More than footsteps, it was heavier—boots, maybe. Whoever was out there had some urgency to their movement. They sure weren’t trying to be quiet. I immediately felt a surge of adrenaline, wondering where the closest heavy object was that I could grab to get between the intruder and my family, to protect them from whatever this person wanted.

The footsteps came right to the door. WHAM. A big smack of a heavy object onto the ground.

I braced for attack, waiting for the door to careen open with a ready stance like I was returning a serve in a tiebreak to decide the tournament.

Another footstep. And then another, with more continuing on, each one a bit quieter than the one before. They left as quickly as they came. I looked to the window to see taillights fading off into the distance.

I opened the door to see if anything was there. A small package lay at my feet. The moonless night made it difficult to make out, but a familiar emblem materialized once my eyes adjusted to the faint glow of the streetlight. I called out to my partner who was still in bed:

“Did you order something from Amazon?”

She did. She didn’t realize she chose the overnight option. Two large kombucha jars, ready for when we wake up, although our rude awakening meant we couldn’t easily get back to sleep.

The Saturation Point

I’m no stranger to Amazon. I would be a hypocrite to demonize the brand without acknowledging my role in its rise to ubiquity. If it weren’t for them, it would be somewhere else. The market has decided that it’s important for a package to arrive at our door less than 12 hours after clicking a button. Massive companies now pervade more than our waking hours—they wake us up in the middle of the night.

A housewife in the 1950s would marvel at the pervasiveness of the internet and the ability to have pretty much everything brought to our doorstep in a matter of hours. But the ease with which we are spoon-fed a consumer lifestyle makes me wonder if we have gone too far.

I’m old enough to remember having a milk man come to our door. We’d leave a crate out with empty bottles, and fresh bottles would show up. That is a type of convenience that people welcomed with open arms. No longer do you need to have your own cow, or go to the local dairy to fetch milk, it came to you.

Sometime in the late 80’s that came to a halt—at least in our neighbourhood in North Vancouver. Milk went industrial, and the local dairy could not compete with the giant producers that sold exclusively to supermarkets. Convenience lost out to efficiency, and hasn’t looked back, and nearly 40 years later, the marketplace should be unrecognizable if it weren’t for a little word called branding.

What We’ve Lost

The homogenization of culture didn’t happen overnight, but it wasn’t slow by any measure. Over the past 40 years we have seen a mass consolidation of companies that have bought out brands that are part of Western upbringing.

It pretty much started when Philip Morris (yes, the tobacco company) bought out General Foods for $5.6 billion in 1985. Then, they bought Kraft in 1988. Then, 12 years later, they bought Nabisco.

It doesn’t stop there. In 2015, Kraft and Heinz merged in a $46 billion deal. Other companies followed suit. Pepsi, General Mills, and Unilever all have added to their portfolio in recent years. The bottom line is that there is an illusion of choice that consumers have, when in reality most of our spending on packaged goods gets funnelled into a relatively small number of shareholders.

And recently the process has flipped. Companies have begun to split, only to be reacquired. There’s a weird mitosis of companies trying to streamline operations, then to be bought back up by another large entity. Kelloggs split in two in 2023, one half then bought up by Mars, Ferrero the other half. The infographic above is now obsolete. These companies have merged, split, and re-merged only to form a new blob where we recognize the name but need to dig deep to find the owners or their motivations, if any, other than profit.

Then, in an effort to maximize their quarterly earnings reports, these large companies open the playbook. They retain the brand names, the logos, and the slogans, but oftentimes change the recipes just enough so that you recognize it, yet something is amiss.

Chocolate becomes “Chocolatey flavour”, Salad dressing gets watered down, and the list goes on. “Skimpflation” has become a new term of products that carry the same packaging yet ingredients change just enough to increase profit margins while providing less to the consumer.

In 2022, Cory Doctorow coined the term “Enshittification” to describe the decline in the online experience. I reckon it’s gone into the material world as well, with the aforementioned stats in consumer goods as Exhibit A.

But the reality is that we consumers hold the keys to what happens next. We can continue onward and allow this trend to continue, or we can fire back through our choices and actions. It won’t be easy, but it’s possible.

Coming Together

The scene I opened with included a detail at the doorstep. The contents of the package were intended to brew kombucha—the ancient fermented sweet tea that became known as the “tea of immortality”. It’s coming back precisely because people want agency over their own consumption, or at least that’s how it’s going down in our household.

Our society is not built on self-sufficiency, no matter how hard we subsidize it with kombucha jars and box gardens, as important as they are. We will still need a global network to survive, at least for any reasonable time horizon. But have tools at our disposal to push back on the brands who care more about earnings than the health of their customers. Openfoodfacts.org is an open database to help people cut through the noise. The Buy’r app, just introduced this year, provides the non-manicured facts on a product. Knowledge is power, and we need to use our power en masse.

But the trend is a signpost to another way, and it’s a way that is only a few generations removed. We don’t have to go to milking our own cows, but we can go back to the milkman. Or the local grocer. Or the farmers’ market. We don’t have to trade community for convenience. It might cost us a few points on the stock market ticker, but those metrics never gauged one’s health or a community’s resolve. Somehow we let those numbers mean more than they should.

There’s a recipe in all of this, and it’s taking our foot off the gas and finding the exit ramp. It’s reclaiming our power as consumers and developing the reflex to push back. Right now, we are a fragmented mass, like raindrops falling in a field. But what happens when those raindrops accumulate? They become one body of water, gaining inertia until it eventually becomes a river, shaping the landscape through its motion.

It wasn’t from fear or avoidance. Life simply picked up steam onto a much different tangent and I didn’t look back. Becoming a parent will do that to you, I suppose.

My daughter was about 25 weeks into gestation when I left. I didn’t even know she was a she… or that she’d even make it out of the womb. Of all the worries I carried about her, I didn’t leave a smidgen of doubt for my own safety, yet skimming the roughly 20 or so pages that I scribbled down while in the Yukon, I would have had plenty of reason to.

I forgot about the hypothermia. Reading my account took me right back to the scene, though. The last push to 5500m on day 9 took everything I had. Never mind I contracted Covid only a week before departing. Every step took full effort to move another six inches at a time, requiring extra focus for a skill that is generally automatic. By the time I reached the PR col, the high point of the climb, I was running on reserve energy. From there, it was a 300m vertical descent to the camp on the Summit Plateau. Normally I’m a fan of the downslope of a mountain, but on a splitboard in soft boots and towing a sled, I opted to keep the skins on.

The day’s effort had me sweating, and the now-cool descent removed the heat I gained on the uphill. Almost as soon as I got to where we were to set up camp, the chill set in. I first noticed some tingling in my toes. The sensation felt light at first, but within a few minutes the shivering spread to be widespread, rapid, and uncontrollable. I had never felt such a strong compulsion to get into a warm sleeping bag, with the onset of hypothermia being stronger than I’d felt in any other circumstance. Thankfully a few others had already begun to set up camp and I could get into the tent and sleeping bag. Several minutes of panic ended happy—for me, at least.

26 Days on Mount Logan

Our goal on the Summit Plateau was simple enough, in theory: climb to altitude and document a team of scientists drilling an ice core on Mount Logan’s summit plateau: a 20-km expanse on the world’s largest non-volcanic massif. The scale is nearly incomprehensible: mountaineer lore has famously illustrated that Mount Kilimanjaro, Mont Blanc, and the Matterhorn could all fit adjacent on the summit plateau, with room to spare.

Six scientists, three of us on the film crew, and a mountain guide made up the team. Originally we were to leave the morning after arriving in Whitehorse, but a 4-day storm delayed our departure, giving us a chance to all become somewhat acquainted. That budding camaraderie might be what saved the entire trip.

Going cold into an expedition with people you’ve hardly met, in retrospect, is a recipe for disaster at high altitude. It’s common knowledge that there’s less oxygen up there, but what nobody tells you is the gradual descent to madness that entails when the brain is starved of its most vital resource.

From the journal:

When we flew up and above, I was amazed by an alpine landscape like I had never before seen, and frankly not very many humans get to have such a privilege. The ranges would subsequently get higher and more dramatic, maybe 10 or so before the main icefield. A see all its own —just one that many have ever seen firsthand. But ice is water moving ever so slowly in our timescale but if you speed it up over a few thousand years one would witness the flow properties. A few major mountains such as Mount Vancouver rose to impressive prominence over this frozen sea. All were impressive until I saw Mount Logan in the distance, and its scale blew everything else to such a pitiful comparison. Even from a ways out I could not fit the whole thing in the field of view from the helicopter window.

I’m on it now and still can’t quite comprehend. But each passing view gave way to new features that would showcase the magnificence beyond measure.

A Month of Close Calls

Three people ended up being evacuated before the mission was complete. Our guide was airlifted out on a long line at PR col before making it to our destination. Another went out two days later feeling uneasy after spending several days on the climb violently expelling from both ends. A third was flown out only a day before we descended due to a severe gastrointestinal issue. To say that I was one of the lucky ones is not diminishing my own calamities, it’s simply the truth. Thankfully I warmed up in time.

One of the men who became ill engineered and assembled the drill extracting the ice. He almost didn’t make it to the summit plateau, but pressed on, eventually recuperating enough to assemble the pieces. The drill ended up breaking down halfway through the mission, but after a day of trial and error, he was able to fix it, allowing the mission to continue.

Eventually the mission succeeded, not because the drill hit bedrock, but because we ran out of material to house the ice. Estimates for the ice depth were that it was around 250m deep, but we ended up with 327m with the last meter leaving inside the drill itself.

The ice core broke a record; it’s now the largest in-tact non-polar ice core in existence. If all goes well, scientists will be able to study each layer of seasons for data on everything from the much-publicized Co2 concentration to forest fires and volcanic eruptions. Some day, they could even detect cosmic rays that we don’t even know about, all filling in the dots of our planet’s past ecosystems.

And we documented every day of it. Terabytes of data, pounds upon pounds of batteries, and enough camera gear that would torture an ultralight backpacker’s dreams for weeks. As I saw the helicopter take the last load out, I smiled thinking mission was complete; or so I thought. As I have come to learn on far too many opportunities for a lesson, you should never call last run.

The Collapse

We found one last surprise on our descent to base camp. It’s hard to see over a cliff and so the scale of the icefall collapse was impossible to gauge until we were up close and the peppered horizon turned into ice boulders well over 40 feet in a place we once easily passed through on the climb. Even though you know the danger is mostly there it’s impossible to not feel both thankful and fearful at the timing amongst the rubble of the aftermath.

It served as a final reminder of the costs of this trip—not only our health, but our safety, and even our lives were at stake to recover this scientific record, and to create a record of our own to share with the world.

Two and a half years later, another surprise came to me from reporter who would eventually publish this story in Defector tell me that the film was yanked from the festival circuit without warning. The film premiered to a packed crowd in Banff and had begun a tour to promote a story of both science and human endurance.

And then, just like that… it was gone. Scrubbed from existence by the National Geographic Society, the same institution that funded the trip and what many of us have admired since childhood as a cornerstone of storytelling about Earth’s most special and fragile environments.

The timing of when it got erased lines up a little too well to not be presumptuous. Only a week after the Trump administration regained power and the DOGE cuts targeted DEI initiatives, a film documenting climate science disappears. The federally-funded National Geographic Society’s official statement was that “something new came to light”.

I try to not editorialize too hard when reporting, but this reeks of an effort to silence the voices of those trying to preserve an ancient record of our planet’s climate history. Ironically, the record still lives on in my journal, my photographs, and a bootleg copy that someone uploaded to a secure server in Switzerland.

The Record

It might take a regime change for the film to see the light of day; but in this age of information ambiguity I feel its more necessary than ever to provide true documentation of our changing planet. The fact that the scientists featured were able to build on that important record for future scientists. Methods that are yet to be invented will help us understand climate change on a scale much larger than our flash of existence.

If anything, I feel more emboldened than ever to amplify these stories even more. Hopefully the audience grows to a point of critical mass where we can act as an entity with true power over those denying our role to the changes taking place on our planet. Efforts to silence our work has only galvanized the will to share new ideas, methods, and stories of success in the fight against information suppression and a relatively new economic system predicated on extraction.

Again, from the journal:

Right now I just have one yet to be born. Three months to go, in fact. August 20, give or take. So if you’re reading this, kid, just know that there is an incredible world out there and even in this day and age you can escape the stresses and calamities of a society that has lost its way. Or anyone, really, who reads this—the wild, remote places are still there where humans need incredible resources to stay alive. And the beauty really overwhelms you to the point where its hard to write about . But massive peaks from each direction all belonging to a single mountain are thrusting through a sea of ice, right up to the ocean in immeasurable magnitude.

To think that this place exists and yet most people don’t know about it, perhaps that is part of my job to let the world know.

As I read these pages, I realize the words may now be one of the best records of the expedition. What was once a personal log may now be the files that help the expedition live on in people’s memory. This post is the first stop on the journey, and we will see where it takes us. For now, my now almost-four-year old daughter and her younger brother motivate me to share stories like this, not only to make them proud, but to help them understand a world that will be vastly different from what it is now when they grow up.

And for everyone else who decides to follow along, may it empower you to seek new heights, overcome obstacles, and leave something positive for the next generation.

The memory might not have surfaced if I was in a hurry. One year ago today, my partner called me in a panic while I was away on a work trip and she told me about the sirens nearby—so many sirens. And then a helicopter. More sirens. Her phone started blowing up in the local moms group chat about an accident, and that a kid was involved at the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal. Two blocks from our daughter’s daycare.

What if it was our little girl?

The moments of worry escalated until my partner got a hold of our daycare provider who informed us that our daughter was safe. Our same sigh of relief became a gasp of devastation for a family realizing that the child who died was theirs.

The memory of the incident is mired with both relief and guilt that it wasn’t our family, that we can cruise down to our community event one year later and socialize with our neighbours on a spring day whose warm breeze feels like the first real glimpse of summer. The flowers in the garden are blooming with a full palette of bright hues throughout. I cut the best ones I can find into a bouquet to leave at the site, so that my flash of a memory can live on a bit longer.

His name was Leonardo Machado, and he was killed at 3:30 P.M. on a Wednesday afternoon at the age of four. He and his mother were returning from a day trip on Bowen Island, enjoying the type of days that make living here so special. His mother, Silvana de Oliveira Schramm, sent his father, Clineu Machado, a photo of Leonardo happily basking in the sun and wind on the ferry. They were on the return leg of an excursion from their home in East Vancouver, waiting for the 257 express from Horseshoe Bay to Downtown.

Leonardo loved buses. The bus he was waiting to board to get home ended up taking his life. It also sent Silvana to the hospital where she would spend months delaying her grief while undergoing dozens of surgeries, only leaving the hospital recently to live a life with part of her heart forever missing.

The pain in my heart strengthens as gravity pulls me down to the bay as my partner and I bike down the hill toward the event. Soon, we see the fanfare with the street closed off and people starting to bustle about. My son is crying because he lost sight of his Granddad at the playground. His tears stop when he sees me but then mine start. He’s alive… thank God he’s alive.

Clineu’s path of grief did not show anger toward the bus driver. In fact, he asked everyone to thank their bus driver in the weeks after the accident, showing compassion and empathy for those who might have been traumatized in the aftermath. And yet, despite his remarkable ability to show grace, the company and system responsible for his son’s death has been anything but graceful in their communication.

Translink CEO Kevin Quinn called the event “tragic”, and beyond that, the company declined to comment and referred questions to police. They denied the family’s request to use one of their buses to carry Leonardo’s casket from the crash site to his final resting place. Thankfully, First Student, inc. donated a school bus for the occasion. A kind gesture by a private company, but certainly not the same effect.

I was there when Leonardo’s casket “boarded” the school bus to be taken off to his final resting place. This happened roughly a hundred meters back from the actual site because Translink would not suspend their operations for the 10 minutes the ceremony would have taken.

The festival is now in full swing with restaurants packed full, people catching up on the street, and far too much stimulation for my toddlers for us to move no further than the next display. A vintage bus welcomes people on board and my two year old son, who also likes buses, excitedly jumps on expecting it to take us somewhere. I inform him that it’s not leaving. They brought the decorative old bus, but no flowers for Leo.

My own flowers for Leo wait patiently in the bike basket waiting for their final resting place. We work our way to the street corner where the accident happened and while waiting for a drink from a local vendor, I bring the bouquet to the crash site with my son, who just turned two and whom I could already never imagine life without. My partner and daughter look on across the street. My daughter is bored but we tell her that this is for Leonardo. No other flowers are present. I silently wonder to myself; did people just not remember, or did they want to forget?

For that hour or so of uncertainty, her worst nightmare still lived in her head. For Clineu, his last message from his wife was a selfie of them happy on a boat, returning home.

We still don’t know what happened, if it can happen again, and where along the way did such a catastrophic error occur? All of that is under wraps while the investigation is ongoing. Leonardo’s family started out courteous and patient, but as Clineu stated in February: “It is not about money. Something happens and we learn as a society. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. And to do that, we need information. We need the investigation to be concluded and get all the information.”

As a father in the community where it happened, I too hope that we can be under the assurance that whatever happened won’t happen again. All the family’s lawyer received was the maintenance records for the bus and a heavily redacted incident report. And even if negligence was involved, BC’s no-fault insurance standards leave the family with the inability to sue, regardless of any criminal findings.

Other industries make it a standard to share information post-incident. Aviation notoriously has international standards that operations abide by, for they know that everyone benefits from a speedy post-incident analysis. Not to assign blame, not to protect people from liability, but to learn. The findings are published. Canada has an independent board, the Transportation Safety Board, that does this for planes, trains, ferries, pipelines—but does not deal with road incidents. So the body that is responsible for informing the public on how can we prevent this from happening again has no jurisdiction over whomever was responsible for Leonardo’s death.

As I lay the flowers down, I feel the sadness well up but the emotion stays inside. People all around me move about and don’t seem to take notice, aside from my kids. Before long they are distracted again by the sights and sounds of the festival, moving on to the next attraction while we continue to mingle and chitchat.

The flowers have already fallen over without anyone taking notice. The bus stop fades into the distance as we walk away.

It’s the type of situation I wish my parents had put me in: an outside more than inside (even when it’s raining), pee-in-the-woods, mud in your socks, dirt under your fingernails type of childhood. A type of childhood that wasn’t too uncommon 100 years ago and then fell by the wayside when industrial society pushed our kids indoors and behind a desk for the majority of their school-age career.

My partner and I discussed this prospect at the dinner table. Would she miss her comfort zone? She’s shy, will she blossom with more kids around her, or retreat? But what about the upside… like being able to discern a hemlock from a cedar and being able to make tea from Spruce tips? We soon realized that the good far outweighed the bad.

Then came the realization about the schedule. The program ends at 2:30 in the afternoon; a whole 2 hours before the traditional 9-5 is finished. For two working-class parents, that means some sacrifice on our end—the type of sacrifice that will limit our job prospects and career growth. So then the conversation shifted away from our daughter and to us, as parents: who will be able to cut their afternoons short to pick her up? Can we fit an 8-hour workday into 6? Maybe one of us handles the dropoffs and the other handles pickups. It was quickly becoming more complicated than a simple decision.

The idea that I might have to choose between my child getting the type of early education I always wanted and the pressure to conform to a societal norm of a predetermined workweek was enough to get both of us to pause and reconsider our options. That’s when the realization came that our decision had less to do with where we were enrolling our kid and more about whether we as parents can accommodate our own schedules to provide the space for her to gain a deep relationship with nature early on.

As a surfer, I spent many years chasing swells in California, Mexico, and Hawaii. I also snowboard and a 30cm powder day is the pinnacle of experience there. Both sports rely on nature to call the shots for the conditions, and separate the memorable from ordinary days. The ocean doesn’t care what a Tuesday is. Snowstorms don’t wait for the weekend. Nature, as we all know, follows a rhythm, not a schedule. So why do we humans try to live our lives by a consistent cadence when that’s not how nature operates? The answer is pretty simple: Efficiency and predictability.

It’s worth noting that the idea of a 40-hour and 5-day workweek did not come without bloodshed. A century ago there were many instances where people rose up against employers who treated their workers with utter disregard for their humanity. People fought and died for the constraints we have now, such as an 8-hour day and not using children on the factory line. A few decades later, Henry Ford was famously known for instituting the two-day weekend at his company because he knew that well-rested employees would make better consumers, ultimately being able to purchase the cars they built.

And build, they did. In my home we have one main artery that connects the region, the Sea to Sky highway. As a popular weekend getaway spot, it has become a major point of congestion every Sunday afternoon as the cavalcade returns to the city to start another workweek. For roughly three months of summer, the Sunday crawl is a fact of life, one that I’ve mistakenly succumbed to as I’ve yet to adjust to the massive increase in traffic over the last decade. And every time I sit there, idling, braking, pausing, and wishing I wasn’t there, I tell myself I’ll avoid the Sunday crawl. But fate will ultimately put me back there with Monday morning’s obligations.

And yet, despite the same thing occurring every week, thousands of people repeat the same mistake for the sole reason that they must return to their work schedule, just like everyone else. I find it fascinating that we have built new systems and technologies and many people’s jobs do not rely on physical presence, yet we all subscribe to the same schedule. That same highway traffic is absent most of the week, so why must we all work the same days? The answer is efficiency, of course—it’s easier to get a response to a phone call or email if the recipient is also working. But when the majority of people are all working the same days, they are also recreating the same two days, causing bottlenecks on the highways, campgrounds, grocery stores, and parks.

For over a century, the M-F, 9-5 schedule has gone largely unchecked. We saw a rupture during Covid which proved that physical presence in the office was largely unnecessary. Still, return-to-work mandates are increasing—less for the worker’s benefit, and more to preserve commercial real estate investments.

But to gain control over our time and schedule? That is still a dream collectively unanswered. It would take a major shift in our thinking; one that in my opinion is vital for our health. The idea of working in exchange for a set amount of hours would have to give way for paying for performance and less reliance on real-time response.

Clearly, certain industries still require physical presence, but it's the set schedule I'm challenging, not the work itself. So much of what we do now happens through a screen, on our own time, answered when we get to it. The collaboration still happens; it just doesn't require all of us to be at our desks in congruent hours of the day. Teams work across time zones now, so why does the block have to be the exact same hours that might not work for a parent or a night owl? The schedule has outlived the reason it was built.

And as AI makes us faster, the danger is obvious: the hours we save get quietly handed back as more work, unless we're paid for what we produce rather than how long we sit there.

We have to show them the path, but only if we can actually be there be there lighting the way. The reality is that our kids will spend more time in the day away from us than with us. Picking them up two hours earlier every day (leading to a whole 40 hours every month) may actually be a massive win in the long run.

We made the call to put our kid in the program. Life is too short and childhood even shorter to play by some arbitrary rules that stifle one’s ability to connect to nature. As parents, we will figure it out. And maybe it will help us gain more agency over our own schedules, knowing that our child is creating leaf rubbings, mud sculptures, and building forts out of cedar boughs.

If our goal as humans is to leave the world better than we found it, then giving our society more rhythm and less structure could be the key. The 2:30 pickups are the path less traveled, but anyone who has spent time in nature knows that the less-trodden paths are usually the ones that lead to the best stories.

It’s a privilege to have the choice on what to do with your time; one that I’m fully aware most people don’t have. Yet without calling it out and owning our complacency, there is no hope for change. And maybe if we get enough kids learning how to pee outside before they learn the names of dead explorers, we will have a generation bold enough to instigate a cultural change.

Rivers, like life, have a start and an end; starting small in in infancy and meandering throughout mountains and valleys of tribulation, accumulating more as it moves further along. Eventually, it drifts out to sea, changing its state to become something entirely new.

When I speak about life here, I don’t mean our individual lives here on Earth at this moment in time. I’m referring to all life, or the life force that we are all a part of, whether we like it or not. This includes all humanity, all living things, and even the planet itself, if you really want to zoom out.

As individuals, we all face a three unique choices in our own lives: Ride with the current, fight against it, or stand on the banks and watch it move by.

Most of us spend our lives trying to outsmart the water. This is a guide for those of us ready to admit that our life isn’t the river after all, but we can be a part of it if we choose to.

Understanding the Twelve Steps

Many people think of addiction recovery when they hear of the twelve steps. It’s true that yes, the twelve steps have helped millions overcome addictive behaviours by going to meetings and working their way through the steps. But substance addiction is only one aspect of the human experience that a twelve step program can address.

At its heart, the recovery process is a realignment to the forces of the universe. Some people call this “God”, which can put other people off. Others may simply call it “The Universe”, which may sound a bit too woo-wooey for some. The program has settled on “Higher Power” for now, which we can use for the purpose of this discussion, which brings us back to the analogy of the river.

The First Step: Recognizing Our Lack Of Power

Before we can do any of the work, it takes that moment of unplugging from the illusion, much like Neo in The Matrix having the choice between taking the red pill to learn about what’s really going on; or to take the blue pill and be lulled back to sleep. We have to hit a point to say “no more”, that we are powerless to whatever is holding us back.

Yes, for many it’s substance use; but for others it can be a person or pattern of relationships; codependency, self-loathing or doubt, or a need for control. The list goes on. It’s the realization that we have handed over the keys of our life to an external force that is not inline with our true being.

Step 2: Choosing to Navigate

Once you call it out, the next step is simply understanding that we exist in a universe that is so much larger than ourself. It’s not about being smart; it’s about realizing that we aren’t the ones generating the electricity in our lives. We are a single cell in a massive, living organism. As soon as we stop trying to dictate the direction of the flow and realize we are a part of the current, the friction fades.

To understand why Step 2 is so freeing, we have to look at the math of our own insignificance:

• The Human Crowd: We are each one of 8 billion humans currently walking this planet.

• The Global Family: Beyond us, there are roughly 20 quadrillion ants and 130 billion mammals. We generate a single heartbeat within a chorus of the unquantifiable.

• The Mass of Reality: The Earth weighs about 6 x 10^24 kg. For those who can’t comprehend that number, let’s spell it out: 600,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms. The Sun is roughly 333,000 times heavier than that. And our galaxy has over 100 billion stars, many of which are much larger than our Sun.

• The Energy: Every second, the sun produces enough energy to power our entire civilization for 500,000 years.

The Point: The energy that moves the planets, grows the forests, and keeps our hearts beating without us “telling” it to is infinitely more capable than your ego. Many have anthropomorphized this force into “God” just so we can wrap our tiny heads around it, but in reality, it is a vast, ancient energy that still supersedes our limited comprehension.

We still have a choice, though. Just recognizing the higher power is the second step. The third step is about understanding what to do with that knowledge. We’re not zombies at the whim of whatever forces surround us.

The Third Step: Making a Decision

We still have agency. In this life, we have three real choices:

1. The Bank: You can sit on the shore and watch the world whiz by, never getting your hair wet but never actually living.

2. The Resistance: You can try to paddle upstream, exhausting yourself to stay in one place because your ego demands you be in charge of the flow.

3. The Current: You can jump in.

When we realize the sheer scale of the universe, the river becomes the only logical one: Stop trying to be the engine and jump in the damn boat already.

Reclaiming Agency

When we choose the current, we aren't just passengers. We become navigators. You use the infinite energy of the universe to propel you, but you still choose how to steer. You use your free will to align with that power rather than fighting it. And that, perhaps paradoxically, becomes the ultimate freedom.

So that’s the first three steps in a nutshell, at least from this reader’s humble attempt to distill it down to something that makes sense in the day-to-day. Each of these steps could be an in-depth article of their own; and indeed many others have spent plenty of time diving deep into the nuances to help others go through each step.

The rest of the journey is a never-ending process that repeats over time. The more you understand about it, the more you realize that the work is never over. To me it felt daunting at first, but now that I’ve done the process a few times, I know that the more you put into it, the more you get out of it.

So, without weighing too much information down the first time, here’s how I see the rest of the steps as it relates to our everyday lives:

Step 4: The Internal Audit

Writing a searching and fearless moral inventory. This is just a high-level honesty session. We sit down and list the ways your ego has tried to run the show. We look at our fears, our resentments, and where we’ve been selfish. We can’t navigate the territory if you don’t have a map of where our own landmines are buried.

Step 5: Saying it Out Loud

Admitting to a Higher Power, ourselves, and another human the exact nature of our wrongs. Secrets are the heaviest thing a human can carry. By telling another person (a “fellow dummy”) the stuff we’re most embarrassed about, we realize two things: we aren’t uniquely “bad,” and the universe didn’t collapse just because we admitted we’re imperfect.

Step 6 & 7: The Ego Death

Becoming ready to have these defects removed and humbly asking for help. This is the ultimate ego-check. We realize we can’t just “willpower” our way out of being an asshole or being afraid. We acknowledge that our character is shaped by that same massive energy that causes supernovas, and we ask that force to help reshape us into something more useful to the world.

Step 8 & 9: Cleaning Up the Wake

Listing the people we’ve harmed and making direct amends. When we’re fighting the current or trying to be in charge, we tend to knock people over. This is about going back and fixing what we broke. It’s more than an apology, it’s bringing a relationship to a better state than it has existed thus far. It’s clearing the air so we can move forward without looking over the shoulder in regret.

Step 10: The Daily Check-in

Continuing to take personal inventory and admitting when we’re wrong. This is the “maintenance” step. We don’t just clean the house once and expect it to stay that way forever. We keep an eye on our egos every day. If we start acting like a know-it-all or a control freak again, we catch it early and own it.

Step 11: Keeping the Signal Strong

Using prayer and meditation to improve our contact with the Higher Power. If Step 2 was realizing the scale of the universe, Step 11 is staying plugged into it. It’s about listening. It’s quietening our own noise enough to feel the direction of the current.

Step 12: Paying the Tax

Having had a spiritual awakening, we try to carry this message and practice these principles. We’ve realized you aren’t the center of the universe, and ironically, that’s made our lives much better. The “tax” for this peace of mind is helping the next person who is still struggling on the bank or drowning in their own ego. We live these steps not as a chore, but as a way of being, because life is better this way.

We Are All Dummies

The goal isn't to reach the end of the steps and suddenly become a genius who has life figured out. The goal is to stay in the humble state of a student. The 12 steps are just a way to remind us, over and over again, that we are small, we are part of something huge, and it’s okay to just ride the wave.

It’s true that we have unfathomable opportunities and wealth, but at what expense? Some of us have benefitted, myself included. I’m blessed with a knowledge of digital systems and a grasp of media, but it hasn’t been without a cost. As someone with ADHD, the constant barrage of information has not been easy on the nervous system.

A counter to the onslaught of data has been time in nature. Whether on overnight trips in the mountains or 20 minutes in the garden, I’ve found a sense of balance by connecting with the Earth. It’s a skill or discipline that, sadly, isn’t regarded as virtuous these days as other times in history. And perhaps, it’s part of why we are in the predicament we are in.

The Information Assault

Some reading this may ask, “What predicament?”

It’s easy to tunnel into my own thoughts, especially when writing, and forget that in just a few short decades our entire world has been upended by information technology. In many ways it has been a benefit to humanity, but in other ways it has been at a huge cost.

I could go on at length with examples, such as the rise in suicide by adolescent girls, or the rising number of young men who have never asked a girl out on a date. The stats can go further and discuss the increase in cyber-bullying or the latest; the so-called “leader of the free world” threatening to destroy an entire civilization through a social network he created for his own financial gain. They are all symptoms of a newfound ailment, that the impacts of the digital world on humanity are not without consequence.

Of course, there are many benefits, as well. We have the world’s archive of information available at our fingertips. AI is allowing us not only to access archived information, but to add reasoning and computation to output something entirely new. We’re not fully there, yet, and it’s got its own set of problems, but the opportunities are so vast it’s hard to understand. It’s both exciting and intimidating, and we’ve only begun.

But there is a big caveat to the AI revolution, and that is that it’s spearheaded by large corporations intent on churning a profit. That could be disastrous if we allow it to fall into the wrong hands—and the odds are, it already has.

New Strengths

The 21st century has already unearthed some new challenges that humans have never faced before. Misinformation has existed before but not to the scale of deception we see in our daily lives. Social media has allowed us to communicate on a peer-to-peer level, but algorithms control the flow to benefit “engagement”, not the benefit of the end users. Indeed, there is a battle of attention that is ongoing, and though AI and social media have exacerbated it, the battle started long ago.

So what can we do about it?

The good news is that I believe those with an ability to exist off the grid will hold the upper hand. As information becomes more of a currency (and it already has, to many degrees), the ability to exist without it will be a major asset.

We all have the capability, to some respect, but even those living in far-off corners benefit from the convenience of overnight shipping and video conferencing. The real test of fortitude will be how well we can survive with analog means. For if the network were ever to go dark, those who can safely live outside the digital sphere will be the ones not only surviving in nature, but thriving.

There Will Always Be a Network

We humans were never meant to be hermits. We have always relied on community to thrive. What has changed is that our global community has outstretched our capacity for intimate knowledge of one another. Once that happened, we fond it easier to subjugate, categorize, and dehumanize others. It happened long before the digital revolution, but the past few decades has sped up the process of containment into silos and echo chambers.

The result is that it’s harder and harder to turn our backs on the global network. People keep clamoring for a general strike to push back against the global economy that is widening the gap between rich and poor. But how can people do that if our food supply and ability to provide for our families is reliant on this network?

Finding the answer to that might be the most pressing question of our time.

I’m not one to pretend to know all the answers, but i know that we need to start finding them. Continuing on the current trajectory will only lead to more reliance on a system that separates us.

So how do we achieve those means?

It starts by disconnecting. I’ve started to do it, and it feels good. Try out phone-free Fridays, or any day of the week that best suits you. A weekday is good to have an intention to slow down while the rest of the world noisily whizzes by. It’s a great exercise that may just turn into a habit.

We also need more intentional time in our local communities. Whether that’s in a neighbourhood, or in a club of shared interests, the goal is to connect amongst a common thread that isn’t algorithmic. We used to do this often, and somewhere along the way, it was lost.

Economies need to diverge from simply monetary transactions. A resurgence of the barter system will help us understand our skills and gifts much more easily than quantifying it on a global marketplace. Some of us have valuable skills that are hidden from our neighbours simply because it isn’t marketable. That needs to change.

Hopefully we can all implement some incremental shifts toward a more analog lifestyle. By doing this, we may be able to connect to the digital network more intentionally, but not out of necessity. The grid should serve humanity, not the other way around.

The pendulum will always keep swinging, but now we need it to swing back toward more human contact, intentional skill sharing, and filling our space with other people. We will be able to eventually find balance, and in doing so, can move forward with a better intention for how we fit into the bigger picture of life on Earth.

Earlier this week we saw the capture of Maduro from Venezuela, with Donald Trump showing no disguise of his motives to install a loyalist regime and allow US oil companies to return to the country to control their vast reserves. We’ve been watching the rhetoric for a while but it’s finally coming to fruition.

Then, just the other day, the world witnessed an ICE agent shoot and kill an unarmed woman in a car as she tried to flee. We also watched the Trump administration’s usual suspects defend the officer’s action and try to re-write the narrative that had been recorded for people to judge with their own eyes.

“It is a horrible thing to watch. The woman screaming was, obviously, a professional agitator, and the woman driving the car was very disorderly, obstructing and resisting, who then violently, willfully, and viciously ran over the ICE Officer, who seems to have shot her in self-defense,” Trump said.

Local officials including Minnesota governor Walz and Minneapolis mayor Frey contrasted what Trump and his administration said almost immediately, referencing the video evidence and eyewitness testimony to rebuke the federal administration’s claims that Renee Nicole Good was a “radical leftist" who was acting violently and threatened the officer’s life with her car.

There are plenty of opinion pieces—both here on Substack and abounding around the web—to discuss the nuances of this case. I’m not here to dive into those details. My goal at this point is to call out this week as a major pivotal moment in the revolution. It’s a moment where we can resign to the fact that the leadership in the US has drifted far off the course of responsibility in arming the people with truth.

The Gravity of the Situation

This moment is a crucial turning point in Western society. For in it, we are witnessing:

• State power contradicting visible reality

• Language by officials being used to dissolve accountability

• Resource extraction being normalized as inevitability

• Media demonstrating weakness by suggesting complexity and nuance to black-and-white moral and legal issues

And the week isn’t even over yet. But this has been coming for a long time. Every pivotal moment, though, needs a catalyst, and those of us with anxiety beginning to boil over need to get better organized, or become relegated to the peasantry of a feudal order hellbent on consolidating more power.

Is This Fascism?

The argument for the rise of fascism has been simmering for quite some time, long before Donald Trump came to power, in fact. Frank Zappa warned of the US devolving into a “Fascist Theocracy” back in the 80’s. It’s been a slow boil, and like the proverbial frog in the pot, people may be too slow to notice the change until it’s too late.

Fascism is not an aesthetic or a slogan. It is a governing pattern defined by centralization of power, criminalization of dissent, dehumanization, and the normalization of state violence.

But the past week has truly showcased some of the telltale signs of a fascist state. We have witnessed a mass centralization of power, and the US isolating itself by backing out of 66 international groups. Dissent has now been criminalized; with Homeland Security secretary Kristi Noem characterizing Renee Good as a “Domestic Terrorist”. The state has also perpetuated their dehuminization of immigrants, with Trump referring to the Somalis in Minneapolis (the impetus for increased ICE presence) as “garbage”.

This is all nothing new, and unfortunately many of us were not born the last time it came around. The fact that many of those who fought to defend the West from a fascist takeover are aging out of their lifetime is no coincidence.

Western society may have been a victim of its own success, blinded by opulence to dismiss the echoes of fascism knocking on our doorstep. Blind, ignorant, or indifferent, over 70 million votes were cast to open the door with fanfare and merchandise. But even more surprising was the nearly 88 million voters who didn’t even try to stand in the way, neglecting their right to cast a ballot altogether.

That’s right—eligible voters who did not vote formed a larger percentage than those who elected this administration. Perhaps on another timeline the United States were indeed united. They recognized the infighting as a “Divide and Conquer” tactic and pushed back. People put aside differences and ideologies and struck the root of a weed not seen in such abundance since World War II.

Yes, a dream that is far from reality since we can’t change the past. But we sure as hell have a shot at changing the future.

The Revolution Will Not Be Instagrammed

So many people do see the threat on the doorstep, but feel powerless to push back. The unfortunate truth, though, is that many of us are too sedated to take genuine action.

The term “slacktivism” took root in the past decade for the litany of movements that existed purely online.

I grew tired of the people who changed their profile pictures to suit the cause du jour, only to put it back to what it was after a few weeks went by. Hashtags would collate news and people could collectively pat themselves on the back for “spreading awareness”. Yet the movements would fizzle out as corporate consolidation increased its market share over our minds. The same networks we spread the awareness was also spreading misinformation and outright lies in the name of free speech.

Yes, we need to get the message out there. But the message cannot stop when we hit send. We need to live it every day, and increase in the resistance with focused intention.

A revolution can be a daydream; something we post, even multiple times, and eventually move on from. Or it can be a heartbeat: felt daily, sustained by habit, presence, and care.

Calculated and Consistent

The only way we will achieve true revolution is not through some mass protest. The one caveat to that would be a general strike, although people are too desperate to not show up to work for an extended period of time. No, instead we must play the long game, in hopes that the next generation has a fighting chance at something different.

How do we achieve that? By our daily actions and decisions to counteract consumerism and the corporate takeover of our media, food systems, and healthcare.

We need to get local. We have to start getting loud at school board meetings and town halls. We need to elect officials who won’t play nice to lobbyists, and reject the idea that trickle down economics is actually beneficial to the whole.

We must rebuild our economy from the ground up. We have to support worker-owned businesses and companies with labour unions. We have to remove ourselves from exploitative platforms that capitalize on our attention. Not by total removal, but with building alternative platforms that benefit the users, not the owners. In fact, the users (us) should be the owners in a truly democratic network.

We also need to preserve the vestiges of truth and reject the urge to spread rumours and lies by the media and elected officials, and the rise of generative AI. We must speak only what we can verify, and think critically of where information comes from and the motivation behind the source.

We have to end the dehumanizing language that divides us. The sooner we all realize that we share a fragile ecosystem, and that no one country is the chosen people, the sooner we may be on the path to peace. Until we stop looking at other humans as enemies or lesser-thans, we will keep repeating the cycles that got us here in the first place.

Embodying Courage

Standing up to status quo is never easy. But it sure is easier if we work together, much as a drop of water is nothing in comparison to a raging torrent. In fact, studies have shown that we don’t even need a majority and only 3.5% of the population working together is enough to ignite a revolution.

We have to show up when it might be unpopular or uncomfortable to do so. That means forgoing an entire weekend’s worth of recreation to hit the streets. There will likely be discomfort in having conversations we’d rather avoid. It could be a sole dissenting voice in a meeting at work to take a more ethical path. However the method, we all know when our conscience speaks up—and when we ignore it, as well.

It also means standing up for fellow citizens of this planet. Whether it’s Minneapolis, Palestine, or the Indian Reserves reminding us that Apartheid is alive and well in North America, we need to get more active in fighting for justice. When one is oppressed, so is the Human Race. And if one has the right to be free, so do us all.

Replacement Systems

Examples abound for what we need more of. The corporate takeover of our food system is a great first target, and a clear example of how we can fight back using cooperative food networks. We can push back against consumerism by sharing with our neighbours more. Why does each house need a lawn mower? What if our yard tools were more openly shared? What about an open-door policy on childcare if it’s needed? Connecting our islands of individuality will go a long way to turning us from consumers to collaborators.

It would be great if some superior alien race came in and shut down the oppressive systems and liberated the masses, but I’m willing to bet that it won’t happen. We are the ones who will have to take action. It starts with a personal choice to be awake throughout the shift. Will the embodiment of true revolution be a hope, or a lived experience? Many people are living it, and many more catch on each day.

The key will be to connect us all; whether through an open-source network, a weekly gathering in the town square or park, or an afternoon tea with the neighbors to discuss ways and means to achieve it. I’m here if anyone wants to strategize.

Making history is inevitable, but whether or not we are passengers or drivers in the outcome depends on our moment-to-moment efforts to capture our innate power.

Although impossible to confirm, intuition tells me that our fascination with space and time has always been part of the human experience. The ancient objects still standing usually have an astrological connotation, as far as we know.

I wonder though—before our ancestors noticed the rhythm of a solar year, what did they think of the expanding night? Was there fear of brighter days not returning? How soon could we reliably track the days, months, seasons and years? I’m sure it was much earlier than we could ever postulate using history or archaeology. At some point ancients discovered a pattern and an ability to chart time. Some cultures such as the Vedic astrologers were able to do so on a galactic scale over tens of thousands of years.

Cultures the world over also mark the winter solstice in their own ways. The yule log burns in Scandinavia. Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus who proclaimed himself as “the way, the truth, and the light.” Followers marked his birthday as December 25, which coincidentally also lined up with the Roman god Sol Invictus (the unconquered sun). Other cultures from the Persians with Yalda night, to the Hopi with Soyal in present-day Arizona mark the return of the light as a key event in their society’s traditions.

In many ways we have regressed in our perception of time. It could be a signal to the woes of present-day human society. Culturally we plan in a time frame that wouldn’t even register as a heartbeat in the life of our planet. Communities may plan for the next 20 years of development if they are smart. But often the time frame is closer to an election cycle. Corporations can hardly look past the current quarter or fiscal year. Speaking from experience, it’s often hard to live more than day-to-day just keeping up with the demands of 21st century society.

Regardless of how we measure time, we have to recognize the geometry of it—which is like cycles or waveforms. Days, months, years are all based on a revolution of a body in space—either around itself like our planet in a day, or around another body such as moon phases or a solar year.

But here’s the part many overlook: when a cycle repeats itself (defined as a revolution), we never actually return to the point of origin. Instead, as we move through time, we also move through space.

Take a solar year, for example. As our planet begins a new cycle marked by the solstice and return to brighter days, we are not in fact returning to the same point in space as the previous year. Rather, the sun has moved 606 million km throughout the galaxy. Furthermore, our galaxy itself moves with our ever-expanding universe at a rate of 17-29 billion km. So although we can predict a revolution of the sun, we are not circling it. We are moving forward with it (and all the other bodies in our solar system) in a moving helix.

So here we are, moving through both time and space with the ability to mark a revolution despite no fixed address. This is significant because it demonstrates the consistencies of nature no matter the scale of measurement. The most significant of all is reclaiming the definition of the word revolution to a measure of nature.

Perhaps it was intentional by the powers that be, but over the past century revolution became somewhat of a dirty word. Images of Guerillas in the jungle or tear gas in city streets are generally more common descriptors of the word than a cycle in time and space. But the important concept to realign is that a revolution is not only natural, it’s universal in how we measure time.

This is getting a bit long-winded but the point is that Winter Solstice marks a revolution. It has long been celebrated as the return of light and the metaphor does not go unnoticed. But if we can expand the seasonal cycles of a year to relate to a larger, generational time scale we might be able to recognize the changes without feeling despair in the darkness.

Growth has been the M.O. for close to seven generations since the dawn of the industrial revolution. But just like in nature, if we were to have an endless spring the growth would become too much for our ecosystem to bear. So instead we hit a high point at the summer solstice, and life more or less sustains a constant tone until the autumn winds usher in a change. My hope is that our culture shifts from a mindset of growth and consumption at all costs to one of sustainability. And just like the seasons have a delay in reaction to the astrology, we might already be in it without realizing.

Or perhaps we are indeed in the darkest days before the light returns. That itself isn’t a hard argument to make. We all feel it and the more I speak with others I know it’s a silent observation of an overwhelming majority—we live in a time where it’s hard to notice the light. I need not rattle off examples but only the most delusional of us could pretend that we live in a healthy society in this day and age. And yes it all comes back to our inability to transition from endless growth to a sustained pitch.

So where does the current predicament leave us as a society? Just like the ancient traditions, we have to embrace the darkness knowing the light will come. And even when the light comes, it may not see outward results for some time. Winter has just begun. Those of us in the northern hemisphere still have a few months of cold before we see the buds and shoots of spring welcoming new life. The days will get brighter but the systems around us won’t produce—just yet, at least.

But the signs of revolution are imminent. Cooperatives of all shapes and sizes continue to gain traction, rejecting the 20th century norms of transactional relationships and concentrated wealth. Regenerative farming values the health of the and the land and people above the idea of gaining the most profit at the lowest cost. Examples of change are in the multitude, but it may not be a visible majority for quite some time yet.

For now, it is important to accept the time we are in, and never fail to remember that time always marches forward. No two cycles are identical. The cycle of our society may not change in our lifetime, but that doesn’t mean we can’t lay the groundwork and plant the seeds for the next generation to take over. Indeed, the biggest revolutions are on a far greater timescale than our incredibly short lifetimes.

So, happy solstice. Brighter days are now upon us. We won’t be planting seeds just yet, and harvesting the fruits of those seeds will take a lot of work in between. Nature’s powerful forces will make it happen. It’s a time of rest and reflection, which will ultimately lead to more energy when it’s time to plant seeds and then labour with a harvest in mind. Patience and presence, like always, will be our best allies in this process, whether it takes a year or several generations to come.

And there is no question that we, collectively, are living inside a society that has drifted dangerously off-course. The evidence is everywhere. Inequality is rising back to the days of the robber barons. Loneliness rises, even in crowded cities. Chronic illness has become commonplace. Trust in institutions continually dissolves, yet people shrug and accept it as if powerless to change them. Sociologists like Robert Putnam warned us decades ago in Bowling Alone that social cohesion was eroding, and the psychological cost of that erosion is now obvious. A sad personal anecdote backing that claim is that I’ve lost count of young men I’ve personally known who have taken their own lives.

Even those who sit atop the economic pyramid often feel hollowed out by their own success. A culture built on accumulation without introspection inevitably produces spiritual malnutrition.

Releasing the Blame

This didn’t emerge out of nowhere. My parents’ generation (Baby Boomers) inherited a world forged in the psychic furnace of war, scarcity, colonialism, and industrial acceleration. Their survival strategies became cultural strategies. Individualism, competition, emotional stoicism, relentless work became measures of worth. Gabor Maté has been arguing for decades that unresolved trauma becomes embedded in culture itself; a wounded society produces wounded norms. Boomers were both inheritors and beneficiaries. They were raised in a world that demanded toughness, and then rewarded for never questioning it.

Yet by the time we Millennials came of age, the system’s weaknesses had become impossible to ignore. Income inequality surged, chronic diseases spiked, anxiety and depression rates climbed across every demographic. The WHO called modern stress a “global epidemic.” Wilkinson and Pickett’s work in The Spirit Level revealed a startling truth: societies with greater inequality suffer higher levels of everything from obesity to mental illness to social distrust. The society we have inherited can be considered wounded by a system that favors winning at all costs. But those costs continually get kicked further downward in time. And beneath the surface, the same unexamined patterns that shaped previous generations are quietly repeating themselves.

Our generation could not pretend the system was working because it wasn’t. So we did something remarkable: we turned inward.

The Millennial Shift

Unlike our parents, many of us had no illusions that “toughing it out” would fix anything. We sought therapy. We learned the language of trauma. We questioned the scripts we were handed. Jean Twenge’s recent research in Generations shows that Millennials are the first demographic to normalize mental health care at scale, to rethink parenting through attachment and emotional safety, and to reject the grind culture our parents took for granted. We began setting boundaries. We stopped believing that exhaustion was a virtue. Many of us became the first in our family line to break cycles of silence, shame, perfectionism, addiction, or emotional absence.

These traits were often categorized as weakness by the media and our elders. However, when you zoom out and think about it more deeply, it is adaptation. Societies reach inflection points where survival requires a transformation of consciousness. We entered adulthood at precisely this pivotal moment in history.

Millennials are often mocked for being “soft,” but softness is not fragility. It is sensitivity, and sensitivity is attunement. It is evolution’s emergency broadcast system. We felt the pain of a system at its limit; and instead of numbing it, we listened. We realized that if we wanted to raise children who weren’t haunted by the same ghosts that we had to confront the ghosts directly. As trauma researcher Mark Wolynn wrote in It Didn’t Start With You, breaking generational patterns requires someone…anyone…to become conscious enough to interrupt them.

And that is exactly what we are doing. We are redefining work around meaning instead of martyrdom. We are turning toward community, sustainable living, emotional literacy, and responsibility—not out of idealism, but out of necessity. We are rejecting the worldview that growth must be endless and that self-worth must be earned through suffering. We are building a culture that values wholeness over hardness.

Here is the part that gives me real, grounded hope: it only takes one healed generation to break a lineage of trauma.

How We Can Turn It Around

Bessel van der Kolk’s research demonstrates that the brain and nervous system change dramatically when a child grows up in an environment of attunement and safety. Secure attachment literally rewires the next generation toward resilience, empathy, and stability. Healing is more than a change of personality, but an actual change of biology. Neuroplasticity is real; and continued research has only crystallized what many of us have intuitively arrived at.

This is how civilizations evolve: through individuals choosing to become better ancestors. When families change, the communities surrounding them follow. When communities change, systems inevitably change as a result. Ken Wilber, whose integral theory maps human development across centuries, argues that cultural evolution always begins with consciousness expanding at the edges before it reshapes the center.

And we are living in that expansion now.

For all the noise, division, and global anxiety, I feel more hopeful today than I ever have. Not because the world is easy, but because our generation is finally doing the work that previous generations could not or would not do. We are refusing to pass on the wounds we received. We are reinventing childhood from the ground up. We are building new forms of connection, new narratives of worth, new ways of being human that do not rely on dominance, fear, or emotional starvation.

Grounded Hope

This is what pragmatic hope looks like:

• Homes where children are heard, not dismissed

• Communities that prioritize belonging over competition

• Work that values humanity over output

• Policies designed around dignity

• Parenting rooted in emotional safety

• A culture that treats vulnerability as strength

• Healing that is collective, not private

This is not some distant fantasy. This is already happening.

We are collectively resetting our bearings in a storm at sea. If we continue this work, then our children will inherit a world different from the one we entered. Maybe even a world where humanity itself feels more whole.

We stand at the turning, and this time, we are turning with intent.

Hope is not naïve.
Hope is responsibility.
Hope is evolutionary behaviour.
Hope is the decision to stop the wound from becoming the story.

And now it’s our turn.

Cover image: “The Tree of Life” by Gustav Klimt (1905)

One of the most groundbreaking films of all time (in my humble opinion) is The Matrix. Watching it in the cinema for the first time was an experience that many (myself included) recall in admiration. The film took audiences on a mythical, SFX-laden ride through the concepts of society, technology, and even humanity.

One scene in particular stands out now, 26 years later, as I look at everything that has transpired since then. Agent Smith explains to Morpheus how they chose 1999 as the time period of the simulation for the imprisoned humans, as that was “the peak of your civilization”.

He goes on to say, “I say the peak of your civilization, because as soon as we did the thinking for you, it became our civilization,” meaning the machines.

Who knew how prophetic it would actually become? Knowing what we know now, it’s hard to not see The Matrix as something of a warning signal to humanity: be careful on where technology may lead you; as it has the power to imprison us all.

While this particular musing isn’t entirely about the pitfalls of technology, it’s a key player in the scene. I’m not immune to the irony of using a laptop connected to the internet to share my thoughts. But the soapbox in the town square has been cast aside for generations, and just like Neo et. al. in The Matrix, sometimes you have to enter the battlefield to defeat the enemy.

But what even is the enemy of our time? It’s easy to put a mark on political and corporate leaders who sell out our children’s future for power and profit. In many ways, they are no different than the machines requiring their human “crops” to power their environment. Without the people, they have no power. The challenge lies in untethering those who do not know their world is a facade.

Riding The Downslope

Some could say that 9/11 was the big inflection point. Until then, the Western world lived in relative comfort: conflict occurred around the world, but to Westerners, it was only on the TV or in the memory banks of those who fought/protested in previous generations. For the most part, life was comfortable; until it wasn’t.

At the time, I also would have considered the massacre at Columbine High School a turning point in society; when people began to realize that even at school, children aren’t safe. I was a sophomore then and knew two people who were there that day. The tragedy hit home more than 9/11 due to the personal connection. But looking back in retrospect, not much has changed since then, so the argument for any sort of societal turning point has faded over time.

Now, in hindsight, I see the lead-up to the Iraq war as a major shift in culture. It could be partly due to having studied communication at USC in the leadup. Most notable of the curriculum was a course co-led by LA Times Editor Bob Scheer called “Media and Society”. It helped me see just how influential media is in modern discourse, contrary to its original intent.

That course helped me look at what was happening more objectively; and seeing the utter lack of objectivity in the rhetoric coming out of the political class. “Weapons of Mass Destruction? If you say so, but show us the evidence!” That was, of course, what should have been said by anyone who called themselves a journalist. Instead, the official narrative cascaded down to every outlet with very little pushback.

Now, over 20 years later, we know that the Weapons of Mass Destruction argument was a complete lie. I had known it from the outset; but unfortunately intuition without a platform is as good as a fart in the wind for effecting change. But it helped me to treat every news headline with healthy skepticism, something that unfortunately is not mandatory learning for every citizen.

Our Present Predicament

Fast forward to the waning months of 2025 and we have reports saying that over 70% of content shared on social media has been generated or modified by AI. In the same report, studies found that over 80% of recommendations for new content come from AI algorithms.

In other words…the machines are winning the war for our minds. And it didn’t come by force, we allowed it to happen. “We” being all of us, considering we supposedly live in a democratic society, but really the efforts are happening behind closed doors. One only needs to look at a recent White House dinner to connect the dots. American tech leaders spent over 20 minutes praising President Trump (and themselves) on the successes of American “Innovation”.

That last word has unfortunately been usurped to become synonymous with growth, no matter the cost. Sure, AI and tech are producing novel results, but the cost has been people’s mental health, and even young people’s safety. So while it’s not the machines at the helm they are the engine of the train that is seemingly only speeding up and not letting anything stop it, lest we organize.

The actor Joseph Gordon-Leavitt recently posted a rebuttal to this recent trend of praising Tech with no expense spared, it’s worth a full listen:

If that isn’t dystopian, I sure as hell don’t know what is. As a father, it scares the living hell out of me and makes me want to sign up for the war on this toxic culture of growth at all costs. In many ways that’s what this Substack is all about; and slowly, piece by piece, it’s getting more clear.

So from that point in 2003 when George W. Bush got onto the air and successfully convinced the public that invading Iraq was in their best interests, we have seen a rapid degradation in how we humans share information. Some see it as a triumph; and platforms like this can be the shining light emanating from a flaming pile of garbage. But the light will fizzle out; and we will still be left with the remnants.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Immeasurable action will be necessary to steer the ship of civilization back on a course not at the behest of large capital and power-hungry madmen. It won’t happen overnight, and it won’t happen in isolation.

The best thing we can do now is prepare. Inject discipline into our daily routines. Begin to reject the urge to pick up the phone out of boredom. Rekindle acts of kindness as habit. Read books from the ancients, as well as contemporary rebels to ignite the fire of purpose.

It feels like a large mountain to climb, but my goal is to keep showing up, keep being vocal, and hope that one by one, we each reject the power of big tech and the algorithms designed to keep us in a state of anxiety and stress. It’s not the sole culprit of our present-day woes but it’s a major player, and the one that we can most easily turn around, if we have the collective will.

So I challenge you today to stop scrolling, and start creating. Even if it’s just a reduction from one day to the next. Put down the phone and pick up the pen. It’s not the solution, but it’s a step on the path that will get us there.

It’s preposterous that writing a letter by hand or planting a seed in the garden can be considered an act of rebellion, but there is a lot that is mystifying about our present time. Small as they seem, these acts remind us we’re not powerless. Each letter, seed, or conversation is part of a quiet resistance already taking shape around the world.

We still have a 3/4 of the 21st century left. I hope we’ve reached the low point of culture, for my kids and everyone to come after us. But we will only get to the upslope with each of us making that effort to reject the trends that got us here in the first place.

I can opine but I can’t really understand motherhood, and I’d probably get shot or die of confusion if I tried. So I’ll just say that love truly makes the world go round. From what I gather, mothers seem to have a bottomless supply of it; much to both their benefit and detriment.

Instead I’ll write about what I know, and what I can provide to others in sincere hopes of resonance. The journey of fatherhood is one of transformation at its heart, and I’ve begun to understand what it takes, so far. Three years, two children, thousands of diapers, and infinite love later has given me some perspective. The following is by no means exhausting but it should be enough for some morsels of thought.

So, here we go.

Impermanence

This is by far the strongest lesson that my children delivered to me. Buddhists know this and we all see it in our day to day, but how many truly appreciate it? Most of us are resistant to change—myself included. When life is going well it’s hard to comprehend the fact that it won’t last forever.

I just finished a big reorganization of all our stuff, and now have a big section of the garage full of baby gear that we’re ready to give to others. Some of it hasn’t been touched for nearly a year since our son could begin to move beyond the cushion we’d park him in and the mobile toys that’d entertain him.

Every item cast to the garage is another log in the river building a dam. The water flowing is our perception of our children. It’s as if holding onto the stuff they no longer need will preserve that period of time. But sooner or later the dam will give way, and you’ll realize that the river never stopped flowing.

The Juggernaut of Consumerism

Since before my kids were born, people started recommending helpful items that will make our lives easier. Bottle sanitizers, deluxe strollers with cup holders, specialty diaper bins, and countless others became must-haves for raising our baby. Thus began the accumulation, and more logs to dam up the river.

And then came the gifts. Not only when our children were born (although the second one notably got fewer newborn gifts), but every Christmas, Easter, and new visit who hadn’t yet seen “the baby”.

We even began to politely request that people not give toys for presents anymore due to the overwhelm. People didn’t listen. I know that our society conditions us to be thankful, but when we see the overabundance of plastic that wreaks havoc on our ecosystem it’s difficult to add more to the pile.

We live in a society that takes profits off of vulnerability. New parents and their loved ones are easily among the most vulnerable to suggestion, especially when a product promises to make their lives easier. While a certain item may add convenience, in the end it’s just more stuff.

I remember being in Africa and seeing children in poverty with the go-to toy over there: a wheel and a stick. They would emit gargantuan smiles when they got it rolling, chasing it down the dirt path with not a care in the world. I don’t pretend to understand the full weight of those circumstances, but it stuck with me as a clear sign of the failures of consumer culture. Convenience does not equal happiness.

But how do you stop the endless barrage of toys, trinkets, and gadgets? It seems as though there is no escape, at least in the west. While we should feel grateful that people want to spend money on our children, I long for them to spend time with them. Presence is such a more powerful gift than presents, however in much shorter supply.

The Evaporation of Free Time

Every new parent is probably guilty of watching other parents disappear into the void and exclaim with arrogance that they will be different. I am certainly guilty. It’s easy to underestimate just how demanding caring for another life (or two) really can be.

But as I quickly learned, the all-encompassing obligations of caregiving mean that any time not spent keeping the children alive are spent catching up on housework or resting.

Take today for instance: both kids are in daycare for the first time ever while I have a day off. The to-do list far exceeds my capacity to get anything done and instead I’ve spent the majority of the day with my eyes shut. However, I don’t feel unproductive. In fact I feel that the rest is the most productive thing I can do.

It’s easy to long for days when I could accomplish a host of chores before lunchtime and have the afternoon to relax. Early on I’d try to do what I could, when I could, only to feel overwhelmed and burned out. Now I have accepted this season as being one of lowered expectations and productivity in personal projects while my main focus goes to ensuring a happy and healthy childhood.

Everything is always a choice. I’m hopeful that this choice to spend as much time as possible with my kids while they are young will result in them having more confidence to be their true selves.

Having kids isn’t just about adding someone new to your schedule; rather, your entire life transforms to welcome them in. Non-parents find this hard to understand. Even as a new parent I fell into the trap of trying to do it all. It was only when I embraced my own life’s metamorphosis could I really appreciate the change rather than bemoaning what once was.

Just as the river of time beats forward, through its power it eventually carves new pathways through the canyon. So the free time hasn’t disappeared per se, but rather has found a new channel that never existed before.

Presence Over Perfection

My kids are wonderful teachers, and the greatest lesson of all is true presence. It’s a hard thing in this day and age now that large and powerful companies have decoded ways to capture your attention for monetary gain. But the less I’m on my phone and fully engaged in their world, the more fun we all have.

I try not to judge others, but when I see a child playing on their own while the parent scrolls their phone, my heart breaks a little. I’m not excluding myself here and I’ve felt the guilt and try to let that feeling stop me when I reach into my pocket. We have outsourced our waking lives to devices and are subconsciously teaching our children that they don’t matter as much as what’s happening in there.

Even when it’s productive work that’s happening, the kid doesn’t know any difference and we are teaching them that they aren’t as interesting as whatever we are staring at, or whomever we are talking to. I heard a quote once that really struck me:

It can be exhausting to be fully engaged with my kids, and I often do want a distraction. As soon as I embrace the childlike play, though, the kids come alive more. Consciously or unconsciously, I do as well. There’s real depth to the games we play.

Some of those games probably seem silly or even ridiculous to an outsider. But they have soul and that can’t be found online, no matter how good it looks. Sometimes it’s simply keeping a balloon in the air as long as possible. Other times it’s reading the same book five times in a row. Whatever it is, the ability to jump into their world is both exhausting and exhilarating; and one day in the near future it will be gone forever.

You’re Not Responsible For Your Kid’s Happiness

Very early in life, children/babies learn the power of their cry. Mothers are hard wired to respond to it. It’s an important evolutionary skill that has carried over from humanity’s hunter-gatherer phase. But even that instinct can quickly evolve into a tool that kids use.

I hate using the word “manipulate” when thinking of an innocent child. However it’s important to call a spade a spade, as it’s human nature to try and stack the deck to one’s own benefit absent of enlightenment.

If I were to bend to my kid’s will every time they cried, we would only eat sweets while watching cartoons and never leave the house, and only use the yellow cup. This may be an exaggeration but they are all reasons for my kids to cry at this point. As much as it hurts to hear them in agony, nuance also matters. So I’m not saying it’s good to be numb to their wailing, but it’s very important to know the reason why they are crying.

It was a bit easier when they were babies because a cry usually meant something was wrong: feed me, change me, hold me were often what they communicated. But as they develop, they do learn how to turn the tide in their favour through their actions.

It goes without saying that you are responsible for not inflicting trauma on them. But as we all know, nobody can escape childhood without at least a little trauma—though its forms shift with each generation.

As a parent, it’s my job to look at the bigger picture, and endure the screams, tantrums, and tears to help them break through their limitations, however disruptive it may be to the nervous system. I do need to stay in check, and always be listening for the why, but also hold steadfast in my own why for ignoring it. It’s not easy, but a necessary part of the job description.

The Evolution of Partnership

Just as my role as a parent is evolving, so is my relationship to my partner. Our kids were conceived through the physical manifestation of love. Now with the evaporation of any free time, so has our ability to connect one-on-one in the ways we used to. Long gone are dates without a deadline or spontaneous escapes that kept our relationship fresh. In its place are communications about garbage day and who is picking up the dinner.

Unfortunately with the stress of raising two small children, romance seems to be one of the first casualties. There seems to be only so much energy in the day and logistics for keeping the household running have taken precedence, for now. We still love and appreciate each other but even if we say it, the practice of doing it has changed. It’s even harder with a lack of sleep and sanity from a busy day working and caring for the kids.

I know that this phase will be gone too, and the key to survival is a bit of grace. Sometimes it can feel difficult when sleep deprivation has us on edge. But the challenge is to find new ways to show that appreciation so that we set good examples of love to our kids.

Now our dates can be a five-minute massage or a thirty second hug before getting distracted with another demand from our kids. The stress has us on shorter fuses and often we need to remind ourselves that we are on the same team. But at the end of the day, when all is said and done, we have comfort in knowing that we have each other’s backs.

A Second Childhood

I learn new things about life every day by looking through my kids’ eyes. The first snowfall of winter, the first time looking for crabs under a rock, and the first ladybug crawling on my hand all become monumental chapters of their world. Looking at life through their lens truly does give the world a new sense of beauty and wonder.

It’s also an opportunity to do things differently than the way we were raised. A big part of becoming an adult is shedding the parts of your parents you don’t wish to pass on to the next generation. The key is finding balance and not to overcompensate, resulting in a child who is entitled, lazy, or myopic to the dangers of the world. It’s no easy task. Being mindful to not swing the pendulum in the other direction is over half the battle.

But the child’s development aside; as parents we grow into a new level of maturity by reverting back to our inner child, as paradoxical as it may sound. We humans are meant to be mesmerized at the beauty of the world, and somewhere along the way it seems some of us lose it. I did, at least. The demands of the 21st century become distractions to our souls.

When we do begin to reignite our inner child’s ability to revel in the mundane, we allow ourselves to experience life in its purest form: joy and wonderment. From there, all of life’s pressures and setbacks begin to seem more trivial.

The Next Phase

As the river of time rushes downstream to the next phase, I have excitement for more depth in my interactions with my kids, longer adventures, and their ability to put on their own clothes and to get in and out of the car by themselves. But we’re not there yet. Sometimes there’s a back eddy where the current stalls for a bit, and you never know when you’ll be back rushing downstream. The best thing you can do at that point is put the paddle in the boat and trust that the current will eventually carry you on.

Gone are the days when strangers would congratulate me on the street while carrying a baby on my chest. If anything, a parent’s patience with a toddler should be congratulated but once the children can move about on their own, they take a different classification. I’ve now accepted the transition but long for the days when people would offer help out of the blue or stop by with a meal and words of understanding.

I know that my own journey as a parent will continue to evolve, and I can’t get stuck at the idea they are going to stay little forever. Part of me will mourn the loss of their innocence, but I’ll be equally proud and excited as they become their own independent selves.

We still have years upon years before my children become adults, and I have much to learn before I usher them out the door. But with presence, appreciation, and an ever-evolving heart, I’ll continue to welcome the gifts of growth that my children bring me every day.

While many of us accept delays and other “ground time” as an accepted fate of flying, one reality of this scenario has been under the radar to most customers (myself included): flight attendants only are paid once the airplane leaves the gate. This means that all the time spent at the airport, boarding the plane, getting off the plane, layovers, delays, etc. are not paid to the people entrusted us to keep passengers safe.

This has been a point of contention for many flight attendants for some time, and for good reason. Somehow the airlines have been able to get away with it, but the good news is that the pushback is beginning to happen. The results will hopefully cascade to not only the rest of the industry, but other women-led industries such as nursing, teaching, and hospitality where unpaid prep and administrative tasks are often without reward.

Air Canada’s Example

Last month in Canada, we saw the tide begin to shift, thanks to the CUPE union workers at Air Canada. After failed negotiations, the union issued a strike notice on August 16 in anticipation of a company lockout.

The focal point of the strike was in fact the lack of ground pay, and the union was willing to go the distance to ensure this policy would shift in their favour.

Negotiations went nowhere, and the strike began early on Saturday, August 16.

In steps the government via jobs minister Patty Hajdu. one day later on August 17, she mandates that the employees return to work, referencing section 107 of the Canada Labour Code.

The union did not budge. Instead, they declared the return-to-work order unconstitutional, with union president Mark Hancock declaring, “If it means folks like me going to jail, then so be it…”

And so, on August 19, after thousands of flights were cancelled (and who knows how much revenue lost), the union and Air Canada reached a tentative agreement that included ground pay. The union declared victory and the airline restarted operations.

Bad Faith Bargaining

In an interview with Bloomberg, Air Canada CEO Micheal Rousseau admitted that they were counting on the government to step in, quite possibly thanks to insider knowledge. The reporter asked him if they made any provisions to ensure their passengers would have an alternate option when the strike occurred. Rousseau’s response said it all: “Well, we thought, obviously, that the section 107 would be enforced”.

This was a telling example of Air Canada’s tactics, and proves they never intended to bargain on good faith. The assumption that the government would step in was always what they expected. What they did not expect, however, was that the workers would hold the line and not back down.

Bravo to the union. they proved that sometimes, defiance is the only route, and that the workers do have more power in solidarity than we are led to believe.

What This All Means

This whole event is proof that when workers get together, they can stand up to the giant corporations.

For years, flight attendants were told they weren’t paid until the door closed. Last month, they slammed that door shut on unpaid labor and initiated a new one of worker power. The flight attendants weren’t asking for anything unreasonable, no matter whether unpaid ground time is industry standard. The fact is that anything before change is the norm, whether or not it is ethical. But when people band together and work as a united force, they can enact real change that will have a ripple effect generations down.

Hopefully other unions take notice, and ground pay ends up being standard. And perhaps other industries are also watching, and seeing that when you stand up to injustice, positive change can occur. We don’t need to just sit down and take the unfair treatment.

My hope is that this will begin a domino effect for better workers rights, something that has been steadily eroding the past few decades. But when people are pushed too far, they rise up, and that’s how we can turn the tide.

It’s no coincidence that flight attendants are mostly women. Like other service-led industries like nursing, teaching, and hospitality, they are often asked to do work outside their paid time, and are often told how vital they are. As women continue to rise up and join forces for more power, it would be great to see them use their collective power to make further strides against exploitation. It seems as though they are recognizing this and making a stand, if Air Canada is an example of a greater trend.

What other examples do you know about? I’d love to hear more stories and help people see that they aren’t alone, that people are starting to rise up and demand better treatment everywhere.

Between it and us stood a calvary of special ops police, determined to clear the roadway for industry to come in and raze some of the last unprotected old-growth forest in British Columbia.

Posted up on a bridge over Granite creek, a group of 20-30 stood in waiting. Two matriarchs of the Pacheedat nation and four settler grandmothers locked themselves to the bridge, awaiting the fate. They did not want to stand by and watch the future of the forests fall into ruin.

I was there documenting the scene, and stood by ready to get in the way as well. But having been out there for the better part of three months, it was my last day there before having to return for a job to pay the piper before rent was due. Fitting, though, that it’s the women and matriarchs from two cultures locking themselves to the bridge in a symbolic gesture of resistance.

Tragically it was also fitting that the two young Indigenous girls were also protecting the older white women from harm’s way, and would be “extracted” first. But that dark irony was lost in the cacophony of helicopters, machinery, and chanting as the front line drew nearer.

The day before, police pepper sprayed a large group of protestors down the road at what became known as HQ for the Fairy Creek Blockade. Within a few hours of breaking up the blockade down below, police moved up the road and into action.

That was four years ago, and unfortunately, despite a ton of lip service and political grandstanding, the laws protecting some of the oldest remaining ecosystems on earth are still vulnerable to eradication.

This is a story that goes beyond environmental protection. It’s modern-day Colonialism and it seems stronger than ever. It’s how certain interests have the right to extract “resources” from our planet for profit in the most efficient manner possible, sold overseas to the bidder who can promise the most volume. It’s like a Costco wholesale for natural resources.

I could go on about the experience, and I undoubtedly will, but for now, please enjoy this recap video I made when I wasn’t digging, hiding, and shuttling gear/food to keep people on the front lines.

I’m happy to answer any further questions about it, and hope that this video sits well with you.

One important fact is that at least two people featured in this video are no longer with us. The first is the young lady who was chained to the log toward the end of the video with the police surrounding her on the overhead shot. She died a year later of a fentanyl overdose. The second, Lady Chainsaw, gave the chilling words of encouragement in the second-to-last shot.

May they both rest in peace and their memories live on.

As a relatively new parent with two kids under the age of three, I still feel pretty new at this job. But the irony of this role as parent is that the earliest years are also the ones where you have to protect your kids from danger the most. Any misstep, object ingested, or even sleeping the wrong way can lead to death. The result is a nearly-constant state of anxiety that I’ve become accustomed to.

For many parents, this overwhelming urge to protect their child from danger can be so strong that we try to eliminate the hazards altogether. But in doing so, we rob our children of the ability to make mistakes and learn for themselves what may be dangerous and why. If that happens, we have failed as parents by not properly equipping our children with the tools to eventually survive on their own.

Lessons From The Job

My approach comes from several decades as a coach and a guide. Most of the time I would tell people what needs to be done, but not necessarily spell out the steps to get there. In my opinion, the best learning and growth comes when people figure it out on their own. Many of my students have thanked me over the years for such an approach; saying that my style is different and suits the development journey far better than “this is how it’s done”.

Without a doubt, this approach initially takes much more time and effort than the alternative. Not only does it require more brainpower, but it also requires more patience. Watching people make mistakes as they happen can be a frustrating exercise.

But eventually the pieces begin to fall into place. The neural pathways get built and the student figures it out. Things begin to “click”. And with a bit of repetition, the lesson will stick with that person as long as they keep watering the grass.

I don’t think I actively made the connection, but somewhere along my journey as a parent I realized that I took this same approach with my kids.

Spotting as a Parent

My daughter, like many other almost-three-year-olds, loves to climb. I guess we are all primates, after all, and her propensity to climb is an easy reminder of that. Early on, as she started to build confidence, I’d want to help her by giving her a boost when she’d grimace in frustration. But I fought the urge to assist. Instead, I simply made sure that any steps she made wouldn’t cause lasting harm.

And then it hit me: I am her spotter.

Once I realized my role, it actually became easier. Instead of trying to eradicate the hazards, I’d just try to evaluate them. I would run through the worst case scenario and try to ensure I was in the way to prevent that from happening. But the big difference is that I also assess the best case scenario and try to make sure the universe in which that happens becomes a reality.

It’s a much different angle to take, and in my opinion, one that yields much better results. We have so many possibilities in front of us at any given moment, and as a parent, it’s easy to default to the bad things. But what if we simply eliminate the bad possibilities while encouraging the good ones?

Spotting in our own lives

Realizing this new strategy, I also began to take a more active role in my own life. The fear of failure has stopped me before even starting many times over the years. But like Susan Jeffers’ book Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway articulates:

Every time you encounter something that forces you to “handle it,” your self-esteem is raised considerably. You learn to trust that you will survive, no matter what happens. And in this way your fears are diminished immeasurably.

When you start to evaluate the worst case scenario in day-to-day life, it’s pretty common to realize that many of one’s fears are overblown. I can only speak for myself, but through many trials and tribulations I’ve realized that my fear of failure came from an honest place, but really was only in my head. Nobody was out there judging my moves except me. And when I started to see “failure” only being a situation in which I didn’t learn a lesson, I saw the odds of actually failing diminish exponentially.

Learning, And Moving On

I challenge any parents out there to think twice about what would happen if their kid fell off the climbing gym. Sure, the worst case scenario might be that they fall and get injured, but that’s only if we aren’t there spotting them. And the more times we can be there spotting them, the more times they will only fall as far as our arms. If they do that enough times, they will eventually get it, and then we won’t have to worry so much about the times we can’t be standing behind them.

There are no doubts that the “climbs” my kids make will inevitably become larger and more complex, as such will the consequences. But hopefully my ability to spot them will also increase over time. And by giving them the space to make mistakes, but not large enough to be catastrophic, the learning curve will accelerate far faster than if I prevented them from trying altogether.

It’s already paying off, and we have to seek bigger playgrounds to scale. Hopefully soon we will be rock climbing, perhaps even before her third birthday. Whatever’s next, I know I’ll be ready to catch her if and when she falls.

I’m only speaking from my culture of upbringing, which can be piled into “The West” for all intents and purposes. Other cultures, such as the Tibetans or Mexicans, seem to be more open to demystifying one of the only certainties we share as humans.

But as someone with what some may call a “zest” for life, I don’t see how we can have a true insight to life without the acceptance of death. And yet for some, it seems, that conversation is uncomfortable at best.

My Own Relationship With Death

I’ve had a few close calls in my relatively short life. The closest, perhaps, was about 20 years ago on a barren stretch of highway in eastern Oregon. It was just after Christmas where I visited my mother, and got up early to make the eight-hour drive back to Canada. Naive to the cold temperatures, I hit cruise control, where the wheels spun out on a bridge that had iced over in the predawn cold.

Before I knew it, the sequence of events occurred in slow-motion. I lost control of my car, turning a 360 at highway speed before coming into contact with the concrete median. Traveling at such a high speed I bounced off the barrier, only to be stopped by a semi truck that T-boned the car.

Had anyone been in the passenger seat, they would surely have been gone. I ended up with only a bruised knee. When I got out, a witness approached me, telling me that the driver of the truck was in shock, thinking he had surely killed someone. To his surprise I was still alive.

Other situations have occurred, mostly due to a miscalculation while chasing a hit of adrenaline. But it’s precisely that edge of risk that keeps me there; finding those high-risk, high-consequence situations to help me perform at my best. I know it’s not for everyone, but for me and many others, it helps me to really seek out true presence by staying alert.

Death Hitting Home

I have had so many others in my life meet an untimely end, whether by accident or their own doing. The accidental deaths have helped me appreciate every day for the gift that it is. One month in particular I lost three friends, all in separate circumstances. They were all young with passions and a bright future ahead. Life can surely be cruel in it’s discernment for who is to stay and whose time is up.

The others who took their own life, I can only mourn in grief, until eventually I became numb to the news of someone else. I may be an outlier, but the number is well over 10 now. Maybe it’s a crisis of this generation, yet the epidemic of suicide is not treated with the same gravity as other causes of death. Yet I still wonder how our society can call itself advanced when so many choose to exit prematurely by their own hand?

Sparking the Conversation

No matter the means we arrive at death, we need to first understand that it’s one of the only shared experiences we all have as humans. The problem is, those who have experienced it can’t share any wisdom from it, for obvious reasons. We don’t know what will happen afterward and yet we all will face the same fate.

But still, it’s a taboo subject. But why? Why can’t we talk about it?

In Being Mortal, Dr. Atul Gawande argues that our medical systems focus so much on survival, they forget the soul. “Medicine’s focus is narrow,” he writes. “It concentrates on repair of health, not sustenance of the soul.” In our final days, story—not statistics—is truly what matters.

So why do we let others define our story’s end? Really, we all have our own story to tell. If it is not in line with our daily actions, then we suffer. And if our story ends up being one worth telling, then our life has magic. When the story fades, so does our impact. Only then, can we see life as tragic.

The good news is that we all have today to share. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, the future is yet to be written. So what can you do today to keep that fire lit? What have you been holding off? Who do you need to speak to in order to make a past wrong right? These are the types of questions we all need to ask.

And when we not only ask those questions, but seek to remedy them, our lives will pulse forward with purpose, with intention, and eventually feel complete. If we meet an untimely end, at least we were enjoying every mile marker. My sincere hope is that we all move forward knowing that although death can’t escape us, there is still plenty of life left for it to have the type of meaning that complements a radical story.

Let’s not let hindsight define our daily lives.

Floating in the Wind

I’m in my tiny 400 square foot apartment in the dead of winter. It’s actually not my apartment, but a friend’s that I’m subletting from while she left to undergo cancer treatment (which succeeded, by the way, and she’s now cancer-free going on 4 years).

All the furniture and decorations were hers and our styles could not have been more different. She was a hairdresser with a penchant for shiny things. I was the quintessential Peter Pan in a ski town: late 30’s, long shaggy hair, and more comfortable in a hoodie than a blazer. It’s the type of style that people would easily dismiss as another slacker until they heard me speak.

This is perhaps most prevalent with the opposite sex. I have more often than not been a wild card in the dating scene. Being the quiet type I was never one to have a ton of what the kids these days call “Rizz,” but I did alright in the dating scene. I had plenty of relationships throughout my 30s that would last anywhere from several weeks to upwards of a year. I enjoyed the somewhat carefree bachelor lifestyle.

Then Covid hit. Like many others, my circle diminished to a few close friends and my family, and my social life vanished.

Singing in Solitude

For most of 2020 I actually didn’t mind the change. I’d spent the majority of the previous five years working all around the continent, filming and producing content for a variety of clients I’d mostly stacked through word of mouth. Life was good.

When the world shut down, I’d switched gears to focus on personal development. I suppose that part of the story isn’t unique—I know many people got their start in the podcasting and education space thanks to everyone and their dog stuck at home and looking for something to do.

One of my main focus points was music. I’ve played guitar for most of my life, but never took it seriously enough to consider myself a master. I still don’t, as a matter of fact, but that year at home sure increased my confidence level. I wrote some melodies and songs, as well as practiced some of my favourites in the rotation on my headphones.

One of those songs was from a band called Caamp, a folk band out of Ohio who I somehow came across somewhere along the journey. Their song So Long, Honey made it onto one of my playlists. Something about the grittiness of the singer’s voice and the simplicity of the chords sparked a curiosity to learn it. The lyrics were an afterthought, but being only a handful of lines in repetition had it in my memory in no time.

As Covid dragged on with a new variant, loneliness began to creep into my soul. I had friends and my love of snowboarding, but a true companion eluded me. As I got older I became more selective with who I wanted to spend my time with. Perhaps that was a testament to me procuring a new identity; one that didn’t rely on constant travel and had begun to finally set roots long enough to have a routine.

That line of lyrics is from the Caamp song above, and it really hit home. It became part of the 30 or so minute set that I’d play to myself nightly while the Omicron wave of Covid cancelled our social life in British Columbia. Maybe I’d been floating on the wind for so long, and I’d finally come down to settle. Yes. And singing it out made the realization all the more real.

But the last part—“I’ll be hanging around.” Although I’m straight and it’s a guy singing it, his words resonated on an emotional level. It hit me as maybe there is a person for me hanging around, waiting for me to come back down to Earth. And incidentally, it wasn’t that much longer that I met her.

Dreamgirl

We matched online, but I swiped on her statement, not her photo. A simple line saying that “It’s always working out” hit my heart in a way that a match never had before. Because at the end of the day, that’s what I felt too. That statement was the first of many connection points that we discussed as we texted back and forth, never having heard each other’s voice yet but connecting on a very deep level through words transmitted through the air.

After we met in person, I put her last name into my phone as “Dreamgirl”. She has a rare beauty that transcends looks and accomplishments. She has a genuine heart, and that is something that is hard to find in a world obsessed with image. From there, life became a blur for about a month. We steadily increased the frequency of our time together. But each time I came in close, she retracted a little before eventually coming back. To me it kind of made sense: the four words that sparked our connection shone light onto a history of pain and heartbreak without ever fully letting go of optimism.

Yet the connection was stronger than anything I had felt in a long time. Conversations were easy. We shared our hopes and dreams for our shifting society to perhaps write a new chapter of possibility when the pandemic finally ended. We embraced and shared extended moments of joy. I was falling in love.

The Shifting Tide

One evening, as we sat in my apartment, I noticed a change in our chemistry. Despite us sharing a lounge chair, I felt her distance. Her normally warm personality felt cold. Not being one to dance around situations, I had to ask about it.

It’s hard to remember what she said, as I (and I’m sure most people) tend to forget the uncomfortable moments of history, opting to remember the ones that lift us up rather than bring us down. But the long and short of it was that she got up to leave, telling me that she couldn’t pursue anything with me. My chest tightened, my heart sank and invisibly splattered onto the floor.

From what I remember, I kept my cards close to my chest. I wanted to cry but I instead remained stoic. Maybe I did tear up and show some emotion but I distinctly felt the need to hold it back. All I do remember is saying “OK, If that’s what you feel, I won’t try to stop you. But I would love to play you a song, first”.

The months of practicing “So Long, Honey” ended up being for that moment. I never recorded me playing the song, and still haven’t. But all the hundreds of times I played it and sung it to myself ended up being a preparation to share it with another soul, one that would reverberate the feelings that I originally felt when hearing it for the first time.

Music has a distinct power to be a translator of emotion. Words on a page can set a scene and share ideas quite well but a song takes you into someone’s soul. I’ve never met Taylor Meier, Caamp’s lead singer, nor have I ever really had a desire to. But the lyrics and melody outlined a perfect scenario in life we all probably face in the journey of love, but perhaps not everyone treats with the same conviction. And at that moment for me, I’d unknowingly been preparing to translate it to this incredible woman ready to walk out the door.

I didn’t beg or demand for her to stay. I didn’t get angry or sad. I had realized that her decision was out of my control, but I could still convey my feelings. And as I played it, our eye contact was unmistakeable. Something sparked in her heart. When I finished playing, I thought it could very well be a goodbye note. Instead our eyes locked, I saw a smile from the corner of the mouth, and she stepped back toward me, leaning in to kiss.

Four years later and we have two incredible children, a house on a property that doesn’t feel real, and a life together that gives me a sense of purpose when waking up. Even as I write this, early in the morning in my daughter’s bed while the family sleeps together so I don’t wake them as I go to work, I feel glad to be doing it. Because our little family has a real sense of love for each other.

I often remark to the kids when I play that song that it led to their existence. It’s not in jest—she admits it too. But somehow, from that point forward, I knew she was for me.

Still Getting Started

This is the first time telling this story, and it feels strange to unleash something so personal online. I hope that it lands well, particularly to that Dreamgirl sleeping with our children cuddled up to her in the next room. How different our lives would be if she continued to walk out the door, if I accepted the fate that she chose.

In all honesty, I had no idea that my singing would be such a pivotal moment. Perhaps that’s why it made such an impact. There was no sense of trying to manipulate the situation, only to share from my heart a song that spoke to it. I guess it did the same to her as well—and the rest, they say, is history. Only that it’s not history, the story is still being drafted. And if you really zoom out at the scale of life, we are still setting the scene. Or, like I continually told her in those first few weeks, and still do to this day, “We’re just getting started!”

My sincere hope for everyone out there is that you have similar moments where you allow your authenticity shine through moments of uncertainty and come out on the other side with your own version of success. Life is too short not to.

People quip about Late Stage Capitalism yet it should not be remarked upon in jest. Time behaves in cycles and, our language defines a cycle’s completion as a revolution. Viewed through this lens, the Industrial Revolution marked a dramatic turning point; elevating human civilization to unprecedented heights, while also planting the seeds of its own undoing. Yet it has also ushered—especially when reading the comment sections on popular social media posts—the lowest of lows. The wave-like appearance of cyclical motion through time treats both the high point and the low point with the same gravity.

The whole system’s weak point is that it’s not based upon innovation, but rather scarcity. Innovation has been the byproduct of man’s desire to have more than the next guy, thus rewarding greed. And we’re all playing into it. We’ve poured our investments in the ability to retire in a system that promises exponential gains; year after year, decade after decade. But as we have recently seen, It only takes one reckless leader to throw the scales far off balance and set us into a storm nobody wanted nor expected.

At the infancy of this experiment, development and innovation breathed hope to the commoner for a future of equity and the desire for a better quality of life. Human population was far smaller and resources were abundant. People celebrated new methods that could deliver more goods to more people, life expectancy rose and diseases vanished. Previous generations would undoubtedly marvel at what the modern world has accomplished in less than two centuries.

Now, as we enter the second quarter of the 21st century, we have signs of the entire system eating itself. Our environment is in a critical state. Homelessness is on the rise. Our society has become fragmented and people choose to coalesce in echo chambers through their screens rather than seek out consensus in the commons. And let’s not get started on the current state of political affairs. This post will not be able to keep up with what happens an hour after publishing, let alone further down the road.

Placing Blame

Playing the role of analyst in this piece I’ll argue that one can point the finger at greed itself for causing most of society’s woes. The problem is that greed is rewarded, not shunned, and so it has become an ever-compounding feedback loop of needing more to push itself further off the mark.

Capitalism’s brightest achievements often overshadow its darker consequences. And because we delay reckoning with them—pushing responsibility onto future generations—we now find ourselves in a state of perpetual debt and diminishing returns.

Growing ourselves out of a problem is not possible. Even Elon Musk is aware of this, which is probably a big reason he’s hellbent on colonizing Mars. And yet, consolidation and amalgamation seems to be the answer for Wall Street and those who choose to keep us on the carousel. Anyone over 30 can lend witness to the disappearance of consumer brands they loved, or the brand being bought out and gutted to maximize profit. It’s a trend that has escalated lately, leaving a shockingly small amount of companies in control of most consumer products today.

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The biggest problem of all is that we only look on the bright side of our system and not the consequences. And by “we”, I mean those making the decisions to perpetuate the cycle at the expense of all the negative side effects that goes with it.

We’ve Been Here Before

History has shown us what happens when civilizations abandon honour: Collapse follows. When we try to learn from history it seems as though the warning signs are shouting at us from the rooftops.

Rome, as a republic, valued honour. The concept of Virtus was something people strived for, and those who selflessly served others were among the most regarded in society. But as the republic shifted towards empire, conquest became the main goal, leading to its eventual demise.

Every empire thereafter lost its stronghold by trying to expand. We saw it when the crusaders tried to recapture Jerusalem, in the middle ages when the conquistadores pillaged the Indigenous civilizations of the West, and when the British Navy tried to control global commerce. And again, as the American empire fuelled by consumption is once again trying to exert dominance over once friendly allies.

History teaches us that when expansion outpaces ethics, collapse is inevitable. The American empire, if it continues to favor consumption over community, risks repeating that fate.

It’s Not Too Late

Despite the troubles our world faces, we still have shining examples of how things could be. “Ethical Consumption” might seem oxymoronic, but the B Corporation movement shows that companies can be motivated by more than profit.

On an individual level, there is a movement for people to slow down and prioritize.

More people are reevaluating what success looks like; not in terms of salary, but presence. Multiple research studies have found that millennial dads spend 3x more time with their kids than their dads did. As a millennial myself, I know that time with my children is not to be taken for granted, and I’ve shaped my life and career to ensure I can spend quality time with them every day, and have enough energy in the tank to be present. It’s an investment that has already paid off.

Other ways to disrupt the system are evident, such as sustainability-focused ETFs that invest in companies pushing a new agenda forward. But, like anything, it requires mass buy-in from the public. We can’t just blindly invest our retirement funds into companies because they hold a good return, we need to value output beyond the balance sheet.

What’s Next?

We have a blank slate ahead of us. Unfortunately, proponents of the status quo hold immense power to maintain it. We need to sit with discomfort for a bit to turn the massive ship around. Can it be done? I sure hope so, because the current path will not be able to balance itself out without serious intervention.

Aside from the pursuit of more wealth, we need to accept that humans are interdependent. We are social animals that have been blinded by tunnel vision, looking only to the acquisition of goods and material wealth (GDP) as a measure of success.

Can we do it? It’s not a question of possibility, but of necessity. We have to stop waiting for it to happen and make it happen. It all starts with individual actions every day, which leads to a collective shift.

The future won’t be written by corporations or empires. It will be shaped by the quiet, daily decisions of people who choose principle over profit, community over consumption. The question isn’t if change is possible, it’s whether we have the courage to make it inevitable. So…who’s with me?

Sure, there are plenty of moments where you have just realized that your life has changed, due to any number of momentous accomplishments, catastrophes, milestones, and ceremonies, but to have premonition for the change isn’t always a gift we have while streaking through the space-time continuum.

But as the sun set on August 31, 2022, as my partner headed into active labor I knew that when the sun rose, our lives would be different. We’d be a family, not a couple, and our lives as parents will begin at the same time our daughter was taking her first breath.

The idea of fatherhood always seemed distant. I did have some close calls, but never really thought I was mature or stable enough to welcome a child into my footsteps as I meandered through life. Linny (and perhaps this can be a generalization on the majority of women) wanted to be a mother since she was little. I always thought it would be an interesting aspect of life but never had it as a must-have experience.

I’ll always be reminded of my first words after hearing the news that she was pregnant: “Oh, fuck”. And I know I didn’t mean it as a curse. It was more like “Oh, fuck, now I have to grow up for real, this time.”

Funny thing was, I was planning on going back to school after a 20-year hiatus. Something in me was just pushing my soul to move in a more disciplined direction. I’d been doing the content creator role for a good 12 years, and found a decent niche but saw the housing boom happen right before my eyes while looking like a degenerate to the bankers. Being self-employed only seems to work if you’re reaping in massive profits, but not so much if you subsist without really placing value on the pursuit of money.

But the discovery of a new purpose and direction in life seemed to satisfy a need for a shakeup. Shelved were the books on political scandals and production techniques; in were “What to Expect”. “Precious Little Sleep”, and my personal favorite, “The Happiest Baby On The Block”. I knew that I wanted to understand what it took to be a good parent, and ultimately raise someone in the next generation who understood kindness, presence, and generosity. It seemed so easy.

The transition to fatherhood is a bit more nebulous than what mothers go through. For nine months, women develop a relationship with the baby by literally developing them in the womb. All we as dads get is a few ultrasound pictures, feeling the belly while the baby kicks, and a partner who is now flooded with wave after wave of hormones and discomfort. Perhaps that’s what makes the big reveal all so dramatic.

The Moment It All Changed

Which brings us back to the opening scene: The night before everything changed. It’s where I realized we have it all wrong when we celebrate people’s birthdays. By tradition we celebrate the person who was born on that particular day; but really, we should be celebrating the mother who gave birth. Everyone talks about it but until you see a woman in labor you really can’t fathom the immense strength and suffering she goes through to deliver a child into this world.

People often describe the day their kids are born as the greatest day of their lives. For dads, we certainly have the easier role, and it’s nowhere near the amount of effort needed to push a baby out of your vagina. We simply need to ensure our partner is comfortable, hydrated, and relaxed enough so that when it comes time to bear down they are ready and the process can unfold smoothly.

The Big Reveal

With everything in my ability exhausted and the nurses taking over when we got to the hospital, my role shifted to just remind Linny to breathe, and try to remain calm for her during contractions, let her squeeze me and yell and just go ahead and take abuse if that made her feel better. The gradual shift to more pain is a wild observation, and only had me more in awe as I saw it unfold. But nothing could prepare me when the nurse said my name and asked me,

“Would you like to see the head?”

Something about that question made it all the more real, at least to me. I could empathize all I wanted to but I was now about to meet my child for the first time. Well, at least a portion of that child as my partner finished pushing him/her out.

I can’t say that I was adequately prepared for what I would see.

Linny stood over the bed. She listened to her gut for the most ergonomic position to deliver the baby. I moved around behind her to see an upside-down head, still blue, but moving.

It’s alive.

The baby was totally animated, writhing and just getting its first glimpse of the hospital lights that must’ve been incredibly blinding for one’s first introduction to life outside the womb. The reaction was subtle, but tangible: this baby was instantly adapting to this new reality.

The classic storyline of childbirth is that the midwife spanks the baby to give it a bit of a shock so that it will instinctively gasp for air. While I can’t confirm if this happened, I don’t remember seeing or hearing any indication of a slap on the butt cheek. Instead it was just quick gasps and cries, repeated, as the baby exited the birth canal and entered what we all have come to define as life.

Instantly. The baby knew what to do. The instinct was there. That’s all we need sometimes, just the right conditions to allow nature to usher in a new reality, whether we like it or not. And by the sound of our baby’s cries, it wasn’t exactly a welcome new reality.

A Father’s First Breath

It took some time to make this analogy, now over a year into retrospection. But seeing my child take her first breath, a wave of new emotions came over me, and it was nothing I could prepare for. The sense of purpose, the sense of wonder and awe, and of course, pure love. It was a new energy of life that before that moment did not exist in my frame of understanding.

There is a major divide between knowledge and instinct. It’s possible that they may be opposites. You can read all you want, but until that switch is flipped, you can only intellectualize what needs to be done.

After that first moment seeing my daughter breathe (and wail) for the first time, I had an immense sense of calm. Maybe it was relief, maybe exhaustion… but I know deep down it was something more. I had an impulse that this little baby and her mother were the be-all, end-all of my life’s purpose. From that moment on, I was a vessel for security, safety, and provision.

Maybe it’s different for everyone. I only have my experience to go upon, and that’s enough for me. But over two years later, and with a baby boy also in the mix, I feel that initial impulse every second of my life. Even now, as I write this, the motivation is to share those feelings with others in hopes that it can be a vehicle to provide more for the family by doing what I love: Writing, telling stories, and sharing insight to the world.

I’ve learned to breathe in a new way that I couldn’t have understood before, and now it’s not even a thought. It’s just the way it is.