There’s something magical that happens when summer finally rolls around in a country that spends most of the year flirting with frost. The sidewalks fill with people walking just a little slower. Kids run around with rainbow-stained mouths from popsicles that never stood a chance. Even conversations with friends and neighbours feel a bit softer, a bit lighter, like the heat gives us all collective permission to exhale.

And exhale I did.

It’s been just over two months since my last post, and while the algorithm might not approve, my soul certainly does.

This summer, I took my own advice. I stepped away from the laptop, stashed the phone in some far-off drawer, and leaned into the life happening right in front of me. Since the pandemic, we’ve made it a bit of a tradition to spend a week each summer with my parents at a cottage by one of Canada’s many lakes. Before that, global sabbatical not included, we often felt the need to get on a plane and cross an ocean to “really” unwind. But there’s something about a cool lake and good company that re-calibrates everything.

This year, my appreciation deepened.

Like the afternoon my mom went for what was supposed to be a quick walk through cottage country and didn’t come back for a while. A kind neighbour eventually drove her back and, true to form, she insisted we all stop what we were doing - mid-paddle, mid-snack, mid-nap - to come outside and properly thank the man who “rescued” her… though I’m still not entirely sure anyone noticed she was missing in the first place.

Then there was my dad, who spent a good chunk of the afternoon planted in a chair on the deck, peacefully gazing out at the water like some monk mid-meditation. Hours later, he started rubbing his forehead with mild concern and asked, “Does it feel… crackly to you?” Sure enough, he’d earned what might’ve been his first-ever sunburn, right across the forehead. He didn’t complain, but the peeling gave him away. And the way he kept patting his forehead like he was checking if it was still attached…..

All of it - those unplanned, unplugged, delightfully human moments, reminded me just how healing nature can be when we let it.

But here’s the truth: this summer’s pause wasn’t easy.

As someone now steering the ship solo - branding, writing, speaking, dreaming - it’s harder to let go. In the corporate world, stepping back for a while felt more like a team decision. Now, it feels personal. When you are the brand, the speaker, the strategist, and occasionally the IT help desk, taking a break can feel like risking momentum.

Still, I paused anyway. System be damned.

And you know what? No lightning struck. The world kept spinning. My LinkedIn didn’t implode. The newsletter missed a cycle or two. But the joy? It multiplied.

I came back more energized, more focused, more…me. I was more present with my family because my phone was exactly where it should be: not in my hand. I re-learned what so many of us forget, that rest is productive. That joy isn't a reward we earn after grinding ourselves into the ground, but something we’re allowed to choose, now.

We live in a world that makes pausing feel radical. Everything’s urgent. Everything’s breaking news. But the longer I do this work, the real work of showing up as fully human, the more convinced I am that the pause is not the luxury.

It's the strategy.

So yes, it’s been a little while. And yes, I’ve missed sharing. But I’ve also been living, laughing, sweating through heatwaves, making memories, and remembering why this work means so much to me in the first place.

There’s this fire in my belly - joy that won’t quit. Every time I talk about this journey (the hills, the valleys, the quiet moments, the full-blown chaos), I can’t help but smile. This ride has been exhilarating. And the best part? I have a feeling we’re just getting started.

I paused.

I reset.

Now?

I’m ready for liftoff.