It’s 10am on a Wednesday morning and this is typically when I dive deep into all my client emails and tasks for the day. By this time I’ve typically:

• Laid in bed for longer than necessary laughing and cuddling with the love of my actual damn life.
• Drank more coffee than humanly possibly.
• Stomached my tinctures and supplements for the morning.
• Maybe made something to eat (or let’s be real, sat down to one of Giuliana’s delicious breakfasts).
• Gone on a satisfyingly long and talkative walk with Kiko and Giuliana.
• And most likely (less likely over the last few months) done some much needed asanas.

What I hate to admit is that I used to write at least three pages a day (after reading The Artist Way and for long after) and likely half attempted meditation (never been great at sitting for long periods of a time); but a lot of that changed with the last few months of travel.

Now that we are back in Toronto, I have this deep desire to get back into the habits that make me feel like me again. Dedicating more time to writing, more time to reading and more time to creating (not for someone else but for ME) and yet finding the time to do asana is still a challenge and I’ve yet to implement the six minutes of mindful meditation my naturopath highly recommended.. but I’m getting there and more importantly; I digress.

What’s really got me sitting here at my computer during “client hours” writing in my blog that I am sure NOBODY reads is the fact that I told myself three weeks ago that I was going to start writing in a new journal and I wishfully packed my old one into the storage unit along with all my other belongings. I never got my hands on a new one; in my defence it’s been a hell of a few weeks since coming back to Toronto.

We are on family house number two, storage unit visit number four and day number twenty three. Perhaps I had this notion that things were going to go A LOT easier upon returning but who was I kidding? Nothing ever goes easier… and I’ve grown to truly be okay with that but this time just feels a little exhausting. I was hoping that Toronto was going to feel a bit like a breath of fresh air. After all it’s where I am born, the primary language is the only one I know and I am never lost (physically, mentally is another story for another time). Needless to say, I know that deep breath is around the corner.

I’ve digressed again – I’ve never really been too good at telling a story in the short version. Giuliana isn’t here right now and I walked Kiko on my own. I guess I haven’t gone on a walk alone for a while and it’s amazing what silence can do for your mind first thing in the morning. I love walking with Giuliana but when we get talking sometimes it’s hard for us to stop so there isn’t a lot of space for personal mindfulness in those moments. While on my walk with Kiko this morning I got thinking about how nice it would be to drink my coffee and write in a journal. I laughed at myself because I knew exactly which plastic box my journal was sitting in about 20km alway in my storage unit. Wasn’t going to happen there…

I started thinking about Carrie Bradshaw and how even in the 90s she was never writing in a physical journal. HOW PROGRESSIVE. I remembered being a kid and using the old laptops my grandpa would bring home from his job and writing stories and letters to my friends on it. I wondered if my mother ever read them, I wondered if I actually ever shared them with friends and I wondered what ever happened to those age old laptops. All those lost words, creative thoughts and deep desires that I would spill out on the computer in front of me. Then I thought about all the bazillion journals I have packed away in my storage unit. Like so many. More than I care to admit but secretly really love. I have so many ideas in there that I’ve wanted to share, to publish or to elaborate on there and they just get lost.  I don’t want those things to get lost anymore so it got me thinking.

What if I just spent some more time doing something for ME. Writing, expressing and creating just like I do for all of my clients.

Even if nobody reads it; I am way more likely to read an old blog rather than pull out an old journal.. it’s the digital age baby; I’m just being honest.

So yah, it’s a soft attempt at something new, something creative and something outside of my comfort zone. I’ve tried blogging before but they never felt quite as personal and honest as I wanted them to (I think I kept all the juicy details in my journal instead) but here’s to trying. I 100% can get more words and thoughts out with a keyboard rather than a pen.. for now.

I’m going to try and bring this to an end. It’s been 22 minutes of typing my thoughts and feelings and it feels like more than enough for the day. I’ll leave a few photos here from the past twenty three days because even though it’s felt like eighty days, they have all been filled with love, laughter and memories.

ootles and bootles of love,

satori