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What an incredible book launch evening it turned out to be. When I walked into the room, what struck me first wasn’t the setting or the programme, it was the people. Faces from every chapter of my life gathered in one space. Family. Friends. Colleagues. Mentors. Fellow travelers. Seeing these different worlds intersect was deeply emotional. It felt like watching the threads of a long journey quietly tie themselves together. There was a warmth in the room that’s hard to descri

I just received the first publisher’s copy of my book. I wasn’t really prepared for how it would feel. The weight of it in my hands, the texture of the cover, the gentle roughness of the brown paper as I flipped through the pages.  It took a few moments and then the emotions came. My eyes filled almost instantly. There’s something humbling about seeing your own words printed on paper. My story… my questions… my unravelling…my journey. All bound together and about to be shared

This morning, I hiked with Santie — The Fynbos Whisperer   — on the lower slopes of Table Mountain and Devil’s Peak. She had invited us to witness something rare: the first spring after a fire. In March, a massive blaze tore through this part of the mountain. Flames, helicopters, thick smoke. I remember how we could barely breathe being outdoors and we were a few kilometres away.  It was a destruction. But nature, in her quiet wisdom, had been preparing. Santie explained that

This isn’t a blog in the usual sense.It ’s a living record — fragments of thought, prayer, and practice written in the pauses of everyday life. What began as pages in The Path I Didn’t Plan  continues here as reflection. You’ll find notes born from reflection , insights , breathwork sessions , and encounters with the ordinary  — each one an echo of awakening. “I write not because I’ve arrived, but because I am still remembering.”