The Spiral Path Blog

When I wander through the forest, the trees demand my attention. Especially here on the west coast, where trees can stretch more than 90 metres into the sky and be as wide as 20 metres in circumference, I am dwarfed by their massive expanse. I often stop to stand in awe of them, gazing up to their dizzying heights. Read the rest on our Substack!

After performing Chopin for a business conference crowd, Michael Jones sat down at the piano in the hotel lobby and started playing his own music. A man who’d been in the audience earlier stopped to ask what music he was playing now. When Michael said that it was just a piece he’d written himself, the man, whose voice was slurred with alcohol, asked “Who will play your music if you don’t?” Those words stuck with Michael and soon after that, he transitioned into playing more of his own music and less of Chopin’s. Read more on our Substack!

I was reading something this weekend about pain and how it’s the body’s way of telling us there’s something we need to pay attention to. And then I thought… it works for the heart and the mind too. Read more

“So… what made you move to Shawnigan Lake?” It’s one of the most common questions I get from people I encounter in the tiny village I moved to at the edge of a lake on Vancouver Island. “It was time for a change,” I say, or “I’ve been wandering since I sold my house in Winnipeg, and this felt like the next right thing,” or “My kids all grew up and moved away so I thought it was my turn for an adventure,” or “I wanted a place with gentler winters.” Read more

My name is Krista and that, over there on the left, the one smiling at you kindly from her writing desk on the West Coast of Canada, is Heather, my business partner-slash-work-wife. I’m holed up right now in the office I have at my church here in Winnipeg (located almost in the dead-centre of Canada, a couple hours drive straight north from North Dakota in the  U.S.A.). In addition to helping run the Centre, I am currently also employed by Good News Fellowship as their Leadership Coordinator (I basically do all the pastor-type things except preach). Read more...

“I don’t know who I am. I’ve shaped my life around other people for so long that I’ve lost sight of myself.” I used to hear some version of that sentiment quite regularly, ten years ago when more of my work involved coaching people. It was especially common among women in the 40-60 age range – women who’d spent years raising children, holding a marriage together, and/or building a career. Read more

“You need to pause to let joy in.” Those words popped into my head one day last week while I was sitting on the couch, weary after a long day of book-launch-related tasks, which followed several long days of gathering the things I need to make a home and unpacking them into the cupboards and closets of my new place. Pause to let joy in? I was puzzled at first, and then suddenly I understood what my internal wise guide (which I call Tenderness) was trying to say to me. I hadn’t been pausing much in recent weeks, staying busy nearly all day every day. Moving across the country, launching a book, trying to keep a business afloat, re-launching a course – ALL. OF. THE. THINGS. Even when I had some moments when there was nothing that needed to be done, I was rarely truly pausing – at least not in a mindful way. I was mostly just filling those moments with mindless stuff, like endless episodes of Real Housewives (don’t judge me). Read more

I’m not going to lie. I am nervous about you. No. More than that. I am anxious and border-line dreading you. It’s not your fault, really. You just happen to be the year of another U.S. election cycle, my kid starting with a new volleyball club, a reduction in my income for the next six months, me finishing up my position with my church at the end of June (and a likely further reduction in my income), and another year of trying to make our business work at the Centre in the midst of global economic uncertainty, climate change, and wars breaking out everywhere. Read more...

“By the end of the week, we’ll have turned you into a blues band.” Gulp. I could feel the anxiety rise when I heard those words. A blues band?! Me?! I have no musical talent and my Mennonite body is rhythmically stunted from all of those “dancing is sin” messages I heard growing up. How could I contribute to a blues band? That statement still stands as one of the most intimidating things I’ve ever heard from the facilitator of a leadership workshop. Not surprisingly, it also turned out to be one of the most life-changing. Of course, in order for it to become life-changing, I had to get out of my own way first. I had to loosen my grip on some beliefs about myself and be willing to be uncomfortable for a while. By the end of the week, I had indeed written a verse for a blues song and performed it together with a rag-tag bunch of other equally intimidated participants over dinner in front of hundreds of people. Read more

For many and varied reasons, 2023 was a hard year. I’m fairly confident that that was true for a lot of people. The first ‘post-pandemic’ year marked what felt like a desperate fervour to ‘get back to normal’ – despite the war in Ukraine grinding on, despite the climate crisis becoming more obvious and keen, despite growing political division and fascist ideologies becoming accepted and implemented world-wide, despite the ever-tenuous Israel-Palestine situation literally exploding and turning into little more than death and destruction (not to mention other areas of the world that got less press), despite rapid inflation and deep economic hardship for everyone but the richest of us, despite the fact that COVID is not, in fact, finished mutating and harming us. This last year it has felt like the whole globe is in one giant humanitarian crisis all of the time. There’s literally nowhere to go to escape tragedy. Read more...

I had a dream once, that my body had become part of the landscape. The curve of my belly was now a hill that people and animals were walking across. Small children were playing on my forearms and trees were growing in the soil between my fingers rooting my hands to the ground. It was not an unpleasant dream – in fact I found it quite comforting to witness my body sinking into the soil and becoming a part of it. I awoke feeling rooted and at peace. Read more

“He was a poor man in a criminal justice system that treats you better if you are rich and guilty than if you are poor and innocent.” – Anthony Ray Hinton For nearly thirty years, Anthony Ray Hinton was in solitary confinement on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. Largely because he was Black and poor, the justice system failed him. Despite the fact that there was convincing evidence that should have exonerated him, he was convicted by an all-white jury, and then had multiple appeals rejected by a systemically racist justice system intent on covering up past errors. With no money to hire good lawyers or skilled experts (i.e. the ballistics “expert” his lawyer hired was blind in one eye and didn’t know how to use the necessary equipment), he stayed in jail anticipating his execution. Read more

I wake up among the treetops. I peek out the window near my head and I see the shadowy lake below, surrounded by the shadowy trees. Across the lake, I hear the train that was probably the reason for my waking. I close my eyes and a smile creeps across my face. I love the melancholy sound of a train passing through wild spaces. I don’t care for it much in the city, but out here, away from civilization, the clicking and clacking and screeching of metal on metal, especially in the middle of the night, sounds to me like kindness and sadness all mixed together. Read more...

Sometimes, when it has rained all day and everything is damp, it’s nearly impossible to start a fire, even if the wood was under a tarp. Last night was one of those nights. The challenge was compounded by the fact that the only paper I had on hand were the pages of my journal and I was reluctant to tear out too many. Read more...

I came here, to the lake, feeling discouraged and a little burnt out from putting so much free content into the world. This is the time of year I have to be the most active on social media because we are marketing our Fall programs, both online and in-person. I always find myself getting knocked off my equilibrium in times like these. I start seeing social media as a monster with insatiable hunger and I am one of many who are chained to the beast and must never stop feeding it lest it turn toward us to make a meal out of our bodies. The beast keeps changing its algorithms, which means that we, its feeders, need to keep finding new and novel ways to satiate its hunger. If we don’t, we can’t pay our bills and capitalism eats us alive. (Yes, I can be a little dramatic sometimes.) Read more...

Two months following my mother’s passing away, the grief was still raw and painful. I had these sudden waves of intense sadness that flooded my inner organs and brought me to tears – the kinds of tears I had to clench my teeth to hold back while being on the subway full of people. My friend came to visit and stayed at my apartment for a night. I asked him to walk with me to the nearby park. It was the typical mini park that hides in surprising corners of Japanese streets. The kinds that would bloom with white-pinkish clouds of cherry blossoms when the season comes. That night was a spring night – The weather was cool and fresh. We walked in silence as I sometimes shared with him bits and pieces of how I was feeling about my mother’s passing away. I couldn’t remember what I said. The only thing I remembered was the magical moment that followed our immediate entrance to the park. Read more...

I can’t fix it. I want SO BADLY to fix it. My daughter is in distress, she’s far away, and all I can do is be here, listening, at the other end of a FaceTime call. I feel so helpless. My words feel empty and void of purpose. My emotions swell into desperation as my nervous system sends my brain scrambling to find at least one small thing that is fixable by me, her mom. There is nothing. This is the hard stuff of parenting young adult children from a distance. I feel so frequently helpless when their lives overwhelm them. I can’t show up with food, I can’t rush over to their apartments to hug them or do their laundry… I can’t even send them a plane ticket back home because “home” is no longer a physical place. (And yes… the niggling guilt over selling their childhood home sometimes pokes at me when the desperation swells.) Read more...

I wonder sometimes if I still have hope. Every time I read the news (and those times are becoming fewer and fewer) there are more reasons for despair. We hear dire warnings of what will happen if our global climate increases by yet another degree. All around us, there are more and more massive climate-related catastrophes flooding cities, heating the oceans, and burning up big swaths of forests (and all the homes in those forests). All the while, there seems to be so little political and collective will to make the kinds of real changes that are necessary. Our elected leaders seem increasingly more impotent in the face of it all. Read more...

I’ve come to the woods to remember who I am. As I write this, I’m off-the-grid, offline and unplugged, tucked into a tiny cabin by a lake, with just enough solar power to occasionally charge my laptop so that I can write. I cook over a propane stove and haul water in a bucket to wash my few dishes. The only bathroom facility is a compost toilet in a little outhouse just a little further up the hill. I brush my teeth with a cup of water and then spit into the woods. I haven’t showered or looked in a mirror for two days. When I need a break from writing, I wander down to the dock and watch the ripples on the lake. In the evenings, I light a fire and sometimes I read under the light of my headlamp. Read more...

I was crying in the church basement while my toddler ran circles around the room. I was certain I must be doing something wrong as a parent. My brother’s two sons were upstairs, sitting in cherubic silence on the hard wooden pew, while all the grownups around them listened to their grandpa (my dad) deliver a sermon. But not my child – my child would never sit still in church, no matter how I bribed her with candy or colouring books, no matter how much I pleaded. Read more...

There’s a place I love to walk. I discovered it at the beginning of the summer, when my daughters and I rented a little house in a different neighbourhood of the city than where we’d lived before. It’s a low-lying area along the Red River, ending where it meets the Seine River. It’s an area that’s frequently flooded in Spring when the rivers swell their banks. You can see the marks of past floods on the trunks of the trees that are rooted there. I love this place because it feels liminal – a space between two realities. Sometimes it is solid land, sometimes it is part of the river, and sometimes it is covered in thick, gooey mud after the water has subsided. It’s special (and somewhat mystical) partly because I can only navigate it when Mother Nature gives me permission. Whenever it is wet, I have to walk a different path on higher ground. Read more...

I was lying on a table and the practitioner holding my arm with both hands was saying “relax your muscles and let me move your arm for you”. With all of my will, I tried. I wanted to do what she asked, if only to make my inner people-pleaser happy. I wanted to be completely relaxed, trusting her to manoeuvre my arm the way she was trying to do it. But I couldn’t. I just COULD NOT. Every time she tried to move my arm, my muscles would involuntarily tighten, anticipate the movement she was trying to manage, and then help her do it. As much as my head told me she was trustworthy, my body refused to believe it.  Read more...

I noticed his shoulder shaking hard from the news. My dear friend confessed to me, “My grandma passed away.” He asked me to give him a hug. “That was such a courageous and kind thing to ask at this moment,” I thought. I noticed how he held on to me, the sensation of grief came like waves through our bodies. I couldn’t help but hug him tightly. There was nothing that could be said that could relieve this moment.  Loss is inevitable. Grief is inevitable, too. But we find it so hard to face grief. Some of us find it too strong to know how to let it out and…not to disturb others. Some of us find ourselves isolated by our own grief.  Read more...

My social media feed is filling up with images of grinning college students settling into dorm rooms. Sometimes the parents who are posting those images are in the photos and grinning too, but beneath the grins and cheery captions… well, there’s a lifetime of stories and a whole host of other stuff. I can see it in their eyes. (Let’s face it, when your child moves away, it’s hard to keep it from showing up in your eyes.) Read more...

There’s an older man I often encounter on the path when I go for my morning walks. We’ve become path-friends, always stopping for a brief interaction when we happen upon each other. Once, he showed me how the inside of his hat was falling apart, but “I just can’t bear to throw it away,” he said, tucking the broken bits in as he pulled the hat back onto his head. Another time he was laughing about the people he’d watched fishing unsuccessfully on the shore. “Just metres away,” he said, “the fish were leaping out of the water as if to taunt those with fishing rods.” The last time I saw him, he showed me a blurry photo he’d captured of a young eagle on a branch. “I’m glad he let me get so close,” he said, delight in his eyes. In turn, I told him about the two turtles I’d watched in a mating dance in the river a few weeks ago. “You’re so lucky!” he said. “You’re right,” I said. “I am lucky.” Read more...

In the movie Don’t Look Up, two scientists (played by Jennifer Lawrence and Leonardo DiCaprio) try to convince the public that an astroid is about to hit and, unless some action is taken to mitigate the threat, the earth is about to be destroyed. They have little success in their urgent mission and, at the end of the movie (spoiler alert) there’s nothing more they can do so, as the astroid hurtles toward them, they sit down together with their friends and family to enjoy a final meal. Read more...

Transcendent (adjective)  [tran(t)-ˈsen-dənt]: exceeding usual limits; extending or lying beyond the limits of ordinary experience; being beyond comprehension; a spiritual or religious state, or a condition of moving beyond physical needs and realities **** Every year at the Winnipeg Folk Festival, it happens at least once – I have a transcendent experience. It usually happens at one of the smaller stages, tucked away under the trees, while I’m listening to an intimate concert with a singer-songwriter. It’s a combination of things that align to bring together this exquisite moment – the cotton-ball clouds in the gentle blue sky, the towering pine trees, the poetry and emotion woven through the lyrics, the notes of the guitar, the tenderness of a receptive audience, the sun on my face. Read more...

Krista is taking the month of July for some much-needed rest, but because Krista is a high-functioning person who is very good at GETTING STUFF DONE (she has, in the past, had seven part-time jobs at once, while raising children and running a church) and not very good at slowing down and letting other people get stuff done without her, she is resisting (and sometimes sending me belligerent texts as a result). I love her dearly, so I’m doing whatever I can to take things off her plate and guard the boundaries so that she can rest (just as she has done for me many times in our relationship), even if that means putting up with her snarkiness. (She’s only snarky because she knows I’m right!) Read more...

I had good intensions of writing something light-hearted this week, in celebration of the beginning of summer and the launch of my new program, A Full-Bodied Life. The first lesson in that program is about embracing joy, so it seemed fitting to write something joyful. But then something hard happened, and those plans were set aside because it felt more important to write about this. Sometimes, that’s just the way life is. Sometimes the hard gets mixed in with the happy (which is all part of what I teach in A Full-Bodied Life). Maybe next week I’ll be back with something light-hearted. Read more...

“Tell the truth to yourself,” sing the Avett Brothers, “and the rest will fall in place.”

On my semi-regular walk this morning, I found myself in the woods and suddenly realized I wasn’t really IN the woods. I’d headed down a familiar path, and yes, I was surrounded by trees, but I wasn’t really present. My body could have been anywhere while my mind was on its own separate journey. My mind was busy bopping around, thinking about all of the things involved in launching my new program today, and ruminating over some challenging conversations I’ve had recently. Truth be told, I hadn’t noticed a single tree and, even though I didn’t have my headphones on, hadn’t heard a single bird. When I suddenly realized my lack of presence, I stopped in my tracks and started taking it all in. I noticed some of yesterday’s raindrops still on a few leaves. I noticed the graffiti on the rail bridge I was about to pass under. I noticed some clouds moving in and wondered if there would be more rain. Read more...

“Liminal space is an inner state and sometimes an outer situation where we can begin to think and act in new ways. It is where we are betwixt and between, having left one room or stage of life but not yet entered the next. We usually enter liminal space when our former way of being is challenged or changed—perhaps when we lose a job or a loved one, during illness, at the birth of a child, or a major relocation. It is a graced time, but often does not feel ‘graced’ in any way. In such space, we are not certain or in control.” – Richard Rohr Read more...

For the last eight months, I’ve been a solo traveler, wandering around Europe and Central America while working as a digital nomad. Sometimes friends joined me for short periods, sometimes I stayed with friends in their homes, and sometimes I was facilitating workshops where I was surrounded by people. Mostly, though, I traveled alone. “How do you deal with the loneliness?” That’s the question I heard most frequently when people learned I was traveling alone. Some of those people wanted to try solo travel but were afraid they’d be too lonely, some couldn’t imagine ever traveling alone and were incredulous that I had, and some were projecting their own fear of abandonment or isolation onto my story. Read more...

One of our guiding principles at the Centre for Holding Space comes from Christina Baldwin’s book, The Seven Whispers: A Spiritual Practice For Times Like These. It goes: “Ask for what I need, and offer what I can.” This little truism is the foundation of our relationships – between Heather and me, between us and our team, and between all of us and our course participants. Many folks find the first half of this principle tough, especially when they have been enculturated or socialized to not prioritize their own needs. Am I allowed to ask for what I need? How do I know what I need? Do I even have needs? Read more...

In my luggage, I carry two birds – a grey stuffed owl and a yellow clay bird whistle. Most of what I carry with me from place to place, as I travel across Central America, is functional, but these two things are purely sentimental. Read more...

When I think of peace, I think how over the years I have noticed a trend in the “meditation” and “self-help” realms where the images and the descriptions we are invited to associate with peace are focused on perfectly tranquil images, likely including a beautiful woman, probably wearing immaculate white clothes, with perfect hair and makeup of course, sitting in a relaxed posture in a gorgeous setting such as a pristine white sand beach at sunset, or maybe on a dock suspended over perfectly smooth and clear water; her hands raised in a meditative position and a serene expression on her young, flawless face. Read more...

“Can the liminal space also be joyful?” Someone asked me that recently, at the end of a talk I gave to facilitators of Deep Democracy in Belgium. “Yes, definitely!” I said. “I’m in such a liminal space right now!” Read more...

I was in Chartres, France, a few days ago. Everyone who’s been there says that, if I’m visiting the Cathedral, I should do my best to see the crypt. So I did my best. The website said the crypt was open between 2 and 2:45 p.m. It didn’t say a ticket was needed, and I hadn’t seen any signage when I was in the cathedral the day before that a ticket was needed, so I showed up at 1:45 and waited for the crypt to open. Read more...

I’m on my Liberation and Tenderness Tour. After selling my house and putting my personal things in storage, I set off on what is likely to be a 5-6 month adventure, starting in Europe. (You can follow along on social media – #liberationandtendernesstour.) Perhaps you want to know what I mean when I talk about Liberation and Tenderness? I’ve been thinking about these themes for a long time, but I don’t always articulate what I mean by them. While sitting on the train yesterday, somewhere between France and Belgium, I started writing a list of what each term means for me at this moment in my life. Here’s what I have so far: Read more...

Back when I first committed myself to diving deeper into this work of holding space, after I’d wrestled through the initial resistance and overwhelm that came when my blog post went viral and my inbox was suddenly flooded with requests for me to teach about a concept I wasn’t sure I fully understood myself, I started building the first version of what is now the Holding Space Foundation Program. I didn’t yet know what it would be, I didn’t know that I’d eventually publish a book about it or open a Centre for Holding Space, but I knew that I could no longer turn away from the nudging of what felt as close to a calling as anything I’d ever experienced before. Read more...

“We create most of our suffering, so it should be logical that we also have the ability to create more joy. It simply depends on the attitudes, the perspectives, and the reactions we bring to situations and to our relationships with other people. When it comes to personal happiness there is a lot that we as individuals can do.” ― Dalai Lama XIV, The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World In The Book of Joy, which consists of a week-long conversation between the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmund Tutu, the two spiritual teachers talk about how they approach joy not as a feeling, but as a lifestyle – one which they’ve each learned to cultivate even in the midst of extreme hardship. Both have been through wars and have been exiled from their countries, and yet, when you watch them together in their advanced years, you can’t help but be drawn in by their playfulness and delight in the world and each other. Read more...

Two things. One, I need to stop saying out loud that I’m going to write a post weekly because obviously, I’m terrible at meeting my own expectations. Second, the musings that follow are definitely directed more at me than anyone else. For the last four and a half years, I have helped to lead a small church congregation here in Winnipeg. I am a lay leader, meaning I am not an ordained pastor. I often compare my job to being similar to a general manager in other industries – I’m the one who helps move us towards our agreed upon vision and goals. We chose a collaborative, ‘leader in every chair’ model and have been working out what that looks like in real, practical terms. Read more...

You may have known this about us already, but Heather and I experience “the big ick” whenever we have to start marketing ourselves or our programs. Every year around this time, after a busy summer where we’ve done everything but a lot of work-related stuff, we realize that if we are going to continue to be in business, we really, really need to start marketing our programs. Read more...

I’m at the airport, ready to fly from the west coast of Canada to the east coast (where I’ll spend time with some dear friends), and then, next week, I’m heading to Europe for a few months, followed by some time in Costa Rica. I drove to the west coast from my home in the middle of Canada to move my youngest daughter back to university, and then I left my car with my middle daughter. All that I will wear and use for the next six months is packed into carry-on luggage. If you’ve been following along on social media over the last few months, you will likely know that I sold the house I’ve lived in with my family for twenty-four years (where I raised my children), gave away most of my furniture, and packed my personal belongings into an 8’x10’ storage unit. All three of my children have left home over the last year, and now it’s my turn to leave the nest. In about six months, I expect I’ll be looking for another place to live (in a new city), but for now I’ll be living out of a small suitcase and smaller backpack. It’s been a year of big transitions for me. Last year, I wrote about letting my daughters go. Now, in the wake of that big change, I have let my house and most of my belongings go. It was hard, but it was time. I knew the house had served its purpose in our lives and the next chapter of my life belongs in a different place – a place I will find when the time is right. Read more...

On summer mornings, I like to cycle to the park and then sit with my journal on a bench overlooking the boat launch (a practice I wrote about on my personal blog). Sometimes it’s a quiet place and sometimes (especially on weekends) there are multiple boats being launched. Either way, I enjoy the view. It takes a certain amount of skill to launch a boat well. You have to back in at just the right angle and into just the right depth of water, close enough to the dock so that you can launch without stepping into the water. My former husband owned a boat for many years, and though I never became proficient at backing the boat into the water, I was pretty good at guiding him back and then guiding the boat as he pulled the trailer out of the water. Read more...

I am leaping into liminal space. I have sold my house and this month I’ll be selling my furniture, packing my personal belongings into storage and heading off to Europe for a few months. After that, I plan to spend some time in Costa Rica, and then… I don’t know. I haven’t yet decided how long I will live a nomadic lifestyle and how (or where) I will eventually come to define “home”. When people ask about my future plans, some are incredulous, some are baffled, and some express their longing to do something similar. It’s hard to explain a choice like this – to completely uproot myself at the age of 56 – because I’m not sure I entirely understand it myself. I just know that the house I have lived in for twenty-four years, where I raised my three daughters, doesn’t feel like my forever home, nor does the city I live in. Read more...

It all starts when a real estate agent sees me naked. It’s 8:30 a.m. and I am emerging from my bathroom, where I’d been blow-drying my hair, into my bedroom where I am about to get dressed. He is standing there, in my hallway, looking completely flummoxed. My real estate agent (not the one standing in my hallway), had told me that the first viewing by a potential buyer was happening at 9 a.m., and I’d planned to be dressed and gone from the premises before then. Due to some mixup, this agent had booked an 8:30 showing that hadn’t been communicated to me (a pattern that repeats itself later in the week, though not with such dramatic results). Read more...

Recently, I created a short video about worthiness and posted it on social media. It was about how it’s hard to develop a sense of self-worth, no matter how many self-help books we read or therapy sessions we attend, if we don’t understand that we are all embedded in systems of worthiness and have been taught, since infancy, how to measure our worth in those systems. I was talking about systems like patriarchy, white supremacy, and colonization. I created that video partly because I was trying to increase the reach for the Centre’s work on social media. We’re starting a new course soon, which means that I have do some marketing, and since my strengths do not lie in the kind of content-creation that gets attention these days, I was trying to stretch myself into a new way of communicating. Ironically, when I tried to boost the post on Facebook so that more people would see it (that’s the way Facebook makes money off of small businesses like ours – it only puts our stuff in front of very limited audiences unless we pay for the post), it got rejected. Apparently, it didn’t comply with their policy about “social issues, elections or politics” (probably because I used the words “white supremacy” in the video). The whole thing really makes me laugh, partly because it feels like a message from the universe saying I should stick with what I do well, and partly because I got rejected by a representative of one of the systems I was naming in the video – namely, capitalism (in the form of social media). Luckily, I know better than to measure my worthiness by their measurement! Read more...

Tucked into the corners of the mirror in my bedroom are two photos of me. In the black and white photo, I’m a young child, reaching across the table to dip my finger into a bowl of sugar. In the coloured photo, I’m a twenty-six-year-old, standing next to my sister, with a large backpack on my back and a smaller one on my front. Mostly, I forget that the photos are there, but sometimes I catch sight of them and then I pause for a moment to remember those younger versions of me. When I’m feeling particularly reflective, as I am today, I wonder about the thoughts, fears and dreams of each of those younger versions of me. Read more...

There’s a pedestrian tunnel I pass through regularly, in all seasons. In summer, I often cycle through, and in winter, I pass through on foot. The tunnel provides a safe passage under a busy freeway. It’s a connecting point between my sister’s house and mine, and it’s also along the best cycling route from my house to downtown. Read more...