I. Discovery
I have this really bad habit of opening LinkedIn right before bed. I’m trying to quit, I swear I am. And I know, it’s absurd. LinkedIn? Who doomscrolls LinkedIn? But somehow, it’s my quiet midnight ritual. My version of TikTok. I like seeing what people are building, how they’re moving, what they’re whispering into the world, how pretentious they’re being, if at all. And so there I was, scrolling against my better judgment, when I stumbled upon this job post that stopped me cold. It was in a corner of psychology we never touched in university — something called “play therapy”. We did gloss over it in psychotherapy, but not in the context I’m about to share.
Anyway, instant resonance.
If there’s one word that never misses when people describe me, honestly describe me, it’s playful. I felt seen by that role. It spoke of reducing burnout and stress in teams, boosting creativity and innovation, fostering trust and good communication practices (I held back from sending my building management a heated email after the water system had a problem and they took 24h to sort that out, see? That’s good communication practice) and overall encourage psychological safety — things I carry like second skin.
At my first job, I used to design small moments of joy: little icebreakers for the team, bursts of laughter in meetings, gentle ways to pull us back to humanness after hours of productivity. I loved that. Drawing on my love of human psychology, behavioral science, and a childlike sense of wonder to get the job done.
And now here was a job that wrapped all of that into one phrase — play therapist in the workplace. Someone who helps people exhale, who reignites creativity and rest in environments that worship busyness.
That’s so me. So frighteningly me.
II. Reflection
It’s the essence of what I do outside work — holding space for lightness, for reconnection, for curiosity. And I’ve always wanted to infuse that into my professional life too. I try, in small ways, within my teams. We’re multicultural, multi-sectoral, each carrying stories and stresses. And I can feel it, the gap between what I do and what I could do if I had more tools, more training, more language for what I already intuitively understand.
I looked at the qualifications. Maybe six out of ten boxes ticked.
Those missing four? They’re the deep ones. They matter to me. Those are the ones that don’t sting, but sparkle, as they remind you that you’re still growing.
I found myself thinking, what if I learned this? I won’t apply for the job, but I will open that door of learning. And I will use my current teams as guinea pigs as I tackle the course modules (muahahaha). Many equate project management with people management, but I really don’t like the phrase “people management.” It sounds like people are problems to be handled, not souls to be led. There should be a softer word, something that breathes empathy and breeds trust. Leadership shouldn’t feel like supervision; it should feel like communion.
Anyway, this discovery, this job — it humbled me. Not in the shrinking way, but in that sacred, expanding way that whispers, there’s more in you yet.
Sometimes we can hold a full-time role and still perform by learning while on the job. Sometimes we can’t. The ways of working differ; you may possess the practical knowledge, yet the foundational skills to fully apply it remain just out of reach, the tools and systems are new to you, and the context is international. But it’s wisdom, not weakness, to admit when there’s more you want to give but can’t at that moment — and then to go after the skills, the awareness, the spark that’ll let you pour back into the world fuller than before.
III. Transformation
Lately, I’ve been talking a lot to my other selves — and to God, and to nature.
They’re patient listeners.
I speak my desires out loud. What I want, what I see, how I wish to move through this life. And now, standing before this possibility, I feel the stirring of something I’ve prayed for quietly: my next becoming.
And it’s electric.
When I close my eyes, I can see it. When I type, I can feel it. The exquisite ache of imminent transformation. Success doesn’t feel like a trophy tonight; it feels like light, crawling under my skin, humming at my fingertips.
Right now, I feel called to step into a higher vibration, but the pull downward is familiar, seductive. Comfort sits at the bottom, nodding, beckoning me to stay. It is by far easier to descend than to leap. But everything I stand to gain, everything glowing in my chest, lives in what I’d call my latent reality.
Not my lived one. But close. Oh, so close.
Do you ever feel that way?
Like you’re not done yet — like there’s more you’re meant to live, even if you can’t name it? And then, out of nowhere, the universe tosses you a breadcrumb.
IV. Alignment
Today, I found myself utterly enthralled by the ‘growth direction’ Nairobi’s electronic music scene is taking… yes, the oontz scene. There is, it seems, an artful devotion to the eternal reshuffling of local DJs at every event. A tireless choreography designed, perhaps, to banish monotony. One cannot help but admire the ambition, or perhaps the absurdity, of such a devotion.
I had wanted to see this artist in Nairobi, but something about the venue gnawed at me. Half in jest, I said I’d rather catch him in Cape Town. And then (no exaggeration) mere hours later, an opportunity arose to return to Cape Town in January 2026.
It arrived unbidden. There was no calculation, no careful charting of cost or distance, no logistics to consider. I wanted it, and in my irritation, verbalised it. And as if in answer, the universe began to arrange itself, folding reality around it. My task, moving forward is simple: to meet that current halfway and in such sitations, to always ask the question that matters — what must I gather, what most I become, to receive what I already sense belongs to me?
Because it’s not always about the how. It’s about readiness. It’s about saying yes. Not just in words, but in action, in spirit, in vibration.
Now, opportunity knocks, and this time, I am home.
