Jozefien Forton

On curiosity, conviction and learning to let go.

I have always been restless.

Searching.

For challenge.
For meaning.
For something I don't know yet.

I've often chosen the less obvious route.

Mexico.
China.
Studying in another language.

Strangely enough, that's when I feel most alive.

I've always been fascinated by people too.

What drives them.

Why they do what they do.

What sits underneath.

And then there is beauty.

Interiors.
Nature.
Beautiful things.

Beauty makes me happy.

It doesn't have to be perfect.

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I question things.

I've never been very good at accepting:

That's just how it's done.

For years, I had an international career.

I travelled.

Worked hard.

Wanted to prove myself.

The result you delivered said something about who you were.

But when something no longer felt right,
I couldn't simply go along with it.

So I left.

I didn't know exactly what would come next.

I only knew I wanted to build something
I could truly stand behind.

That became Maison Forton.

I entered a traditional industry and started asking questions.

What if we did it differently?

I visited around fifty factories.

There were moments when I wondered
whether I was making things unnecessarily difficult for myself.

I probably was.

What kept me going?

Conviction.

And intuition.

And, if I'm completely honest,

a little desire to prove it could be done.

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I still want things to move faster.

I wish I could say I've become patient.

I haven't.

I'm still ambitious.

I still want things to happen.

But I chose something that takes time.

And I'm learning that some things
don't grow faster because I push harder.

I often think about two trees.

One grows incredibly quickly.

It becomes enormous.

Until one of its biggest branches breaks.

Behind it stands another tree.

Smaller.

Quietly growing.

I think I'm becoming more and more
that little tree in the back.

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There is less having to.

I don't think I've changed that much.

I'm still curious.

Still ambitious.

Still looking for adventure.

But there is less proving.

Less feeling that everything needs to happen now.

Recently, at nine thirty in the morning,
I was walking barefoot through the dunes with my children.

A few years ago, I might have thought:

I should be working.

But that morning,

I was there.

Bare feet.

My children.

The dunes.

Nothing extraordinary.

Perhaps that's exactly it.

Big ambition in the long term.
More of the small things today.

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The outcome isn't mine.

For a long time, I believed that if I worked hard enough,
the result would follow.

Work harder.

Try harder.

Keep going.

It makes you believe you're in control.

I'm learning that I'm not.

Not completely.

I can do my best.
But the outcome isn't mine.

That doesn't mean caring less.

Or wanting less.

It means I don't have to hold everything so tightly.

[image]

You have wings.

If I could reassure my younger self,
I would tell her:

It will be all right.

I think of a bird sitting on a branch.

We become so afraid of losing the branch.

We hold on.

But the bird doesn't need that one branch.

It has wings.

It can fly.

Find another tree.

Another place to land.

Perhaps that's what I'm learning too.

If you can fly,
it will be all right.

Jozefien Forton
Founder, Maison Forton
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