Take a heap of sand and remove one grain. Is it still a heap? Do it again, and again... No single grain turns it into something else. So when does it stop being a heap? Philosophers call this the sorites paradox. I ran into it at the grocery store.

A little mouse wakes up hungry. She scurries through the grass, collecting seeds and nuts, and finds a fallen acorn. After eating her breakfast, she buries the rest for winter. But you know how it is—life gets busy, winter comes and goes, and she completely forgets where she put it.

The word “hobby” carries a subtle dismissal—a way of making small what might otherwise be recognized as essential. It says: this activity exists in a separate sphere from “real” life. It is recreational, optional, marginal.

The cardboard box from the new refrigerator sat in the Smith’s driveway for exactly twelve minutes before Lisa, Petie  and Derek claimed it.

Several years ago, my partner (Garth) and I took a vacation day specifically to drive to St Catherine's, Ontario, to help answer a question that would shape our next chapter: Could this be home?

I was leaving the “friendly bean” (not a place - but a weekly meet-up in Peachland with chat and coffee) this morning when something on the pavement stopped me. Check the video - it might stop you too.

I was on a call with my colleague Katarina the other day.  We had a meeting about leadership and how to create opportunities for our colleagues.  At the outset, in those first moments of social connection, she mentioned, in passing the at she has a green thumb, but only for succulents. It’s a simple admission, the kind of self-deprecating confession gardeners make when comparing their brown thumbs to someone else’s greenhouse abundance. I enjoyed the specificity.  Not that sh