The Journey to “The Road to India”


“When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: ‘If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.’ It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.” – Steve Jobs, 2005 


Scene 1:
Yoga Studio. Bridge Pose.
“This can’t be it. This is not you. Kerri. What the hell are you doing. You are living the wrong life. You need to fix this. You are meant for more. This cannot be it. No. This is not you.

Woman with mask in funny concept

Scene 2:
The Story Teller. 

“Strange year, 2015 was.
It was the best year ever.

But please do not mistake “best” as a synonym for “easy”, “blissful”, “perfect”.
It was far from that. 2015 was raw, jarring, transformative, and … adventurous.

“Carpe diem” seemed to fit well with the theme of the year… (How could it not be with a catch phrase like “it seemed like a great idea at the time!”.)

The summer of 2015 was… well, something else. Hard. A strange emotion took over me and rattled me defenceless.


You don’t know me, (presumably), and I don’t know you, (presumably), but anger was never once a word to be attached to my character. Soft spoken. Door matt. Easy going. No back bone. Submissive. My boiling point would be a crack of emotion falling into tears. Not anger.

The inner guru was awoken after watching an episode of Dr. Phil nearly 13 years ago. “Anger is a masking emotion. You are never JUST angry. Under the emotion of anger resides fear, hurt, and abandonment. Anger only masks it.” At fifteen years old, this was a life altering “a ha!” moment. The only thing stronger than anger, is wisdom. In moments when anger would flush my cheeks, detached, I would go through the checklist until I found the root of the anger.

Yet, here I was.

So angry, that it pulsated through my days, weeks, even months, until, September 2015 hit.

So angry, that the only solution was this:
I wrote a letter to my employer requesting a 6 month leaving of absence.
2 months to travel to Goa, India, followed by 4 months to reside in London, UK to work, obtaining my dual citizenship through my fraternal heritage.

(Or… in my mind… two months to just simply let go of everything. Two months where not a single person can reach me. Two months of running away to the desert to pick away the shards of glass in my soul, to wipe clean. Then four months to re-build from the ground up in a city that does not wait for anyone. Hustle or be eaten alive. Prove myself and to find direction in my work life.)

“I will leave Canada March 8th, 2016.”

I have six months to prepare for departure.
I can make it until then.

All I need to do is focus.

Scene 3:
Yoga studio.

Unglued in an ocean of self inflicted misery and sweat, I lowered out of Bridge pose, one vertebrae at a time, until my tailbone was firm on my voiceless blue yoga mat.

Anger. Irritation. Boiling over.

“What the hell are you doing going to India? Why are you going to study yoga? Why are you filling your days learning about yoga? You are NOT meant for a life and career to teach yoga.”

This last thought left a whiplash, as a thought of my dream of being a saavy entrepreneur seemed to be continually drifting farther and farther away from me.

“Who am I even?
Have I lost the driven boss lady drive?
Am I now the willowy, poetic, soft, malleable soul?”

A burning flare of heat rippled my body.


Scene 4:
Time. What a brilliant, seductive thought.

Six months to prepare, to focus.
So much can unravel in six months.
Yet. Not a single fucking thing can change.

Each month became a new scene to the road to India.

September. Abundance.My contagious hyperactive faith took hold. I was going to allow this to come to me easy. Effortless. With true discipline and the law of attraction on my side, I have set my intention. All is coming.

October. Infectious second chances. “Carpe diem” was the tone. Drunken nights, a new outlook, new perspective. It was fun. Truly. But I let my guard down. The effect began to show. Hallows’eve allowed me a chance to wear my crude violent anger as a tone of hair colour.

Liverpool red, I called it.
I decided to keep the red hair.

November. Alcohol. Numbing. Debt growing. “I can still do this.”

December. Keep moving. Just keep fucking moving.

January. I withdrew. I realized the truth, and it almost broke me.
India was not going to happen. England was not going to happen.
I found myself withering more inwards – as I was seeing this chance to runaway becoming a foolish whisper of a dream. I did not have the energy to begin to prepare for collusion of a failed opportunity. I just sank deeper.

February. As I tiptoed inward, I absorbed defeat.
This trip was not going to happen.
I need more time. Time I do not have.
I need more money. Money I do not have.



Scene 5:
Yoga studio. Happy Baby. Vulnerability.

Thoughts of sadness overcame. Pure childlike sadness. I cried.

Then anger appeared. Only one person could occupy the face to my anger.
I felt a wave ripping my attention wide open in this asana.
Grief. Anger. Betrayal. Anger. Abandonment. Anger. Violence. Anger. Addiction.

I heard a familiar soothing voice replay in my mind, a voice who soothed me to sleep each insomniac night. “We don’t need any more anger. We need more love and more self acceptance.”

I melted to the divine present moment I was united with truth.

I did not fail. India is within reach, and to her, I will go.
I may not be able to pursue an epic fresh start in London.
I have something even more precious: A chance to runaway to India.
I don’t need a plan. Or maybe the plan is there is no plan!

It may be on borrowed dime, but I acknowledge at this point im living on borrowed time. I need something drastic, powerful and I need it fast.
Scene 6:
The Storyteller:

In less than one month, I will be flying to New Delhi for the right reasons.
This is not a “fuck you” to anyone. It is not to erase memories, flee, wipe clean. This trip is for me. Absolutely sinfully divinely selfishly for me.

I leave soon, knowing that I do not need to be fearful about leaving. The ones who love me will be there when I return. The ones who love me will welcome me home. The ones who love me let me go, knowing I carry them with me in my heart. They know it will be difficult, and I may break many times on my journey but they will know I am going for the right reasons.

Because one day, I need to know – that a time will come in my life when I  can look in the mirror each morning, reflecting on my love/ career/ passion projects/ family, taking it all in, with gratitude. As I can say without an ounce of hesitation, “if this were my last day on earth, is this exactly how I would chose to live it?”


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