A 5-Month Update: Returning to Toronto, Navigating Love, and Embracing Change

The different humans I’ve crossed paths with have helped shift the lens through which I see the world. Born and raised in Toronto, knowing what it was and what it is now, I sometimes feel like a grumpy old guy. Words I wanted to say when I was young still want to slide off my tongue, but I hold back. I know things aren’t the same; like everything big and small, they change. Some aspects dissolve completely, and from that comes a process of rebirth. I see it. There’s a rebirth happening, and births are not meant to be painless because within the pain lie many lessons, preparing us for what’s on the other side.

This photo was taken six months ago. I’ll tell you in a moment why I saved it, but first, it’s been five months since I returned to Toronto. Four months ago, I signed my first one-year lease in three years. The mental transition has been tough, but I’ve finally found my flow. I have my friends and family, but I was missing community. Understandably, while I was living the nomadic life, everyone else’s life moved on.

I’m enjoying discovering new cafés, working on projects, working out, and practicing yoga. I’m spending time with my brother, nephew, niece, and friends and meeting new people. After two years, I’ve even started to date. At this age, I never thought I’d be here, but dating has been my biggest challenge to navigate.

Compared to dating and finding love, everything else in my life feels effortless, like a walk in the park.

I was going to share how difficult it’s been to find love, but that’s not true. What’s been difficult is receiving love. I’ve had opportunities to be in committed relationships, but my internal wiring was all crisscrossed. It’s taken me until now to feel psychologically and emotionally balanced and grounded.

I’ve been carrying around an unhealthy yearning to fill a void inside me. Yet, when opportunities for relationships came, I struggled to sustain them. Sometimes I chose wrong, too. Without diving too deep into that rabbit hole, I’ve come a long way in this daring process. To date is to be daring in this climate. It might sound odd, but I didn’t know how to date. I’m still learning, especially how to date in a healthy way—with openness, honesty, and emotional maturity.

I’m on one dating app, but I’ve also been going out and meeting women, rebuilding the courage and confidence to start conversations with strangers. This journey has been an education in openness and connection, and I’m grateful for every step.

I took this photo six months ago when I was in India. I went to the gym in my sister’s building to move the heaviness and clear up some of the darkness that was engulfing me. A combination of time to spare, algorithms, and changing a setting on Instagram led me to see the images coming out of Palestine. I began reading and seeing things that no human should ever have to witness, let alone experience. It teleported me into a darkness I hadn’t visited in ten years.

This darkness continued when I returned to Toronto. I struggled to reintegrate into this energy and accept the need to land here longer than I have in the last three years. Signing my first lease in three years triggered an anxiety attack. The weekdays were manageable, but the weekends—especially the long weekends—were filled with profound loneliness and sadness that pulled me back into the darkness. My piece Seductive Shadows came from this place.

It was dark, yes. Old narratives came rushing to the surface, and I must admit, it really fucking surprised me. But there was a big difference this time: I had the ability to watch, observe, and allow this internal drama to play out. I have tools to remain grounded and ride the waves of the darkest thoughts and emotions. The first four months felt like being back in the womb, and in the fifth month, I rebirthed with new energy, a fresh mind, an expansive heart, and a newfound excitement and optimism for life. I even rediscovered a love for Toronto (I know, hard to believe, right?!).

I know the darkness has its gifts, and I’ll embrace the waves when they return. But for now, oof, am I glad to be back on the surface, soaking in the sunshine.

What Will People Think?

Instagram may not be the perfect platform, but I can and will build up my business page. I’ve cultivated the courage to write and share extensively about my life. Dating alone is something I could dive deep into. My mind is looping, cycling through insecure thoughts, but that’s only because I’m being vulnerable in so many areas of my life.

A part of me creates stories—negative ones that have no data or logic. Even if these thoughts were true, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m showing up as my whole self, raw and vulnerable, across all parts of my life: in Ever Evolving, at Sychem, and in my personal life. I’m really putting myself out there, and sometimes, the emotional waves hit hard.

That voice—that one feeding you shitty thoughts, making up stories about people mocking or judging you—is the "what will people think" voice. It's woven deep into your being, but it's not you. It’s the voice of your parents, ancestors, and culture, all passed down through generations. It’s been ingrained into your psyche to keep you small, to stay quiet, not to be vulnerable or disrupt the status quo. It's there to stop you from being truly yourself, to block the freedom of exposing your authentic self to the world.

The 'Other' Woman

Those words, those words we use to degrade and label others, are endless when it comes to women. Not to say that men aren't pressured by societal expectations—it's just that we bring women down so much more in our societies. We perfect them in our media, raise them on who they should be, not who they are.

Here’s the measure of a perfect woman:

Please spend your entire life working towards being someone and something unachievable, something that guarantees failure in the eyes of the complex society that surrounds you. Their gazes wrap around you, suffocating you. It's hard to breathe, hard to see your worth, to see your own beauty, because every morning when you look in the mirror, you see everything you aren’t.

You’ve built a wall. You’ve painted someone else onto your mirrors, someone you want to see because society has formed the model you must aspire to be.

Every now and then, you peek behind the painting, but you quickly step back because you’ve failed to become the "other." All that’s left is you—a beautiful you—tucked beneath the layers of expectations that others have thrown on you, expectations you can never fulfill. Because we can never be someone else when we are our self.

How could you possibly be the "other"? Where would the "other" fit inside you? There’s no reason to try, because you have your own heart, your own soul, your body, and your mind. You’ve been wearing the clothes of the "other," but they will never penetrate your being.

So, you failed to become the woman you painted on your mirrors, and in the process, you’ve suppressed your self. Where do you stand now? In the middle of nowhere. You hate yourself and you’ve failed to become the "other."

Where are you now? How do you feel when you get home and take off the "other's" clothes?

When will you begin to remove the painting from your mirrors and replace it with the portrait of your self?

Pick up that shovel and rid yourself of the dirt that has been thrown over you your entire life. Show me. Show us. I beg you. We need you to express yourself. We cannot survive without you.

Let us see your self-portrait.

I love you. We love you. And you need to love you. Just allow yourself to be the beauty you’ve always been.

Rocking Vulnerability: Embracing Fear and Finding Evolution

I've been reading and listening to Brené Brown's work for a couple of years now, and I've also been consciously practicing vulnerability. But yesterday, I took it to a whole new level. I was nervous all week, trying to prepare for this talk—it was uncharted territory. The last time I gave a speech was in grade 7. I made it to the gym and almost competed with other schools. My buddy Dave won; he was the better storyteller. Now, at 39, I'm a much different man (thank God). If I were the same, that would be a whole other problem.

Last night, I stood up in front of 150 strangers, some of whom were friends and family I had invited. I face-planted with a level of vulnerability that would have made Brené Brown proud. I was in the arena. I got up and wiped the dust off, and today was a brand-new morning. Even though I forgot most of my speech, I felt fucking good. That doesn't mean my self-talk was all positive. Absolutely not. I'm human.

My initial thoughts were that I had disappointed Greg, who runs the Toronto chapter of ManTalks and invited me to speak. I also disappointed Conner, the founder of ManTalks, and I disappointed the audience. They took time out of their Monday evening for this event, and I choked. I got stage fright. I tried to compose myself and start over. I'd get going, then get stuck again.

Finally, I just gave up and admitted to everyone that I had completely forgotten what I wanted to say and share. Afterward, my mind raced with all the things I wanted to say but didn't—all the experiences I could have shared in the hopes of inspiring others to begin the process of looking inward and connecting with themselves because lasting confidence and deep connections begin from within.

Yes, it could have been better, and yes, I could have rocked it. But there were lessons I needed to learn, and I'm glad I learned them early—on a big stage. Being in this area of public speaking, I know the size of the stage I want to strive for. I know the level I eventually want to play at. And I will say, by no means was this a small stage. Sponsored by Samsung, with a wicked ass stage, purpose, and the best part—a wonderful audience.

I was thinking about a quote by Jamie Foxx during his interview with Tim Ferriss. He said, "Do you know what's on the other side of fear? Nothing." I loved that, but I would take it to another level.

On the other side of fear is evolution.

We have been taught to see fear as something to conquer, but it turns out that fear is something to embrace. The same goes for failure. If you don't fail, how do you receive clarity on which direction to head? Failure is a beautiful compass that guides us toward our highest potential.

I want another shot so badly. I'm opening myself to the Universe right this minute. My heart is open and ready. Dear Universe, I'm ready to play BIG.

I don't know where this culture of perfection and the need to always look good to the outside world came from while we struggle and sit in pain in our internal world. It stunts the evolution of humanity and keeps our hearts closed. I'm sure there was a moment in history when we were required to close up, but honestly, I don't give a fuck. Where we stand right now is what's important. We all need to encourage each other to embrace walking in spaces where there's potential for face plants. It forces us to reflect and look inside ourselves.

I cancelled cable at 25. Do you know why? First, I was falling asleep on a hand-me-down IKEA sofa when I had a kick-ass mattress I paid enormous amounts of money for in the other room. The other reason was I was watching all these people, whether in fiction or nonfiction, living their lives while I wasn't living mine. When I turned off the tube, I had no choice but to get creative with my time. I met my first girlfriend, who gifted me my first book, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, which happened to change my fucking life. He talks about living your legend and how it should be your sole purpose—discover your personal journey and walk your path. This also led to my love of reading. Wow, there is actually a book and author out there that I could love. I always thought I hated reading, but in reality, I hated what the academic world was feeding me. Do you know we are still teaching Shakespeare? Are you kidding me? Our world is not ending; it's just stale, with the same old ways and messages. We need to liven it up by stepping into the unknown and identifying our own journey.

Do you know why people don't like meditation? It's not for the reason many say, which is, "I just can't sit down and quiet my mind." I had an aha realization. It's not the quieting of the mind that's the challenge; it's discovering what lies inside that's the challenge. When you begin the process, the goal isn't to calm the mind but to get into your mind, your body—specifically your heart—and then into your soul. When you get that deep, that's when the real shit opens up. That's when you start considering therapy and coaching because you have no choice but to discover your personal journey and purpose. It will rock your world and shake you up, but it's so fucking worth it.

Mirroring is the way to grow. Every step you take and every human you connect with is a mirror to you, especially in romantic relationships. I dated women who had no problems holding up those mirrors. There were mirrors everywhere! Eventually, I got the point and headed to therapy.

Therapy changed my life. It allowed me to open up and air out all the old scabs that never healed properly.

You know, I have this thing called Nexus. It allows me to bypass the line at the airport simply by scanning my eyes, generating wonder, awareness and curiosity. It reminds me how unique I am and how important it is to stay on my path, discover my personal journey, and unlock and reveal the portals within me. We have yet to reach the peak of our capacity. People talk about how the world is ending. I believe we are just beginning. So don't worry about the outside noise; don't pay too much attention. Decrease the external volume and increase the internal volume.

If you ever question your unique nature or authenticity, think about your iris and your fingerprints. There are seven billion-plus people on this planet, and there's only one authentic you.

Embrace fear and respect the failures because that's where evolution is waiting for you.

Rocking vulnerability feels good. My heart is a little more open today than it was before the talk. I love the path I'm on because I know it's my path to walk.