I am always late for work. There. I've said it. And the frustrating thing is that my lateness isn't caused by traffic or some unpredictable morning disaster. Most of the time, it is entirely my own doing. I wake up and make my coffee. Then I get back into bed, which is right by the window, cross my feet, face the window and slowly sip my coffee. And when I say slowly, I mean slowly. I look at the trees. I watch the birds. I feel the morning sun on my skin. Sometimes I just sit there with my thoughts. I really love these mornings. I've also noticed something else. When I give myself enough time in the morning, my body usually does what it needs to do. A slow morning often leads to a bowel movement, which, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the must-haves of starting my day. And so I find myself wishing for more time. More time to sit. More time to drink my coffee. More time to maybe get outside and do some yoga or mat Pilates on the grass while the sun is stil...
“The best time to buy land in Kenya is during the rainy season.” That saying holds weight—not just literally but metaphorically too. Because only when the heavens open and the water flows do we truly see things for what they are. What looked like a decent, promising plot can turn into a swamp. What was once a trusted path home can vanish without a trace. This afternoon it rained. And as I walked home, I realized: the path I take every day isn’t really a path. It’s a suggestion—a possibility that only holds shape when it’s dry. When the rain came, it ceased to exist. Isn’t that how much of life is? The paths we swear by, the routines we follow, the beliefs we lean on—sometimes they only work when conditions are good. When the metaphorical rain comes, when life gets hard, what we thought was stable disappears. And suddenly we’re ankle-deep in questions we’ve avoided for years. In Kenya, rain is a test. It is both blessing and burden. It reveals the truth of our planning, our priorities, ...