Kerri On Down The Road

 I had the opportunity to join in a beautiful community gathering this past week to celebrate the arrival of the Fall Equinox. We gathered around a crackling fire, sipping tea, grounding ourselves in the change of the seasons, reflecting on what the summer had been like, and our hopes for the incoming autumn.   Journaling has been an instrumental tool in my journey of self-awareness and growth, and is one I find myself returning to when I need clarification or a space to dump the thoughts and feelings I am carrying around with me. When I first started to journal, I felt unsure of what exactly to do and sat facing the blank page, filled with expectations of sudden enlightenment.  Although the enlightenment I was seeking didn't come (right away), the words did start to flow.  Slowly at first, haltingly as if they were shy to leave the safety of my mind, appearing on the bright white pages for the world to see, then much more easily and in vast quantities.  At...

 I remember when I was first hired as a practice management coach, tasked with helping my firm's investment advisors grow their businesses. I felt excited at the prospect of putting my many years of experience in the field to good use, and nervous as I wondered how I would manage to solve issues that were brought forward to me.  I saw my role as more of a fix-it person than a coach -- someone who would be expected to swoop in, gather details, and offer advice that would change lives, or something like that. It wasn't long before I met with another coach who corrected my thinking. Coaching, as I eventually learned, is not predicated on fixing or necessarily solving problems on an ad-hoc basis.  Instead, it is the practice of meeting someone where they are, with whatever dilemma they may be facing, and allowing them to unwind the tangle through thoughtful conversations, space, and time. I have to say, once I realized that I didn't need to show up to meetings with quick fixe...

 As I embark on a new solar return, I am compelled to reflect on the year that is closing behind me. Exercises like these often have us remembering the big wins or struggles, the notable changes and shifts that have taken place, the happenings that are impossible to ignore. And while all of those items are important to note, savour, and pay attention to, I find myself drawn to the smaller moments in time. The almost imperceptible yet impactful catalysts that are most often responsible for growth.  What I find interesting about those tiny agitators is the amount of pain and discomfort they often create as they push us to respond. Like the grain of sand in our shoe that will cause a blister if we don't stop to remove it, ignoring these pain points only leads to longer-lasting, deeper dis-ease if not attended to. It was during a visit with a dear friend this past week that this point was driven home for me. I was describing to her a feeling of overwhelm I had been dealing with (o...

 As I laced up my runners and set out to begin my first significant long run of my marathon training program, I felt unsettled.  This outing would represent the longest distance I had covered since completing my last marathon in the fall of 2023, and although that had been a great day, I couldn't help but think that was then; this is now.  Although training has felt good this time around, and I am nearing race day with a sense of optimism, there is also a part of me that finds it difficult to relax into longer training efforts.   I have noticed this lack of patience popping up in other areas of life as well.  In my part-time job and with my ongoing studies, I sometimes find myself wanting to rush forward to the next step or stage, to quickly check off the box beside where I am now, and surge ahead to whatever comes next.  Isn't that what we all aspire to do?  Constantly search and strive to reach the next stage, take the next step, climb up the ne...

Standing on the beach the other morning, preparing to walk into the water to start a new day, I paused to consider my practice of cold dipping. Recent windy conditions resulted in the lake inverting, or “flipping”, meaning that the much colder water at the bottom of the lake was brought to the surface, causing the temperature to drop from a balmy 18 degrees Celsius to a meagre 10 degrees overnight. You can imagine my shock as I stepped into the newly frigid water the day of the inversion, having acclimated to the milder temperatures in the weeks prior. Knowing that this had taken place, I found myself slightly hesitant to walk into the lake in the days that followed. Yes, I still loved starting my day by meeting Mother Nature in the early morning light, but I also knew that until my body had time to adjust, those steps from land to water would be difficult. It also made me reflect on intentionality and what it takes to knowingly put yourself into an uncomfortable or difficult situation...