I recently went on a three-day business trip, something I haven’t done much of since switching roles at work. The reduction in travel has been a blessing in some ways, but I also miss what it gives me: new places, new perspectives, new people, and the small jolts of life that come from being somewhere different.

Travel does feed me.

On the flip side, it also costs something that most people don’t see.

On social media, travel looks glamorous: the occasional upgrade, the nice hotel, the meals, the novelty of meeting people I’d never cross paths with otherwise.

What doesn’t show is the heaviness — the exhaustion, the dips in mood after long days, the loneliness of a hotel room when you’re too drained to be social but craving connection at the same time. And then the crash when you get home: wanting to go out, but feeling like your body and mind are tapped out.

It’s this experience that I want to focus on in this writing.

Before the pandemic, I spent a full year living in the UK — my most intense travel period since I started consulting in 2002. From March 2020 to October 2023, I hadn’t been away for work at all and since, only doing one trip a year.

In that time, something became clear to me: I never really put down roots in Toronto.

People know me. I have friends here. But there’s a difference between being known and being connected.

And for a long time, I wasn’t connected.

After COVID, connection became one of the most important things in my life. Not surface-level, small-talk connection — real connection. The kind that feels grounded, mutual, and meaningful. I know where that need comes from, and I choose to honour it now instead of minimizing it. I choose to honour and no longer minimize my need for real connection.

When I went to The Black Eagle here in Toronto, I realized I barely knew anyone. I stood there like a wallflower, and it didn’t feel good. I needed a space where I could meet people in a way that wasn’t superficial or transactional.

About a year ago, I found a group of guys who swim on Mondays. Honestly, it’s been the best thing I’ve discovered in this city. I love swimming — and I love the company. Being around like-minded people in a space that’s not loud, not chaotic, not overstimulating has been grounding in the best way.

And the bonus? When I do go to the Eagle for Bear nights, BLUF, or other events, I now see familiar faces. I feel at home. I feel part of the fabric instead of watching it from the outside.

Now I’m looking at the next step: Building my actual place in this city.

For years, I’ve been here physically, and at times, during my titleholder year, I even had a bit of a public persona. But underneath, I’d retreated. I’d hidden. I’d dimmed my light for reasons that were real at the time but no longer serve me.

I’m ready to be present again.
To show up.
To stop hiding and let myself be seen — in a way that feels grounded and authentic.

In short:
I’m ready to just be.