by Paul Kearley I can’t even begin to count how many times throughout my life I was told to be more like someone else. As a rambunctious child, it was: “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” In school:
Read MoreDiscomfort is often the doorway to the next version of ourselves by Paul Kearley There comes a point in life where you realize that growth is not a straight line. It is not a clean upward climb. It is not
Read MoreA hard truth I needed to hear again by Paul Kearley I woke up angry. That may sound dramatic, but it was real. Not mildly irritated. Not just “off.” Angry. There was a heaviness in me that felt old and
Read MoreSmall conversations sometimes create the biggest shifts by Paul Kearley I saw the email… and let it sit. Subject line: “Quick chat?” Two simple words. But I knew what it meant. There had been tension for weeks. Short replies. Missed
Read MoreWhat if we approached conflict differently? by Paul Kearley I woke up this morning with a deep sense of dread. Like many people, I’ve been watching the news about the growing tensions and conflict in the Middle East. History tells
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You can't score a goal unless you are shooting at something specific, like a job or net...or a life. Image: Taxi News
Choosing less doesn’t protect us; it quietly denies who we could become by Paul Kearley I was sitting with a group of eight young adults at a small business college, talking about what it would take for them to get
Read MoreReality is stubborn that way by Paul Kearley “My son, you only have a loan of your kids,” my father used to say. I didn’t fully understand that sentence when he first said it. I understand it now. After travelling
Read MorePeople are tired. Distracted. Guarded. by Paul Kearley There are times when I catch myself taking people—and their generosity—for granted. It’s rarely intentional. It’s more subtle than that. It’s like my eyes are locked on a screen in front of
Read MoreA Christmas story by Paul Kearley When people talk about Christmas, they often speak of warm memories—family gatherings, familiar smells from the kitchen, and the comfort of being surrounded by the people who raised them. My story is different. I
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