Jacky's Corner

This weekend I had one of those moments that only make sense in your own head. I had just gotten my nails done. Ladies, you know the investment I'm talking about. Time. Money. Sitting in one position until your back starts negotiating with your soul. They looked beautiful. Then Saturday happened. I was doing some chores and... chip. One nail. Just one. Nine others were still looking fantastic. Guess which one my brain decided deserved all of my attention? That single chipped nail. Within seconds I had already planned another salon appointment, calculated the money I would have to spend, imagined the hours I'd lose, and quietly mourned the entire manicure. It was almost impressive how quickly my mind escalated the situation. Then another thought interrupted me. "Who exactly is demanding perfect nails?" Silence. No one. Not my family. Not strangers. Not the supermarket cashier. Certainly not my dog. The pressure was coming entirely from me. That realization stayed with ...

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...

  This weekend, I made doughnuts. That sentence sounds simple enough, but anyone who has ever stood in a kitchen with flour on their hands and uncertainty in their mind knows that recipes are rarely just recipes. They are little experiments. Tiny negotiations between confidence and doubt. I had flour, milk, baking powder, oil, a little vanilla essence, and some cinnamon. What I did not have was certainty. Would they rise? Would they be soft? Would they be raw in the middle? Would they end up as another kitchen lesson disguised as a snack? What happened instead surprised me.The secret was not a fancy ingredient. It was patience. For years, I thought kneading was simply a step to get through. This time, I learned that gentle kneading and resting are where the magic happens. The dough changed under my hands. It became smoother, softer, and more cooperative. Then came another lesson: resist the urge to keep adding flour. Sometimes softness requires trust. When the doughnuts finally hit...

A few days ago during a workout session, I found myself thinking less about my own performance and more about someone else’s struggle. There is a lady in our workout group who tries very hard. She shows up consistently, pushes herself, and genuinely wants to improve. But the pace of the workouts is often too intense for her current fitness level. Many times, she spends a large portion of the session resting and trying to recover while the rest of us continue. For a while, I observed quietly. I kept wondering whether there was a better way to structure the sessions so that everyone, regardless of fitness level, could participate more fully. Eventually, I decided to respectfully raise the issue with the coach. I suggested having different pace options during the workout: a normal pace, a moderate pace, and a slower pace. Not to reduce the challenge for stronger participants, but to create room for everyone to feel included. The coach explained that they usually slow things down t...

This one has a lovely reflective-social-observation flavor to it. I leaned into the quiet self-celebration without making it sound boastful 🌿 There is something strangely powerful about learning to say “no” without anger and “yes” without pressure. This weekend, I found myself thinking about how often people struggle to ask directly for what they want. Instead, they wrap requests in charm, excessive friendliness, jokes, or emotional performance, as though simple honesty is not enough on its own. It made me realize how uncomfortable those interactions can quietly become. A small situation brought this to my attention. Someone needed a favor urgently, but instead of simply asking for help directly, the request arrived hidden inside layers of charisma and social maneuvering. There were compliments, unnecessary touching, exaggerated warmth, and an expectation that the performance itself would somehow guarantee the answer. What surprised me most was not even the request itself, but m...

  There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes not from the work itself, but from the stories we quietly build around people. Recently, I found myself frustrated with a colleague after what I believed was poor communication around an important task. In my mind, the situation became larger and heavier with every passing day. Small assumptions started stacking themselves like files on an already crowded desk. I replayed conversations. I interpreted silence. I filled in missing information with emotion. The uncomfortable part about leadership, teamwork, and even relationships is that human beings rarely experience events exactly as they happen. We experience them through stress, fear, pressure, pride, exhaustion, and sometimes old memories we have not fully dealt with. A delayed response can start to feel like disrespect. A missing update can feel intentional. Before long, we are no longer reacting to facts. We are reacting to the story we created around them. What surpr...

  There is a quiet kind of celebration that comes when you finally stop abandoning yourself in the name of being “easygoing.” This weekend, I experienced it through something as small as a text message. A friend I had not spoken to properly since last October reached out to me. The conversation began warmly enough. “My dearest , how are you?  I replied politely, happy to hear from her. Then came the line that made me pause: “So do you organize those teas and I come be with you and chat?” At first glance, it looked harmless. Friendly, even. But something inside me stopped. Because suddenly I realized something important: if I agreed immediately, I already knew how the story would end. I would organize the tea. I would find the venue. I would coordinate schedules. I would carry the emotional labour of making the meeting happen. She would most likely enjoy herself, go home happy, and meanwhile I would quietly feel resentful and drained. And the difficult truth? It...