evening with university friends. A last lunch...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/there-was-a-last-time-i-held-you-in-my-arms</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7823297e238b0b8ae281ab</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:51:03 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_88cd1737a9db4e6faf077d6c7f721eea~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Negotiating Happiness]]></title><description><![CDATA[What do you really want? Let's pretend we don't know. But we know. Deep down, it's already clear. What would let us breathe easier. Where we'd go, if no one were watching. It's not about finding the answer. We've had the answer for a long time. It's about how much it scares us. Because following it means hurting someone. Giving up something we cared about. Going back to the start. Standing there while the others, the ones from before, watch us become someone else. So every day we negotiate a...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/negotiating-happiness</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7822ec421979b2d976471c</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:49:38 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_782bdbf0c2274a709e4565e188e92961~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[My teacher waited for thunderstorms]]></title><description><![CDATA[Miss Carmela. My teacher used to wait for storms. When the sky turned dark, we children would huddle at our desks. We must have been three, maybe four years old. She, instead, would open the window. She taught us how to count. First the lightning. Then the seconds. Then the thunder. The longer the wait, the farther away the storm was. A sound you can measure is less frightening than a sound that simply arrives. As we grow up, we meet other kinds of thunder. Things that arrive suddenly. Words,...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/my-teacher-waited-for-thunderstorms</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a782283421979b2d9764664</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:48:29 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_9298b0d0db3f4b6797912ced33ac9775~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Unlikely]]></title><description><![CDATA[Unlikely. They say it calmly, like it’s already the end of something. Like there’s nothing left to say. But the unlikely is really just a stage hardly anyone chooses to walk onto. We think of odds as fixed. Almost settled. But odds only tell you what’s happened so far. They can’t know what happens the moment someone steps up and tries. The ones watching can only guess how it ends. The one who takes the stage can still change the story. Some dreams look out of reach only because too few people...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/unlikely</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7822457e238b0b8ae27fe5</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:46:56 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_a0c54a30df1f4110be0fdfd3d1524dc8~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_800,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[They said we are coming ]]></title><description><![CDATA[That phone call at six in the morning. You couldn’t finish the sentence. They said we’re coming. They didn’t ask anything else and you didn’t explain. Friendships know which road to take and they know that sign always points the wrong way. They know where you stop to eat. Things you learned together a long time ago and nobody needs to say anymore. You hadn’t seen them in five years. Maybe ten. You never bothered counting. They stayed four days and you tried to fill every hour. You took them...]]></description><link>https://www.letterstoadaughter.com/post/they-said-we-are-coming</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a7821a87e238b0b8ae27e5f</guid><pubDate>Sun, 09 Aug 2026 06:44:26 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c7c79d_fcfec2db6a254dd19b43e13a016c521e~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_800,h_766,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Nicola Arnese</dc:creator></item></channel></rss>