This month I have been ordering and beginning to receive boxes and envelopes stuffed with seeds. Seed ordering is both an exciting and overwhelming process. Exciting because I get to spend time browsing photographs of hundreds of different varieties of flowers choosing what I want to grow in the coming year, and overwhelming because there are so many gorgeous flowers out there and my farm is so humble in size that I am going to have to select just a few of these beauties to nurture and share with my customers in the coming season.

I live in Charlottetown, which is the capital of Prince Edward Island. I have often joked that perhaps I should re-name my farm Rootless Flower Farm because thus far it has not been in the same location for more than one season. The year I began growing flowers I planted everything at a community garden in Charlottetown where I had six beds. The next season I expanded to half an acre on the organic farm of some close friends in Springfield, PEI. I decided to look for opportunities to move my farming operation back into Charlottetown in 2017 because as long as I am living in town I did not like the amount of time and energy I was spending getting out to my flowers. Since most of my customers are in Charlottetown, basing my operation in town made much more sense. Through the grapevine I heard that there might be an opportunity to grow my flowers at the Mount Continuing Care Community. The Mount used to be a convent, and sits on a beautiful piece of undeveloped land right in the centre of Charlottetown. It was purchased by pharmacist and businessman Paul Jenkins a number of years ago and has been turned into a community for the elderly with the Sisters residing on the top floor.

Although the area I decided to begin planting on used to be the Sisters’ vegetable garden, it had since grassed over, so my first task was to find a creative solution to growing a small quantity of flowers while at the same time killing the grass so that I could expand production in 2018. My solution was to truck topsoil in and build my first two beds up on top of the grass. I lay enough cardboard down on the grass for two 60 foot long by 4 foot wide beds, piled the soil on top of the cardboard, added compost and a few other additions that were lacking, and then rolled my landscaping fabric out over the top to suppress weeds. I wasn’t sure if this plan was going work, but I took a leap of faith. Overall my leap worked out much better than I had hoped. Despite the super dry summer I produced a small but healthy crop of flowers in 2017 and hosted my first floral design workshop for the residents at the Mount, which was a fun and joy-filled event that I cannot wait to repeat many times over in 2018. I ploughed up the remaining area and planted my first ever cover crop of oats and field peas, which miraculously grew and thrived before dying with the frost, leaving me with a lovely ground cover for winter.

In the spring of 2018 I plan to plough up the area where the cover crop is, roll out my landscaping fabric and plant this year’s flowers. But for now I am ordering seeds, in awe of the potential within each tiny little vessel. I am feeling a mixture of unbridled joy at the beauty that lies ahead along with an equal amount of fear. Owning your own business takes a lot of courage. Running a farming business requires courage and more optimism than is probably healthy for one individual. I am not at the stage in my business where I am able to support myself solely on what I make from my flowers. I have two other jobs that take up a considerable amount of my time and energy right now. Since I am not willing to allow this to prevent me from pursuing my passion to the best of my ability, this means that my flowers fill my early mornings, evenings and weekends, and even so I often wish I could give them more undivided time and attention.

I love living on Prince Edward Island. I love the full-on intensity of the summers and how the island landscape swells with the bounty of the land and sea as well as people from all over the world who pour onto our red shores to savour the distinctive beauty this island has to offer. I love the crisp falls and the flaming collage of the foliage. I even love the cold, snowy winters, and how the weather put us in our place in the natural order of things, insisting that we slow down, reflect, and take time to connect with each other over strong cups of tea around the wood stove before we hurtle into another cold, muddy spring that is instantly forgotten when everything bursts into fullness again come summer. People often ask me why I stay here since I do not have family in the area. My immediate reaction is that I cannot imagine attempting to farm anywhere else. Farming requires a super supportive community — one where people surround you with encouragement and hold you to your commitment when the going gets tough. It also requires an investment in staying put and building life-long relationships with people and a life-long commitment to the land. I have both of these things with this place and people, so in all truth I only feel able to contemplate farming because I am here.

As I open one package of seeds after another and start lining everything up for the summer ahead, I feel excitement for all the beauty and joy that I will get to share with you this season. I am excited to share the journey with you. If you continue to read my blog you can look forward to learning about seeds, soil and rain, and nurturing, patience, colour, texture, connection, sweetness and abundance. Whether you join me by purchasing a CSA membership this spring or summer; by sending an individual bouquet to someone in need of love or healing; by picking up some of my flower greeting cards, or simply by following me on instagram or Facebook and reading my blog, I hope you will follow along this season. I love farming because it is a constant learning process, and one that is a never-ending source of humility and patience. It is also a reminder of the essential connection between each of us and everything around us from the tiniest seed to the people in our lives. I hope to use this blog as a place where I can share the learning that I am immersed in with you, and that you can ask questions, share insights and ideas, and hopefully learn new things about flowers, farming, the land and my humble efforts to build a business!

Here’s to a new year, friends! And to growing and learning together. I look forward to sharing the 2018 season with you!

For the past couple of weeks I have had a simple piece of yarn tied around my wrist. To most people it no doubt just looks like a ratty grey string. But when I look down at it I am reminded of my strength. The other day at yoga I was doing a pose that involves balancing on one leg. As I teetered there with my arms outstretched attempting to find my balance my teacher reminded the class that just as focusing the eyes on something steady in front of us helps us find steadiness in our physical balance, noticing when we are feeling unsteady internally and finding something that IS steady in our lives to focus on can bring strength and balance during times when we feel overwhelmed or uncertain about what comes next.

The past two years have felt a bit like someone is attacking me with a machete. If the losses had been physical it would have been a bit like watching as a number of what I have until now considered essential body parts were hacked away one by one. First my father passed away very unexpectedly after a brief and very aggressive battle with heart cancer. Three weeks after he passed away my best childhood friend from back home in Cyprus lost her battle to cancer, leaving her two sons with no mother. During this time I also met the man I thought was the love of my life and married him, surrounded by my friends and family, only to have him decide that I was not the love of his life after all less than a year later. After every loss I noticed myself desperately trying to adapt to losing someone I loved so deeply that it felt like a little part of myself had just died too. And while they say that trials and loss make us stronger, the immensity of the losses that I have experienced over the last two years has been so tremendous, with so little time between them for healing or processing the grief, that I started noticing an increasing sense of losing balance and pulling further and further from my centre with each wave of loss.

I have just returned from four months in New Zealand. I spent the year after all of these losses just trying to stay afloat. By the end of the year I felt so emotionally and physically exhausted that I knew that I was not going to be able to keep going without taking some time out from my normal day-to-day schedule to do something to re-fill my tank. I have always dreamt of visiting New Zealand, and for the last couple of years I have been following fellow flower farmers at Field of Roses on Instagram and wishing that there were a way that I could go learn about growing roses with them. I wrote to the owners, Zoe and Sue, and, surprisingly to me at the time, they said “yes–come ahead.” Since New Zealand is so far away from PEI, I decided that if I was going to take the time to visit I might as well take advantage of the fact that I was going to be there during what would no-doubt be a rather brutal winter on PEI and spend a few months exploring after my internship.

I will write more about my time at Field of Roses and in New Zealand in at least one if not a series of separate blog posts as it was such a transformational learning experience on so many fronts that it deserves more attention than I can give to it here without turning this post into a book. But I noticed that apart from learning about how to cultivate roses and exploring one of the most powerful countries I have ever visited, there were a few essential things that I learned about balance on this trip that I thought might resonate with others.

Back to balancing on one leg. If you had asked me what balance looks like a year ago I would have talked about what stability looked like to me on the surface: Owning my own house; a car to get me from place to place reliably; with any luck, maybe some land. About having a partner to share this journey with and possibly the bounty of giving birth to and raising children. Stable income. A combination of physical and intellectual work. All of these things can be a reflection of balance–don’t get me wrong. But my trip to New Zealand taught me that real balance happens at a much deeper level.

Shortly after I arrived in New Zealand they had a magnitude 7.8 earthquake off the east coast of Kaikoura in the South Island that ruptured 21 faults — possibly the most number of faults ever ruptured in an earthquake according to recent reports by seismologists. The earthquake was so powerful that it actually created new land areas that had been beneath the sea before they were thrust upwards during the quake. Earthquakes are nothing new to New Zealand obviously. Christchurch is still in the process of re-building after their devastating 2011 earthquake. Having grown up in Cyprus and lived for periods in California I am used to the idea of regular quakes, but being in New Zealand made me reflect more deeply on the role they play in disturbing and creating balance.

Photo by Iain McGregor

The effect of the Kaikoura earthquake was tremendous. There was widespread infrastructure damage–the coastal highway that is usually the main thoroughfare for traffic traveling south along New Zealand’s South Island was so badly damaged that anyone wanting to travel south had to take a detour through the heart of the centre of the island–a beautiful, but nevertheless more circuitous route. Communities along the north eastern coast of New Zealand are sustained by tourism, so the challenge of accessing them easily had a severe financial impact for those living there. Out of interest in what was happening beneath my feet while I was there, I often visited the website Geonet, which shows all the earthquakes happening in New Zealand every day. Today alone there have been eleven. Most of these are very mild — likely barely felt by the population. But I began to get the sense that that the ground I was hiking on was constantly shifting and moving beneath me as opposed to being an immobile source of balance and stability. If you speak with the residents of Christchurch many of them will tell you that they used to live in a great city, and that some day it may be great again. Walking around the city in 2017 and seeing construction site after constriction site; derelict and abandoned buildings and road works everywhere I looked, it is easy to understand why the residents would be feeling frustrated and even a little discouraged. When I first arrived in the city to visit my friend Pascale, whose family lost their home twice in 2011 due to quake damage, she was telling me that often she will leave home to run an errand along a particular street in the morning, but when she goes to use the same route in the afternoon it is under construction. There were a number of times when we were out that I noticed her hesitating before deciding which direction we needed to head in. When I asked her about this she explained that the last time she was on that particular street half of the buildings that I was seeing had not been there. With so much of the city being new and unfamiliar to those who have lived there their whole lives I was thinking how disorienting it must be to feel so uncertain about where you are. When you base your whole sense of direction on landmarks and they are suddenly all gone, how do you orient yourself in space?

Photo from GNS Science

My friend Pascale told me that before the Christchurch earthquake the residents were far more insular. They were less connected to their neighbours and communities and more inward-looking. The scale of the destruction caused by the 2011 quake meant that there really was nothing stable to rely on. In her neighbourhood liquefaction had even turned the streets viscous. Pascale and her family turned to the only thing that was stable — relationships with those around them — helping their neighbours and connecting to their community in any way they could. She explained to me that although the emotional impact of losing their homes is still very real for many residents, the shift in consciousness that has taken place as a direct result of having experienced so much physical loss has transformed the city into a place that is far more community-minded. Neighbours now know and support each other. I got the sense that this deep sense of mutual support and collective action may not have developed had it not been a necessity.

I am noticing that I am gradually becoming aware of what my time in New Zealand taught me since I got back to North America and embarked on the personal challenge of figuring out what comes next in my own life. Knowing that the transition back into life in North America might not be entirely smooth, my first port of call upon returning was Salt Spring Island in British Columbia.

If you have been following my adventures for a while you will know that my dear friends Ahava and Gregory live on Butterstone Farm, a sweet little farm nestled into the side of a mountain off of a dirt road among the clouds on Salt Spring Island. This visit was a special one because Ahava was celebrating her fiftieth birthday. It is hard to believe that Ahava is fifty. She looks not a day over thirty five and has far less white hair on her head than I do at thirty eight. Ahava has redefined many things for me from friendship to what love looks like to the many different ways that we take care of ourselves. This year she also redefined what fifty can look and feel like for me. I have never seen anyone so excited about turning fifty! A couple of days after arriving from Auckland her husband Gregory wisely escaped to the mainland leaving Ahava and I and 16 of her close female friends to honour and celebrate the beginning of this next chapter of her life.

The party was held in Ahava’s yoga and writing studio which stands separate from the house next to a creek and surrounded by gardens. The space has a wood floor that is perfect for dancing, and during the day is flooded with silvery light. On this particular evening the sun was setting as the guests began to arrive. The guests were women that Ahava had met all over North America through her many creative initiatives. They were all ages and came from all walks of life. Some she had danced with. Some she had written with. Some had met her at a performance that she had given. Others had worked with her on choreographing movement pieces. Her oldest friend present was a woman that she had originally moved to British Columbia with many years ago when she was first striking out on her own.

I had been a little bit uncertain about how the evening was going to go since I had not met many of these women. Ahava had asked each of us to come planning to share a little bit about how we had met her and something that we had done together that had impacted our lives in some way. While I thought this all sounded wonderful in theory I was also a little bit uncomfortable with the idea — wasn’t it going to be awkward both for her and for us to sit in a room of people and listen to everyone share what they appreciate about her?

After everyone had arrived we all settled in a circle on the studio floor. Someone pulled out a ball of yarn and Ahava explained that the person with the ball would share how they met her and share something that they had shared together or that she had brought into their life that was meaningful. When that person was done they would hold onto the end of the ball of yarn and toss the ball itself on to someone else in the circle, allowing the yarn to unfurl the distance from one person to the next, effectively weaving a slowly-spun relationship web as the ball was passed from one woman to the next.

Despite the fact that I did not know any of the women in the room when I walked in, from the minute people started sharing it was as if our common bond with Ahava made us all old friends almost instantaneously. I had assumed that that the exercise would yield many new gems about Ahava, but in truth I learned a lot of very intimate things about each and every woman present because as they shared how they had met Ahava or how she had touched their lives they also shared what they did for a living; where they came from; what their passions were; who they had loved; stories of children and parents; work and struggle; triumphs and losses.

We laughed and cried. We sang. We danced. We made collages. We stayed up talking until the wee hours of the morning. And before everyone left we cut our yarn web up and each of us tied a piece of it around our wrist. To remind us of the power of sisterhood. Of friendship. Of the strength that we have access to when we draw on our collective wisdom, determination, focus, creativity, passion, joy, grace and faith.

Right now I am staying at my mother’s house in California preparing to return to Prince Edward Island despite having no sense of where I am going to live or how I am going to support myself once I get there. I have been saying a lot of prayers about it all as well as working very hard at searching for for more stable work to help me re-gain my footing. This past week I received an email from a dear friend letting me know that if I do want to return to PEI she and her husband would love to have me as their guest for the month of April. The kindness of the invitation and the knowledge that she could tell I needed something stable from which to take my first steps out into the world as a single woman again brought tears of gratitude to my eyes. A few days ago another friend sent me a job application. On Monday another friend sent another job listing that matches up perfectly with my skill set.

When I first got back my mother was dealing with having had her home broken into and her jewellery stolen. Fortunately she was not home at the time, and was not injured, but the experience really shook her up. It is very violating to not feel safe in your home. I was relieved to hear that a number of her friends had stepped up and helped reassure and support her through that first week of living alone after the break-in until I arrived.

Last week one of my mother’s close friends fell and broke her foot. Yesterday mom and I headed over to cheer her up with a ridiculous get-well card and a box of Ginger Elizabeth chocolates. She is waiting for a ramp to be built so that she can get out of her house, and is house-bound until that happens. While we were there we helped her to feed her cats since bending over is challenging with only one functional leg.

When my yoga teacher asked us to notice what we are focused on when we feel unsteady I found myself gazing down at the reminder around my wrist, a smile playing on my lips. Circumstances will vary during our lives and across the globe. Sometimes we may lack external stability. Sometimes we may have lost that internal balance. But it does seem that one thing that is universal no matter what we are experiencing in our lives or where we are located on the planet is the common spiritual journey we’re all on together. We have each other. I can think of no greater source of strength and balance than this. And in truth, it leaves me wondering if without a constant and deep awareness of our common connection to draw upon, true balance is even possible?

When i started this blog my intention was to focus solely on everything I am learning about flowers. I really should have known better, because really, when is anything just about itself? I hope my flower friends will forgive me for branching out a little this week!

Today’s post is inspired by my yoga teacher Kate. As many of you know, I am currently in Sacramento, California. I had a number of plans for this summer. They involved learning floral design with the talented Jennifer at Bloom Floral Design in northern Michigan and working on a flower farm. My plans have since changed, as plans have a tendency to do, and it now looks like I may well remain in Sacramento for the rest of the summer and into the fall. Having spent last winter hibernating in my loft in Charlottetown with piles of historical fiction and endless cups of tea, doing nothing that was not absolutely necessary, I really want to get back into shape, so when my friend Mariela suggested we join a yoga studio I immediately started researching teachers and yoga studios in Sacramento. After a good deal of research we settled on One Flow Yoga Studio owned by Kate Saal.

Since starting at One Flow Yoga Studio I have taken a number of level 1 classes. I haven’t done very many yet, but I was starting to feel that I was making some progress. So on Saturday I decided to attend an “All Levels” class. I figured the class would likely be challenging, but I love a good challenge, so I turned up for class feeling pretty damn proud of myself. Those of you who practice yoga on a regular basis are probably already chuckling here. You are right to chuckle. The class totally kicked my butt. I have been having what the doctor thinks is an inner ear issue recently that has been making me feel dizzy. By a third of the way through the class I was feeling so dizzy that I was worried I might pass out, so I settled into child’s pose and stayed there for what felt at the time like an eternity. While I was down there feeling both painfully aware of the fact that I was the only person in the room in child’s pose, and equally aware that if I stood up I might pass out, Kate started sharing some insights. I haven’t been taking her classes long enough to generalize, but so far I have found that Kate somehow seems to know exactly what I am thinking (often before I realize that I am thinking it), and always seems to share a thought, insight or piece of music that helps me to become aware of my thought process and invites me to consider the situation from a different perspective. On Saturday, as I lay on my mat in child’s pose feeling intensely the fact that my body is not as strong as I would like it to be right now I heard Kate say “and if you are in child’s pose, be there with intention. Don’t just be there. What are you thinking right now?”

I am deeply grateful that when Kate asks us to become aware of what we are thinking she does not ask us to share out loud (because really, nobody should have to listen to the vast majority of what goes on in this head), but just hearing the question and becoming conscious of what I am thinking inevitably makes me laugh, forgive myself for not being where I would like to be, accept where I am, and celebrate the fact that I have turned up and am ready to grow and shatter self-imposed limitations that I may not have even been aware that I was placing on myself.

On Sunday I went for an early morning run. Normally I love to run. But lately I have been having a hard time with my running. It has been hot, and I have been struggling to adjust to the change in temperature between Canada and California. I have been feeling dizzy on and off. And since I am so out of shape right now I have been struggling to enjoy the run while it is happening. This Sunday as usual I got out there and was sweating, my heart pounding, struggling to keep my breath steady, and calculating how much smaller the distance between me and my house was getting with every step that I took. Mid-stride I remembered Kate’s question: “what are you thinking about? What are you focusing on?” I was focused on my own discomfort. On how much longer I had to be running. On how I could get my run done as quickly as possible. In other words, not at all on the reasons that I love to run: the sunlight filtering down through the canopy of trees, the breeze against my skin; the feeling of air filling my lungs and my heart pumping, and, when I hit my stride, the glorious sensation that I am flying.

I find it pretty easy to have realizations after the fact. But real growth happens when I’m having them while I am in the experience. It doesn’t look graceful, and it demands that I keep returning, over and over again, to a posture of humility and learning, letting go of that ego voice that is always standing there ready to take charge. So while I was running on Sunday, and again on my run this morning I stayed aware throughout the run of what I was thinking, and every time I noticed myself drifting into thoughts about how much further I had to run or where I was feeling pain in my body I consciously told myself to refocus my thoughts on what brings me joy. This morning it was the dappled light on the sidewalk; sooty black bodies of crows pecking along the pathway; happiness on the faces of people who I made eye contact with and wished a good morning; late summer roses tumbling over a brick wall; the clear blue sky; the sound of my own heart beating in my chest. I also reflected on how much joy the sensation of running brings me, because even in the early stages of getting fit again the joy that I find in challenging my body is present if I take the time to look for it.

Kate has been sharing a lot about intention, and it has made me reflect upon the fact that intention is not the same as plan. I had a lot of plans over the last two years, and many of them have not worked out as I had hoped they would. If I focus solely on the plans that I made over the last two years I can get pretty discouraged. But if I take a step back and look at the last two years from the perspective of intention, my whole perception shifts. Because while many of my plans have not worked out, when I think about it, my intention has remained firm and clear. I lost my marriage this year, but I have remained true to my intention, which was to continue growing and learning, share love with those around me, be faithful to my beliefs, and serve my community. All of this I have done.

Another lesson Kate has been sharing with us in class is the importance of transitions. As she put it, at least 75% of our lives are spent in transition. We live in a goal-oriented culture, and it is easy to forget that the result is shaped by the quality of the process of creation. Transitions come in all shapes and sizes. Just getting from my house to the yoga studio is a transition of sorts. A relatively painless one, but a transition nonetheless. Losing my father and my best friend this past year has been a harder transition. Losing my marriage right after losing my father and best friend an even harder one. In my faith tradition we have what is called a year of patience. If a couple decides to separate, they must spend a year living separately but not getting involved with anyone else — taking the time to really work on the marriage to see if they can find ways to come back together. If at the end of the year it appears that this is not possible, then the couple is free to divorce. My husband does not hold the same belief system as I do, and has not been participating in this year of patience. It is his right, but his absence from our year of patience has left me with a lot of questions about how I honour my year of patience without him.

On October 23rd 2016 it will be exactly one year since he left, and I have spent the last year honouring my commitment. Sometimes it feels pointless, but most of the time I feel grateful that I am intentionally taking this year to reflect on what turned out to be a very brief marriage — what took me into it; what my intention was in unifying my life with my husband’s; how to let go of what is not meant for me with grace; how to learn to open my heart wider but with greater wisdom in the future instead of withdrawing or deciding that relationships are just not for me; how to forgive him and myself; how to move forward with purpose and joy; what I want to take with me that will help enrich my next relationship, and what I want to let go of; and, in the last few months — figuring out who I am now and what I want to do with this next chapter of my life.

I share all of this because when Kate started talking about paying attention to the quality of our transitions it brought me back to the truth that ultimately the key here is purity of intention. What is my intention when I step onto my yoga mat, and can I remain conscious of this throughout my practice? How do I remain conscious that not only am I embodying my intention when I take child’s pose in the middle of my practice, but that my child’s post is an integral and essential part of staying true to my intention in a way that pushing through the practice to the detriment of my health never can be? All of these questions and their answers can be applied to life off the yoga mat too of course, and I am finding answers and hidden truths in the most unexpected places.

Last night I attended a Native American poetry reading. Four Native American poets who have poems published in an anthology of Native American poetry from California shared their poetry. Much of the poetry that they shared was about the natural world and their connection to it. But what struck me most was the purity and clarity of their intention. One of the women came from a tribe called People of the Meadow. They used to live in the mountains all summer, returning to foothills and plains in the winter. During the gold rush 85% of her tribe was entirely obliterated. She said that she is often amazed that she is standing here today. And yet she is, and she is here with the intention to carry forward stories of connection, community, love, prejudice, fear, pain, courage and justice with integrity and purpose — sharing it with others without blame or bitterness, but with the intention of inspiring healing, connection, understanding, and, ultimately, bringing about positive change. Another of the readers shared that he is the nephew of the last member of his tribe to speak his native tongue. He shared that his aunt spent the last five years of her life at the Smithsonian working with anthropologists and linguists recording her language and documenting it so that it can continue to be learned and shared with future generations. A third woman shared how she has been learning her native tongue as an adult — re-learning the language of her people after it had been lost because they had been forbidden to speak their native tongue to their children. The intention of all of the readers came across crystal clear in the poetry that they shared. They were using poetry to reach out, forgive, invite us to connect, and share the wisdom that they have kept sharing even when nobody was listening.

Listening to the language that the poets used last night also reminded me how essential the precise words we use to describe our experience are to the quality of the experience. Referring to the earth as Mother Earth, for example establishes an underlying expectation that the relationship will be based upon love and respect. In yoga I notice that the simple act of telling myself that I am “flowering” my fingers up into the sky as opposed to simply stretching or reaching upwards changes the entire experience of the pose. The other day Kate shared the idea that rolling onto our side in fetal position before moving out of our practice was a good way to pause a moment, absorb everything that we had just asked our bodies to do, and then be aware that if we choose to, all our thoughts and interactions for the rest of the day can be shaped by what we learned in our practice. As such that last pose is a preparatory pose for a re-birth of sorts — a letting go of previous ways of thinking and an embracing of new ways of being.

Back in the yoga studio yesterday evening balanced on one very shaky leg with sweat pouring down my face and dripping onto an already drenched mat, my thoughts drifted to worry about losing my balance; uncertainty about how much longer I was going to be able to hold my leg up in the air, and irritation at how hot the room was getting. All of a sudden the music changed and a Brazilian love song started playing. The change of pace pulled me out of my train of thought and I looked up and caught Kate smiling. Nothing like some playful Brazilian music to remind us to not take things so seriously. To loosen up. Breathe. Let go. Be present.

Here’s to becoming more aware of our intentions this week friends. And to finding ways to be more playful. Because as Richard Lingard said, “you can discover more…in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.”