Do you believe in yourself? This is a very serious question because I'm slowly discovering that the ability to believe in yourself first and foremost is probably the single most effective tool you can have in your toolkit. When this happens, and let me emphasise 'when' as I am an eternal optimist, I believe you could probably do anything. Like anything. The problem is, there is always someone who messes all of this up! I know this sounds like I'm passing the buck but hear me out. I'm not even talking about strangers or social media trolls, I'm talking about friends and family who just say that one thing that you play over and over in your mind. Like a well loved cassette tape (showing my age..), you replay this statement, that look, the passing comment until THIS is what you believe. You believe them and not yourself. I have not figured this out, I'm merely sharing this thought in the hopes that maybe through the physical act of typing these few words I might begin to believe in myself enough to write more on another day. 

One of my goals for 2022, if I should even call it that, is to continue to find moments of peace in my life. Walks, coffees, art galleries, daydreaming, naps, belly laughs to name a few of my 2022 aspirations. Here is a moment of peace in 2021 in Devon. I was on a work trip and made time for a quiet and peaceful exploration in the countryside. It was perfect.

We have been going on a lot of muddy walks these days with our little guy and I’ve realised that I am now another step closer to understanding my own mother. You see, she was born and raised in Jamaica, left in her early twenties arriving in Canada for a new life. When I was growing up I understood that almost all of the opportunities, activities and events that I was fortunate to experience were all new to my mom. She didn’t grow up shovelling snow, going to dance lessons, cheerleading or having a paper route. Growing up in the countryside in Jamaica, having left school at an early age she had a very different upbringing but I can remember the smile, the joy she found in taking us ice skating, or having a snow fight or barbecuing hamburgers on national holidays. Now here I am with my five year old in country where I didn’t grow up doing all sorts of things that I know nothing about. Like muddy walks. Who walks around in the mud on purpose? Middle class British people do, and they do it in style. Wellie boots, waterproof trousers for their kids and dogs everywhere! I was squelching my way through the forest with my boys smiling at the thought that this was how my mom might have felt with me in the snow. Glorious.