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 ...