High-Performance Organizations Track Output. They Rarely Track Load. High-performance organizations are disciplined about measurement. Revenue. KPIs. Efficiency. Utilization. Safety metrics. All tracked. All optimized. But what’s rarely measured is the human load required to sustain those numbers. Not the visible breakdowns. Not the dramatic burnout cases. The accumulation. And that omission compounds over time. What Cumulative Load Actually Looks Like Cumulative load isn’t

Calgary sunrise Most workplace strain doesn’t look like crisis. It looks like composure. It looks like the supervisor who shows up on time, runs the meeting, hits the metrics, and never mentions that he buried his father last week. It looks like the operations manager who signs off on decisions while quietly navigating a child’s diagnosis. It looks like the team member who doesn’t miss a shift, but whose decision speed has slowed just enough to matter. In high-responsibility

When something tragic happens, the world shows up. There are casseroles and candles. Messages and meal trains. News coverage and shared posts. Hands on shoulders. Arms around each other. In the immediate aftermath of loss, people rally. And that rallying is beautiful. It matters. It reminds us we are not alone in the shock of it all. But grief does not live in the immediate aftermath. It lives in the months after. The quiet shift After a few weeks, the messages slow down. Aft

Most mental health struggles at work don’t look like crisis.They look like competence. They look like showing up on time.Hitting deadlines.Being dependable.Being praised for resilience. They look like someone who is holding it together, quietly, consistently, and at a cost no one can see. What we don’t bring to work As I’ve moved through grief in my own life, one thing has become very clear to me: most people at work had no idea what I was carrying. I didn’t talk about it.I d

Looking down the pier at Port Dalhousie, Lake Ontario There are moments when life doesn’t ask us to do  anything at all, only to notice. Being back in Ontario this week has been one of those moments. In between meetings, conversations, and long winter drives, I’ve been reminded of something I already knew but don’t always slow down enough to honour: the quiet, steady power of friends, connection, and community, and how deeply they’re woven into the landscapes that hold our me

A crazy eye in the sky as I drove out to hike last week Manifestation, Surrendered I’ve never been much for New Year’s resolutions. Not because I don’t believe in growth or intention, I do, but because I’ve learned that life doesn’t always respond well to rigid plans. Resolutions can feel like contracts we sign with a future we don’t fully understand yet. And when life inevitably interrupts those plans, we’re left feeling like we’ve failed, instead of recognizing that we’re s

A photo I took from Elbow Lake Trail and AI added the tree and forest friends There’s a particular kind of quiet that lives in Christmas morning. Even when the house is full, wrapping paper everywhere, coffee brewing, someone laughing from another room... there’s a softness to it. A pause. An invitation to slow down and actually be  where your feet are. This year, I felt that pause more deeply than ever. Christmas is supposed to be magic. And it is. But it’s also complicated.

I Didn’t Plan to Write This Book... But Grief Had Other Ideas I didn’t wake up one day and decide to write a book about death. I didn’t sit down with an outline or a publishing plan or a sense of readiness. In fact, for a long time, I avoided it entirely. I wrote everything around  grief... the mountains, the water, the long drives, the quiet moments where life felt almost normal again. But grief has a way of weaving itself into everything, whether we invite it or not. The lo

There’s a line I wrote in my book: “Death taught me how to love. Love taught me how to live.” But this week, a week filled with grief, memory, strangers, airports, emotional landmines, old roads, new insights, and unexpected connection... taught me something else: It’s okay to be broken. In fact, sometimes breaking is the only way through. I didn’t expect that lesson to hit me before I even reached Ontario. A Window Seat, a Stranger, and the Worst Day of His Life I rarely pay

Walking into the bowl at the beginning of Arethusa Cirque and looking at Storm Mountain There are days when life cracks us open, when grief or uncertainty or exhaustion pushes us straight into the arms of our sanctuary, our mountains, our lakes, our quiet corners of the world where our soul can breathe again. Most of the time, that’s what I’ve used my sanctuary for. To steady myself. To cry. To process. To lay my fears down on the ground and let the wind take some of the weig

Looking south towards Elpoca Mountain in the distance Two days after finishing the hardest chapter of my book... the chapter about my mom’s death, I found myself lacing up my boots for the biggest hike I’ve attempted in years… maybe even decades. Something inside me needed it. After writing that chapter, after being cracked open again by grief, I felt this pull to climb something massive. Something that would demand everything from me. Something that could push me past the pl

Finding the End of Loss Tonight, I finished the hardest chapter of my book, the last chapter of loss.The loss of my mom. For months, I’ve tried to write it. I’d sit staring at my laptop... feeling the weight of everything I hadn’t yet said. And then, out of nowhere, a TV show did what I couldn’t do for months, it cracked something open. The show touched on both my mom and dad in the same hour. Two very different losses, two very different relationships, yet there they were,

Alpine Circuit, Lake O'Hara It’s funny how often the things that hold us back come not from the outside world, but from within. Self-sabotage. The quiet, sneaky, familiar voice that tells us we aren’t good enough, that we don’t deserve what we want, that maybe it’s safer to stay small. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately after reading Jennie’s book, Self-Sabotage No More . Her words hit hard, the idea that our unprocessed emotions, filters, and limiting beliefs can sha

Cascade Mountain, Banff The Beauty and Brutality of Living Wide Open There’s a new song by Max McNown called Both Sides of the Blade  that’s been echoing in my mind lately. It’s haunting in the most beautiful way... simple, raw, and deeply true. It speaks about how love, pain, and the sharp edges of life all coexist, often in the same breath. The title itself feels like a metaphor for the way I’ve lived my life, right there, on both sides of the blade. I’ve always said that i

Moraine Lake The Power of Showing Up Some mornings start off on a heated note, and yesterday was one of those mornings. I had planned a mother/son day in the mountains, a chance to reconnect, laugh, and breathe in the wild beauty that always feels like medicine for the soul. My son, however, had other ideas. He didn’t want to come. I tried to let it go at first, saying, “Fine, I'll go by myself.” But the more I thought about it, the more I realized we hadn’t spent real time t

Sunrise through an art installation at Oak Bay, Vancouver Island There’s a point when the noise, the pace, and the emotional demands of...

Yesterday I hiked to Arnica Lake, and like so many of my hikes this year, it turned into more than just a climb, it became yet another...

Reflections in the pond at Arethusa Cirque Mental health is our wealth. It’s the foundation for how we show up in life, at work, and for...

Looking back driving home There are countless sayings about change and moving on, but one of my personal favorites is this: If you drive...

Back end of Yukness Ledges & Opabin Plateau, Lake O'Hara If there’s one truth I’ve learned in my 50-plus years on this earth, it’s this:...