Lifelong Learning

11/01/2026

A LEARNING MOMENT ✨

There’s a lot of heated discussion right now about speech, antisemitism, offence, and harm. I’ve been thinking about how we tell the difference — because precision matters.

Let’s talk about SPEECH.

1. Offensive or confronting speech
– criticism of religion
– opposition to political ideologies
– disagreement with social movements
– harsh or uncomfortable opinions

This kind of speech can offend or unsettle — but offence alone is not harm. Democracies require space for disagreement.

2. Dehumanising speech
Language that strips people of humanity, assigns collective guilt, or portrays groups as threats or conspiracies.

This deserves to be challenged and rejected.

3. Incitement to harm
Speech that encourages violence, exclusion, or physical harm.

This is where clear legal and moral limits apply.

Conflating these categories helps no one.

Precision protects free expression and protects people from real harm.

Words matter. How we use them shapes the society we live in.

08/01/2026

Part Two — The Magic of Kindness: The Whisper

I’ve shared the second piece in The Little Book of Kindness today.

It’s a reflection that begins just after the lockdowns — when I expected the world to return softer, gentler — and didn’t quite recognise what met us instead.

This story traces how kindness became less a reaction, and more a quiet inner compass for me. A whisper, really — something you listen for when the world gets loud.

If you feel like things have been noisier than usual, you might find something here.

Link to Part Two in the comments 👇

29/12/2025

When Kindness Is No Longer Heard

In the days following tragedy, leaders often reach for words meant to steady us — unity, compassion, kindness.

This week, a public call for acts of kindness was offered in the wake of violence. It was intended, I think, to bring light into a moment of shock and grief.

What struck me was not the call itself, but how quickly kindness was dismissed.

Instead of landing as care, it was met with anger, suspicion, and accusation. Kindness was read as avoidance. As spin. As something insufficient — even offensive — in the face of loss.

That reaction tells us something important about the moment we’re living in.

Kindness, once a shared civic language in times of grief, is no longer easily heard. It struggles to land in a climate shaped by fear, outrage, and relentless commentary. What was once a reflex has become suspect.

This isn’t an argument against accountability or justice. Those matter deeply. But it is a reminder that when kindness is pushed aside entirely — when it’s treated as weakness or deflection — something else fractures.

Grief hardens. Conversations narrow. Humanity thins.

Kindness is not a solution on its own.
But neither is anger without care.

If we lose our capacity to hear kindness at all, especially in moments of collective shock, we lose one of the few forces capable of holding pain without multiplying it.

That feels worth noticing.

27/12/2025

An introduction to Flo.

Florence Scovel Shinn has been a quiet influence on my thinking for many years. Not as a doctrine or a set of rules, but as a tone — calm, kind, and steady. Her work has shaped how I think about kindness, listening, and learning to trust what unfolds.

This post is a little story about why she still matters to me, and how her ideas continue to weave through my writing, my teaching, and my conversations.

https://lifelonglearning.com.au/book-club/flo/

A gentle introduction to Florence Scovel Shinn.

26/12/2025

Part One is live: The Daisy 🌼

I was fifteen, in Narrogin, just after my grandmother’s funeral. I wandered into the bush because I didn’t have words yet for what I was feeling.

A neighbour noticed. He didn’t try to fix anything. He simply offered a paper daisy — and a small reminder about being gentle and resilient.

That moment stayed with me. And it’s where this series begins.

This is Part One of The Little Book of Kindness — a set of short, true stories about everyday moments that quietly shape us.

If this resonates, you can tap the little bell on my website to receive gentle notifications when new reflections are published.
No email. No noise. Just a quiet nudge. 🌼

Where has kindness shown up for you in a small, unexpected way? Link to Part One in the comments 👇

Through curiosity, connection and self-reflection, lifelong learning nurtures growth, wellness, and meaningful living.

23/12/2025

MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄

Sending warm wishes for the Christmas season — to you and yours — and trusting you find a little time to rest and restore.

Over the holiday break, I’ll be sharing a 10-part series drawn from my Little Book of Kindness.

Small reflections, quiet reminders, and gentle ways of bringing a little more softness back into our everyday lives.

No pressure, no perfection — just kindness in small bites.

If the world feels a bit sharp lately, this might be a nourishing place to pause.

17/12/2025

A MOMENT IN TIME

I recall coming across this piece years ago while running a leadership session for a client.

It was a poster tucked on a side cabinet — nothing special, yet it caught my attention.

Funny how certain ideas just appear when we need them, even if we don’t realise it at the time. It stayed with me.

And with everything happening lately, I found myself going back to it — trying to remember the author, the exact phrasing… but that first impression was still there.

The Four Agreements: A Gentle Reminder

It was Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements — such simple ideas, yet they shape how we move through the world.

1. Be impeccable with your word.
Our words can harm or heal. Intention matters.

2. Don’t take things personally.
Most reactions aren’t about us at all — and that realisation is freeing.

3. Don’t make assumptions.
Curiosity softens misunderstanding. Ask instead of guess.

4. Always do your best.
And your “best” will shift day to day. Honour that.

These agreements aren’t rules — they’re invitations to show up with more awareness and kindness.

Little shifts, big impact.

14/12/2025

Some days the world feels heavier, and the sharp edges show.
When this happens, I ask myself:
What does kindness look like here?

Not the big kind—the small, human kind.
A pause.
A softer tone.
A moment of seeing the person, not the argument.

On days like today, those are the choices that steady us.

11/12/2025

THE THINGS WE CAN'T UNSEE

I’ve been thinking a lot about kindness lately — you know, the way something gets stuck in your craw and won’t leave you alone.

You know I journal, right?
Well, I flicked back through entries from those strange COVID years, 2020–2022, and I noticed something I didn’t expect.

Kindness.
Or the lack of it.

Every few pages I’d written some version of the same thought:
Where did our softness go? Why are we talking to each other like this? Surely we can do better.

And once you notice something… you can’t unsee it.

I see it now in world events — leaders rising and falling on waves of outrage.
In communities — people pushed to the edges instead of pulled in.
Here in Australia — debates that stop being conversations and become battlegrounds.

Paulo Freire wrote that liberation requires “profound love and dialogue.”
Not polite conversation — real dialogue.
The kind where our words humanise, not harden.

Because words matter.
They shape how we see people — and that shapes how we treat them.

Call someone a threat, and you stop seeing their humanity.
Call them weak, and you stop seeing their story.
Call them “other,” and you stop seeing yourself in them at all.

And that’s where unkindness grows.

So lately I’ve been asking myself:

What happens when we choose words that restore, not reduce?

What changes when we speak to connect, not correct?

How would our politics look if dialogue was the starting point?

What if kindness was a practice of seeing clearly?

I don’t have answers.
But I do know this:

Once you start paying attention to kindness, the world shifts — not all at once, but in small, steady ways.

A bit like daisies. They grow wherever they can, take whatever light is offered, and quietly, reliably, return.

11/12/2025

WHY DAISIES FOUND ME AGAIN

When I lived in Toodyay, I filled my garden with daisies.
I didn’t plan it — I just kept gravitating toward them.
Something about their quiet cheerfulness, their unassuming beauty, the way they self-seeded and returned each season… it felt right.

The paper daisies popped up everywhere — unexpected, persistent, determined to bloom.
Looking back, I think I admired that about them.

Now, years later and back in Perth, I find myself thinking about daisies again — this time as the motif for my kindness stories.
Funny how life comes full circle.

Out in the bush, where wildflowers grow freely, the daisy has always stood out to me.
Not because it’s the brightest or most fragrant, but because it quietly thrives wherever it lands.

The daisy has a story of its own. Over time it became known as the flower of the people — a small, steady bloom that could soften a moment, spark connection, or offer a hint of comfort without asking for anything in return.

That’s what I love about them.
Their strength is quiet.
Their resilience is humble.
Their presence is simple but grounding.

And kindness feels much the same.
Not loud.
Not grand.
Just a steady way of being — waiting for us to notice it, and choose it.



Pics from my Toodyay garden: 👇