Jacky's Corner

Sometimes the best trips are not the ones filled with endless activities or perfectly planned itineraries. Sometimes they are the ones that quietly remind us of who we are when the world finally becomes still. My recent trip to Kalangala was one of those experiences. Of course, there were beautiful views, long walks, fresh air, and the soothing rhythm of the waves. But the greatest gift of the trip wasn't the destination. It was the realization that I didn't need every moment to be extraordinary in order for it to be meaningful. For so long, I have unknowingly tied my happiness to other people's energy, attention, or participation. I assumed that rest would somehow feel incomplete if everyone around me wasn't equally engaged or if every plan didn't unfold exactly as imagined. This trip challenged that thinking. There were quiet moments when nothing much was happening. We sat by the water. We watched the waves roll in and out. We took walks without rushing to the nex...

Last Friday, I attended a work event that was followed by a cocktail session. The event ended around 2:00 p.m. and the cocktail session was meant to start at 4:00pm and was expected to stretch well into the evening. As the minutes passed and nothing much was happening, I found myself thinking about my usual Friday workout from 5:00 to 6:00 p.m. I had a choice to make. I could stay because that was what everyone else was doing, or I could keep the commitment I had already made to myself. I chose the latter. I left, completed my workout, and returned by 6:30 p.m. The cocktail continued until around 8:30 p.m., so I still had plenty of time to enjoy the food, conversations, and networking with my colleagues. What surprised me was their reaction. "Where were you?" they asked. "Did you really go to exercise?" When I admitted that I had, many commented on how disciplined and consistent I was. While some remarks felt like genuine compliments, others made me wonder if ...

This month, I signed up for swimming lessons. At first, that might not sound remarkable. After all, I already knew how to swim...or at least I thought I did. I could float, move through the water, and comfortably enjoy the shallow end. But there was one problem. I could never confidently venture into the deep end. For years, I convinced myself that was enough. Until I went on a trip to a beautiful place called Diani where everyone was excited to explore the ocean, I quietly calculated how close I needed to stay to shore. That was the moment I realized I hadn't mastered swimming. I had simply become comfortable with my limitations. It took me a while of reflection and i wont say it was easy to admit i needed help but eventually i did make the decision to learn again. So, I enrolled in lessons. On my very first day, my coach smiled and said something reassuring: "You already know the basics. We just need to correct a few things." That sentence stayed with me long afte...

  A friend recently told me about a colleague who had resigned after landing a better opportunity. It was good news, the kind you genuinely celebrate. Yet as the excitement settled, something else quietly entered the room. Sadness. Not because the colleague didn't deserve the opportunity, but because everyone immediately began thinking about what their departure meant for them. Who would take over the workload? Would the replacement be as capable? What would happen to the team dynamic? The colleague was leaving, but everyone else's minds had already shifted to the gap being left behind. As she spoke, I smiled because I had lived the very same story from the other side. A while ago, I left an organization after finding a new role. My friend and I had built a wonderful routine. We shared lunch breaks, exchanged stories, laughed about work, and made each other's days lighter. When I told her I was leaving, she was genuinely happy for me. We had both hoped for that opportunity ...

For years, I thought I was frustrated because people responded slowly. I answered emails quickly, reviewed documents immediately, and replied to requests as soon as I could. So when others took days to get back to me, every delayed response felt like a small stone in my shoe. At first, I thought the issue was fairness. Why should I be quick and considerate when others were not? But with time, I discovered the real issue was not fairness at all. It was unfinished business. I am someone who loves closing loops. An unanswered email sits in my mind like an open tab on a computer screen. A pending task takes up space until it is completed. Responding quickly gives me relief because it clears one more item from my mental desk. That realization changed everything. I stopped seeing my responsiveness as a weakness. It is one of my strengths. I move work forward. I help others. I create clarity. I clear my own mind. There is something beautiful about being dependable, and I am learning t...

Recently, I noticed something about myself that I cannot seem to unsee. Someone asks a simple question."Do we have a repository for these documents?" The answer is straightforward: "No." Yet somehow, I feel compelled to continue. "No, we do not have one because the documents are many. We have not scanned them all. We do not have a reliable scanning process. Usually, people keep their own copies..." By the time I am finished, I have provided a miniature documentary on the subject.The interesting part is that nobody asked for all of that.As I reflected on it, I realised that I am often answering questions that have not yet been asked. My mind jumps ahead, anticipating what the other person might think, what they might ask next, or what they will need to explain to someone else. Instead of answering the question, I begin answering the future conversation. At first, I wondered whether this meant I was a poor communicator. If I have to explain the same poin...