Embracing the Flux: One Year in the Great White North and the Art of Loving the Messy Middle
Ah, October. The air crispens like a fresh page in a notebook, whispering promises of golden leaves and hooded sweaters. Here in Canada—still very much here in Canada, as the calendar cruelly reminds me. I'm bundled up against the chill, nose running like it's auditioning for a marathon. It's the kind of day that makes you romanticize beaches and balmy breezes, but then you catch yourself: This is it. This is where my feet are planted right now. And in that stubborn rootedness, there's a quiet joy. The weather's shifting, just like everything else. Change, baby—change.
We've all got choices, don't we? We can huddle in the corners of our minds, scribbling complaints about how life should be: warmer sunsets, fewer plot twists, a plotline that actually follows the script. Or we can flip the pen. We can write. Write the raw, unfiltered stream of consciousness that spills out at 3 a.m. Write another chapter, another book, another tweet that lands like a mic drop. We can publish without perfection, post without polish, and let the world witness our becoming. Because here's the truth I've been chewing on this past year: creation isn't just an act—it's an antidote. It drowns out the whine with wonder.
And oh, the wonders. The joys of the process, that delicious grind where ideas wrestle and words bloom like wildflowers in cracked concrete. The joys of life, with its unscripted detours and serendipitous sunrises. The joys of love—not the Hallmark version, but the gritty, forgiving kind that shows up when you're snotty-nosed and soul-weary, saying, "Stay. We'll figure this out together." Figuring it out as we go: that's the real magic. We can be one version of ourselves today—guarded, growing, gloriously imperfect—and wake up tomorrow as someone new. Shifted. Softer. Bolder. Change isn't a cosmic joke; it's the only constant in this vast, spinning universe. Lean into it. Dance with it. Let it rewrite you.
The Hood-Up Days: Lessons from a Runny Nose
I spent today like this: hood up, tissues at the ready, trudging through the colder fall in the air Bellevegas (you know, that hazy limbo between arrival and ascent). The Canadian autumn is no gentle usher—it's a full-throated reminder that comfort zones are for amateurs. If I were on a sun-drenched beach in Bali or Tulum, maybe my sinuses would be singing instead of sniffling. But here's the plot twist: I'm not. And that's the game. That's the process. To stare down the gray skies and whisper, Thank you for the reminder to feel it all. To be willing to love—and love some more—through the itch in your throat and the ache in your bones.
Appreciating the journey isn't passive; it's a radical act of presence. It's choosing to savor the sips of coffee that taste like resilience, the walks that clear more than just cobwebs. A new month unfurls before us like a blank map. By October 30, will we be in a different country—geographically, emotionally, spiritually? Or will we linger in Bellevegas, nursing the same old narratives? The choice is ours. Mine? I'm packing light: an open mind, an open heart, and a fierce refusal to let the "what ifs" dictate the "what now."
Winnipeg Bound: One Year In, Eyes on the Horizon
Next week, I hop a ride to Winnipeg—a breath of fresh prairie air, a palate cleanser after 12 months of maple syrup and mountains. It's been over a year since we touched down here, wide-eyed and world-weary, chasing a vision that felt as vast as the Rockies. Two potential shifts loom on the horizon; we'll see how they unfold. But whatever happens, I'll stay in the flow. Present where my feet are—muddy boots and all.
This journey? It's always been about that: anchoring ourselves amid the world's relentless tug-of-war. The external forces—passport, winters, unexpected heartaches—they try to shape us, mold us into something safer, smaller. But we get to decide how much sticks. We can love the process, not despite the detours, but because of them. We can steer the change, not just surf it. Flow with the current, yes, but paddle toward the light. Be present enough to hear the whispers of possibility: All is possible. You are possible.
Reflections from the One-Year Mark: Pain, Purpose, and the Power of Staying Put
So here we are: October 2, 2025. Almost one year since arrival back in my homeland, still knee-deep in the North American narrative I never quite scripted. Oh, how things have shifted—not in the tidy, triumphant arcs of Instagram reels, but in the raw, ragged strokes of real life. This year? It wasn't the one I envisioned. No victory laps or viral breakthroughs. Instead: oceans of learning, lessons etched in late-night journals. Mountains of pain—the kind that cracks you open and lets the light flood in. Struggles that tested every fiber of commitment, every thread of the vision we'd woven so carefully.
Healing happened, yes—in quiet conversations over herbal tea, in the slow thaw of old wounds. But damn, it was harder than I imagined. The cultural whiplash, the isolation that sneaks up like fog off the lake, the constant recalibration of dreams deferred. North America has been a mirror, reflecting back the parts of me I'd rather scroll past: the runner, the restless soul who's fled more shadows than I'd care to count.
And yet, here I am. Ready to step out again—not as an escape, but as an exhale. Ready to leave North America on my terms. No more sprinting from the ghosts or chasing the highs. Running takes too much energy; I've poured enough into that hollow pursuit. We've all done it—bolted for and from the things that scare us most. But the joys of life and love? They thrive in the pause. In the planting. In the promise that every ending is just a setup for the next beginning.
That song playing in my head right now? The one about running away? Nah. I'm rewriting the chorus. This isn't flight; it's freedom. It's honoring the year of grit and grace, the commitments kept when quitting whispered sweet nothings. It's stepping forward with gratitude for the journey—the messy, magnificent middle that made me more me.
A Call to the Change-Makers (That's You)
So, friend, what's your pen doing today? Are you writing the complaint, or the comeback? Complaining about the cold, or crafting warmth from within? The world's a whirlwind, but you're the eye—calm, capable, endlessly changeable. Love the process. Forgive the detours. Show up for the love, the life, the endless figuring-it-out.
Change, baby—change. And let's make it magnificent.
If this resonates, drop a note below. What's one shift you're embracing this October? Let's write the next chapter together.
Connect... Gordon GordonBufton@Proton.me @GordonBufton