Happy Sunday, This wasn’t the plan for Christmas Eve. I’m driving east, watching the sky flatten into fading gray. Thin lines of snow cross the road like zebra stripes, dark against the white, wispy layer blowing right to left from one field to the next. The plan was simpler. Family would visit the weekend before Christmas. We’d do the meals, exchange gifts, then settle back into a quiet holiday break at home. Instead, I’m losing light, halfway to Saskatchewan. Feeling the familiar mix of…

Happy Sunday, On November 30th, 2023, I officially joined Late Checkout. Two years ago today. When the official offer came through, it felt surreal. I didn’t feel ready. I didn’t feel qualified. But something was happening, and I wasn’t about to look away. I’d spent months in the trenches. Writing posts, sending cold emails, chasing opportunities I hoped might lead somewhere (they didn’t). I didn’t know what the role would turn into. I only knew I wanted a life built on writing, thinking, and…

Happy Sunday, I’m suffering from nutrition dysmorphia. It’s not a real thing. I made it up. But maybe you can relate. See, I like to tell myself I eat ‘healthy’. I avoid gluten, lactose, corn, and eat simple foods. That doesn’t equal nutritious. On October 2nd, I demolished a full gluten-free pizza. Felt fine. Until the next morning. I woke up nauseous, sweating, and horizontal by necessity. Felt like I had a boulder in my guts all day. After consulting ChatGPT, I arrived at one possible…

Happy Sunday, I’m officially a Growth Operator at Late Checkout. I got the title, raise, and psychological boost. The high didn’t last long. Thirty minutes into hosting my first community workshop, I didn’t feel like an operator. My mouth was dry, my notes were thin, and the pauses stretched on too long. The clock was crawling. This was new, uncomfortable territory for me. Most of my work happens behind a keyboard, not in front of a group. I’m used to showing what I know by doing, not…

Happy Sunday, I’m staring out the window at TWP road 504. Sitting in my childhood home, for one of the last times. The walls are bare. The rooms are emptier than I’ve ever seen them. For three decades, this place has been a constant. It’s where I grew up, where I returned for Christmas, where “going home” always meant. Now my parents are retiring. They’re selling the acreage to begin their next chapter. I’m happy for them. It feels right. But it’s bittersweet too. Because when they move, this…