Before I left Calgary, a wise friend posed a provocative question that nudged at my preconceived notion of a “successful” trip.

“All I really want is to at least draft the first act of the play I’m working on,” I shared with her, the phone line bridging the distance between her in Ottawa and me in Calgary.

“But what if you don’t write a single word?” she mused. “What if all you do is follow your heart’s call in every moment? Isn’t that, in itself, success?”

It’s frustrating when someone highlights the glaringly obvious, particularly when it’s the exact thing I’ve been sidestepping.

So, what defines a successful trip? Or, extending that thought, a successful life? For me, it’s not merely about achievements but feeling truly fulfilled. It’s the profound joy of self-acceptance and an inner tranquility with who I am, right here, right now.

What if my ‘solo writer’s retreat’ yielded not a single penned word?

After the nerve-wracking drive yesterday that resulted in a flat tire, I decided to take a breather from the challenging narrow roads. A day for my frayed nerves and strained shoulders. And yes, a massage is top of the list when I’m back!

Instead, I wandered, read, napped, and yes, wrote. Surprisingly, I even wrapped up the first draft of Act 1. Yet, thanks to my friend’s piercing question, I wasn’t viewing this through a ‘success’ filter. This was about me showing up authentically, basking in every moment, every breath, as Greg McKeown explains in “Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less”, it’s about my “highest level of contribution”.

Venturing into the quaint hamlet of Garrykennedy on the shores of Lough Derg, I nestled into a cozy chair at Larkin’s Pub, a comforting fire warding off the crisp Augumn air.With a glass of wine in hand and an amazingly delectable bowl of Seafood Chowder, I scribbled and penned thoughts into my journal, the bar’s mid-afternoon quiet punctuated by the murmurs of two other patrons.

Later, I meandered along the shoreline, letting the rain-kissed air envelop me, the stillness of the moment a pure embrace.

It was quintessentially Irish—a day where success wasn’t quantified by accomplishments but by my immersion in every little thing.

That said, if someone could please explain to me why the Irish, known for their unhurried approach to life, speed at 80/km on these sinuous single lanes, I’d be eternally grateful!

The Unknown Path
by Louise Gallagher

Someday, you will step onto a path
not knowing
where it will lead
following its winding ways
into the unknown
that awaits
when you let go
of having to know
paths not taken
before you walk them.

Someday, you'll discover
the answers you seek
lay beyond
the paths you know.

(The poem was written while sitting in Larkin’s Pub, warming myself by the fire)