Though winter was unusually mild here in Canada, and we didn't experience the usual amount of snow or bone-chilling cold typical of our Canadian winters, I still find myself longing for signs of spring…

I am packing, headed down to the warmth of Baja for the next couple of months.

Remote working has been a part of my norm for the last 10 years and packing (CARRY ON ONLY!) is second nature. I grab the now-familiar combination of clothes and set them in the case. Then I reach for the new things I have picked up - a pair of silk pyjamas (my new work-from-home uniform), a splurge of a cashmere sweater that keeps me warm writing early in the morning, and it becomes clear that there is just not enough room for it all. 

I am fascinated by this new routine. 

A day measured in moon cycles instead of minutes. 

Who said one hour was the right amount of time for anything?

I’ve come to Provence to immerse myself in the study of "Joie de Vivre," a term synonymous with the French way of life. Yet, its embodiment eludes me.

So today, aware that the bank closes at 11:30 for lunch, I’ve ventured out early and happened upon the unfolding of a Joie de Vivre ritual…

The prospect of shifting 
from "Did I get it done?" to
"Did it make me happy?" intoxicates me.

I’m learning that Joie de Vivre is a practice. It is a collection of choices, a way of evaluating the importance of time, a renewed sense of my values and a commitment to a pace and direction that best suits me now.

How do you gauge your "best life" at day's end? What markers reveal a day filled with Joie de Vivre and a sense of thriving for you?

A night sky teaches me about belonging.

Such a calm comes over me as I peer into the profound depth of the night sky.

It is as if the act of looking at the stars makes me one of them. The vastness doesn't dwarf me; instead, it weaves threads of connection, stitching me into the cosmic tapestry.

I met this woman in a shop in Quito, Equator. As she sat on the wooden chair on the stoop I could not stop looking at her. Her very essence matched the abundance I had just seen inside.

She had beckoned me over in a way that invited me into her world. Her focus was never on introducing me to the goods in the shop, but rather on sharing a happy exchange.

I’m a keen observer. As I travel with my coaching clients, my focus is on the beauty of a human journeying… how are they reacting to change, are they ready for adventure, have they leaned into discovery? What is waiting to emerge?

My tears are my inner self putting a moment in BOLD so that I will take notice. A way to highlight and experience the same way you would a text to have me pay attention. When I allow them to come, unchecked and without judgement, I realize I am being gifted an opportunity to witness what has value to me and to act upon it.

why don’t airlines play videos of laughing babies
and why, given how good it feels, do we not
laugh together more often?

I received a writing prompt that has me musing.

It suggested that I draw a giraffe with my eyes closed.

I found the suggestion rather astonishing, who would propose such a frivolous thing? How could this possibly lead to anything meaningful? Surely there are other more impactful things to tend to right now?…

Good morning Sweetheart

I used to greet her every morning with these words before bending to scoop up her little body. I focused on my hands, willing them to speak of reassurance and comfort. From the day I rescued her, abandoned and near death in the Baja desert, she was dependent on me to give her life and love. 

Turns out, I would also be dependent on her for the very same things. 

Wholeness, peace, positive energy- I so desperately wish it for the world right now. But I believe that achieving it all depends on what we hold within ourselves—our peace with who we are.
Would we not start to heal the world if we first cleaned up the self-talk of hatred and pretend as we looked at our own faces? 

This year we had a glorious Canadian fall - full of sunshine, bright blue skies and warm breezes. The leaves danced on the trees well past the date that we should have been raking them into big brown compost bags. I took time to sit in a sunny spot with a warm cup of coffee in hand, laughing and enjoying the reprieve. “Glorious day, isn’t it?” we said to one another; we were giddy knowing that winter would be weeks in coming.

The next day it snowed.

I am no longer in the world of 30-something-vibrant-flat-stomached-world-achievers (heck I am about to enter the world of 50 something) and suddenly I do not register in people’s awareness as I walk by. I am no longer the sassy upstart that people used to see when they looked at me. 

Am I having a midlife crisis?

I always thought those were reserved for unfulfilled, uninspired people who sit themselves down in a moment of reckoning and wonder "what went wrong?" and "what has it all been for?"

Surviving is a short-term strategy, necessary in times of stress. It places one foot in front of the other, with the primary aim of keeping all systems “a go” in order to get to the next day.

Survival mode depends on messages from our threat-seeking radars - we are constantly attuning to what might knock us off track and measure success by making it to the finish line.

Figs, on the other hand, are a part of thriving; where our radars don’t seek threats but opportunities, moments that contribute to our flourishing, a state where we are filled with the vigorous energy of growth, expansion, fulfillment and joy…

On safari in Botswana. Everything is primal and basic and within hours I can feel my senses and my instincts sharpen. Before sunrise, we are bundled up, and head out to witness life as it has always happened. I watch the world begin to wake, the birds, the grasses, the big cats. It is such a privilege to participate in the magical and mundane; a mother giraffe and her babes are on the move…

The proclamation makes me smile.

As I enter the room my new portable Bose speaker greets me by announcing that it is “ready to connect”. It will even remind me a few moments later, without judgement or frustration, that it is still there, open and waiting for the moment that I may want to pair with it and play some music…

Maybe it was because of the long flight, the punishing jet lag and my constant refrain, "it will all feel better once I get there," but when I opened the little fridge and noticed that someone had deliberately replaced the milk with almond milk, decanted in a pretty glass jar, my hand suddenly lay itself on my heart, and I gasped.