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 extra to change...

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 weight. But today...

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 place where loss...