Think about the last goal you didn’t achieve. What did you tell yourself afterwards?

This blog is a day late because I’ve been in NSW for the 45th annual MS Gong Ride!

Sadly, this year I didn’t feel fit enough to tackle those hills. But as an ambassador, I was delighted to be there for the finish-line celebrations, cheering on the riders and thanking everyone involved.

Over a year ago, I went along to a come-and-try day for wheelchair curling. It was something I thought I’d try just once, simply because I’m always open to giving a new sport a go!

What would your greatest year yet look like?

Not someone else’s greatest year.

Not the year you think you should have.

Not the year that looks impressive on social media.

Your greatest year.

What would that look like for you?

We spend so much time thinking about our relationships with other people.

Are we a good partner? A good friend? A good parent? A good colleague?

But there is one relationship we often overlook — the relationship we have with ourselves.

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is walk away.

Not because we have failed.

Not because we are giving up.

But because we finally realise that where we are going is no longer where we want to be.

How many times have you said, “One day”?

One day I’ll travel there.

One day I’ll take up that hobby.

One day I’ll write the book.

One day I’ll ride that bike.

One day I’ll make more time for the people I love.

One day…

Have you ever looked at something you want to achieve and thought, “There is absolutely no way I can do this”?

Maybe the goal feels too big.

Maybe the change feels too difficult.

Maybe you’re standing at the beginning of something unfamiliar, and fear is telling you to turn around before you even start.

I think we’ve all been there.

Have you ever wondered when you first learned to be afraid?

As babies, we don't know what fear is.

Think about a baby learning to walk. They pull themselves up, take a few shaky steps and fall. Then they get back up and try again. They might fall hundreds, even thousands of times. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they don't. But they keep getting back up. And eventually, they don't just walk. They run.

There is something quite interesting that happens when you stop doing something that has occupied a huge part of your life.

Suddenly, you have time.

Lots of it.

On August 31, 1994, I arrived in Australia from Canada.

I was 33 years old, and although I had fallen in love with an Aussie, I don't think I could have imagined just how much that decision would change the course of my life.

This year marks 32 years in Australia

If someone had asked me years ago what a joyful life looked like, I probably would have described a life where everything was going according to plan.