The trouble is, we think we have time.

Do not waste a moment.

Five days into July, and already half the year has slipped through our fingers.
It feels like just yesterday I stood at the edge of 2025, hoping it would carry a different tune than the years before.

But nothing changed - until I did.

I made the quiet, deliberate decision to walk back in time.
To all the places where pieces of me were lost.
It was emotional.
It was mental.
It was good.

Now, in July, I turn my attention to the physical.
To this body that has carried me, hidden me, revealed me.
To these bones that deserve to dance, and this skin that deserves celebration.
This temple of flesh and fiber that houses my soul and takes me from A to B and C to Z.

This month, I want to feel the joy of movement, I want to honour the sacredness of breath and muscle. I want to say yes to life with every cell I’ve got.

And yet, these first few days of July have been heavy - not with my own sadness, but with the grief of others.

I watched Senna on Netflix - the story of Ayrton Senna, the legendary Formula One driver. His brilliance. His vulnerability. His tragic end. It stayed with me.

I saw the outpouring of grief for Diogo Jota and his brother. Both professional soccer players. Diogo, with that magic foot.
He married his love just eleven days ago. Three beautiful boys between them.
After the FA Cup and Portugal's win, he took time off for what matters most: family.
He was heading back to Liverpool from Spain.
He thought he had time. He didn’t.

His wife thought they had time. His kids will never know him as they would’ve with more time.

Then I read about Troy and Adam, identical twin brothers from Australia.
Troy died by suicide in February.
Adam followed in May. Two small children left behind.

A grief too big, too brutal.
What does a parent do with that kind of pain?

Julian McMahon, the actor, son of Australia’s former Prime Minister - gone at 56 from cancer.
Michael Madsen, the actor with over 300 films to his name - gone at 68 from a heart attack.

I imagine they all thought they had time.

But the truth is, we don’t.

Louis Armstrong sang “We have all the time in the world.”
But we don't.
We are all dying a little each day.
That’s not a morbid thought - it’s a reminder.

A reminder to live.

To not wait.
To move, dance, stretch, write, laugh, weep, hold, whisper, run, dare.
To not waste today worrying about a yesterday we can’t fix.

Because we can never turn back the clock.
We can never make up for lost time.
And regrets? They’re just time thieves in disguise.

So here’s to a joyful July.
Here’s to moving our temples in ways that feel sacred and alive.
Here’s to honouring the vessel we’re in - loving it, respecting it,
and remembering to say yes to life as often as we can.

Because as long as we are alive, everything is possible.