I’m hanging in perfect stillness, caught between the point where I took off and wherever I’ll eventually land. There’s no rushing ahead. I’m at the mercy of the wind, the warmth of the sun, and the coolness of the air, realizing—again—that I’m not in control. My only job is to respond. To be present. To let myself be carried.

It feels shameful to confess I had been living in survival mode. It’s remarkable I didn’t notice, though I sensed something was off. The things I loved became scheduled impositions. I pushed to find ease in my relationship, never feeling it flow. I forgot the joy of reading every morning and replaced birdsong on my walks with Spotify. I was constantly hustling from one deadline to another…

It's so easy to get caught up in what goes wrong, isn't it? Like today, I just got home from the market and couldn't stop pouting because I forgot to grab some cherries. I completely overlooked the fact that I snagged the last strawberry rhubarb pie—my absolute favourite!

I'm strolling through the Lourmarin market, utterly captivated by this charming Provencal man I've been following. He's shopping, likely preparing for a delectable lunch later today, selecting the freshest, most in-season produce. He must be a regular; all the stall owners greet him with a warm familiarity. 

I can remember the mud pies. When did I stop standing on my tiptoes with pride beaming from my forehead, happy to be in my moment of contribution? 

As I stand here with my hands raised in the air, chin up, exclaiming, “I did it!!”, I can't help but feel the weight of awkwardness mingled with pride..

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.

Next step: At the brow of the hill, take the path to the left until you reach the gate at the far edge of the paddock.

The instructions seem obvious until I notice multiple paths and realize that my initial assumption that the “brow” is “somewhere near the top” is not nearly precise enough…

I’ve never forgotten the unconditional love of trees. They remain a secret source of mothering when my heart needs to be reminded of good things. 

So I decided on my morning walk with my granddaughter to introduce her to the trees by sharing a ritual I have taken with me around the world…

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?