A Season of Calm Waters

Spring has given way to early summer, and there have been many changes in my little world. Soon we will be spending more time at our lake cottage, and for the first time in several years, our schedule will not revolve around my work commitments.

A few months ago, I made the difficult decision to leave my part-time position as a Recreation Facilitator at the personal care home and move into a casual role where I can pick up the occasional shift without being tied to a strict weekly schedule. The job has become more challenging as my arthritis progresses and as the workplace continues to evolve. I still love my coworkers and enjoy working with the residents, but both the activities and the needs of the residents are changing.

Right now, there is a talented and energetic recreation team in place, and I feel comfortable knowing that I am leaving the department in good hands. It feels like the right time for this transition.

This is a job that I have truly loved, and nothing about this decision was easy. But sometimes we simply know when the time is right.

I re-entered the workforce in 2014 after a devastating illness and health crisis. Recovering required years of hard work, determination, and patience. I then retrained in an entirely new field and slowly rebuilt a life that at one point I never thought I would have again.

There was a time when I believed I would never be able to work. Instead, I found myself in a role that I genuinely enjoyed and that gave me a sense of purpose. I am proud of what I accomplished. Even on the most difficult days, I went home knowing that I had made a difference in someone’s life.

Now I find myself searching for a new normal once again. Over the past few years, I set aside many of my own interests and activities in order to conserve my physical and mental energy for work. I was content with that choice, but now I find myself asking a familiar question: What comes next?

At the moment, I am tackling a major cleanout of old work and volunteer resources and supplies collected over many years. It is surprisingly emotional. Every box seems to hold memories, reminders of projects, people, and chapters of life that have now come to an end. It is difficult to accept that many of these materials will never be useful to me again.

There is a genuine sense of loss in that realization.

At the same time, I feel hopeful. I look forward to regaining strength, exploring new interests, and discovering opportunities that fit this next stage of life.

This summer feels like a different kind of season. Not a time for striving or proving myself, but one for restoring my energy, reconnecting with the things I love, and making room for whatever comes next. Every season has its purpose, and perhaps this one is simply asking me to slow down, pay attention, and rediscover joy.

Looking for joy has long been one of my personal compass points. Not the big, life-changing kind of joy, but the quiet kind found in sunsets, time with loved ones, a dog at your feet, meaningful work, and peaceful moments by the lake. As I begin this new season, I hope to follow that compass once again.

  Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Taking Time to be Creative

 Finding My Way Through Structure. Writing, Watercolour, and Creative Rhythm

Over the past while, I spent time working through a 40 day Instagram challenge and also a personal watercolour journal project. I gave me a bit of a seasonal framework—something to guide focus, creativity, and daily reflection.

What surprised me most was how much I benefited from having structure.

The instagram challenge gave me a simple daily prompt. The watercolour journal gave me 40 small, approachable painting ideas and tutorials. Nothing complicated. Nothing overwhelming. Just a gentle direction to follow.

And that made all the difference.

Instead of trying to decide what to create each day, I could focus on how I wanted to create in the moment. That small shift removed a lot of pressure and decision fatigue. It allowed me to simply begin.

Some days the process felt effortless. Other days it took more intention to sit down and follow through. But either way, I kept going. Not perfectly, but steadily.

What I noticed most was how calming it became.

The repetition of small creative actions helped quiet my thinking. It made space for reflection without forcing it. I found myself more in the moment paying attention to colour, texture, light, and the small choices I was making in each piece.

There was also a quiet sense of accomplishment in completing something with so many small steps. Forty paintings was intimidating in one way but it doesn’t sound like that great an ask on paper. Experiencing it day by day gave it weight. It became a record of attention and persistence, not just finished artwork.

I also realized something important for myself right now: structure can be supportive, not restrictive.

It can reduce overwhelm. It can make creativity more accessible. It can turn “I don’t know where to start” into “I just begin here.”

As I move forward rebuilding routines and energy, I’m holding onto that lesson. I don’t need everything to be spontaneous or perfectly inspired. Sometimes having a gentle framework is what makes creativity—and life—feel possible.

This experience also feels connected to something bigger I’m exploring again: how small, consistent practices can support wellbeing, focus, and emotional grounding.

Not through pressure. Not through perfection.

But through simple, repeatable moments of choosing to give my attention.

For now, I’m grateful I followed through. I’m grateful I kept it simple. And I’m grateful I gave myself permission to just work within a structure instead of constantly trying to create one from scratch.

It turns out that sometimes the easiest path is the one that already has a few guideposts along the way.

Welcome Back

Leading a Healthy Life — Reboot

It’s been a long time since I last posted here.

Life didn’t just get busy—it became complicated. 

Merlin on his first spring walk

Over the past couple of years, our family members experienced several serious private challenges. We said goodbye to our beloved dog, Jasper. I reached a point of deep stress and burnout at work. 

Then, during a serious bout of influenza, I went to the hospital with breathing complications. While there, I lost consciousness during a transfer for X-rays and experienced a fall that resulted in a fracture in my spine.

The recovery that followed was more complex than I expected, and navigating that period required stepping back from many parts of daily life.

By last spring, we were looking forward to time at the lake—hoping to rest, reset, and begin again. Instead, our cottage area was closed due to widespread forest fires that lasted for months and came far too close to our island. The smoke and poor air quality across the province made breathing difficult and kept us indoors, well into the summer.

In many ways, I stepped back from my usual activities and entered a quieter season—one of rest, recovery, and reflection.

But now, spring is here.

With it comes a sense of renewal and the gentle nudge to begin again. I find myself thinking about what this next phase of life might look like, and how I want to move forward.

The things I love are still here. My family and friends. A new little dog named Merlin. Photography, creative projects, and time spent in nature. These are constants—and anchors.

At the same time, I know there are areas that need attention. My energy, my fitness, and simply getting out into the world more regularly.

My family recently pointed out that, as a Recreation Facilitator, I likely already have the tools to start making those changes.

They’re probably right.

So—challenge accepted.

This space has always been about sharing my journey toward better health, while encouraging and learning alongside others. That hasn’t changed.

If anything, it feels more important than ever.

So here we go again.

Let’s take the next steps together—toward Leading a Healthy Life.