Six Years Adrift: From Shattered Hearts to Sovereign Dreams
Picture this: It's August 5th, the sun dipping low over the lake, casting a golden haze over the sail boats of Belleville, Ontario. I slide the key into the lock of my new apartment door for the first time. The click echoes like a starting pistol. Almost exactly six years to the day since I bolted from Scottsdale, Arizona—heart in tatters after a breakup, boarding a one-way flight with nothing but a backpack and a burning question: Where in this wild world do I call home?
That question? It turned into an epic, unintended odyssey. What was meant to be a two year soul-search. Thanks to COVID's chaos and a financial freefall that hit like a rogue wave, it stretched into a triple-length saga. A trip to visit a spiritual mentor in Portugal blurred into a summer in Greece. Backpacking in South America morphed into teaching yoga in Mexico. I chased sunsets across continents, but the anchor I'd craved kept slipping through my fingers. Until now.
Do I see this cozy bedroom—with two roommates and a handicap bathroom and half-read philosophy books—as my forever home? Hell no. By year's end, I'm gunning for Europe again. Paris cafés, Croatian coastlines, the thrum of Amsterdam's canals. But for the first time in years, I've got roots—shallow, sure, but enough to catch my breath.
The Hard Reset: Lessons from a Limbo Year
Let's be real: This past stretch in Canada hasn't been all maple syrup and mountain hikes. It's been a gritty, glorious reset button. I've mooched off government support just long enough to steady the ship—financially, at least. And yeah, I've burned hours on podcasts and YouTube rabbit holes that left me wiser (and weirder). But amid the scroll, I've built something real.
I've written pages upon pages—journals spilling with half-formed novels and midnight manifestos. I've walked these misty trails until my boots wore thin, letting the rhythm of my steps untangle the knots in my mind. Therapy sessions? Countless. Each one a chisel chipping away at old scars. Pushups in the park became my ritual rebellion against inertia—sweat as therapy, muscles as metaphors for resilience.
Reconnections bloomed like wildflowers after rain: Late-night calls with long-lost friends, tentative teas with family I'd drifted from. I've studied everything from stoicism to sustainable living, toyed with AI like a kid with a new gadget (prompting it to dream up alternate lives for me). Hell, I even snagged a one-week consulting gig that paid the bills and reminded me I'm sharper than I give myself credit for.
Gratitude doesn't come easy in limbo, but damn if Canada hasn't handed it to me on a silver platter. This place gifted me space—the kind that's rare in our hyper-connected frenzy. Time to think without deadlines. To dream without borders. I've started rebuilding my confidence, brick by wobbly brick. Recreating the man I know I can be: The dreamer who won't fold, no matter how many raised eyebrows or "get real" lectures come my way.
Because here's the truth—it's a long game. At 37, I'm still young. I've got decades to pour into this one wild life. Decades to contribute, to create, to connect. And I will. Watch me.
The Great Unshackling: AI, Systems, and the Human Revolution
Zoom out from my little story, and the world's canvas looks electric. 2025 isn't just another year; it's a pivot point. AI has crashed the party, rewriting the rules overnight. The old guard—those creaky systems built on control and scarcity? They're crumbling. Greed's grip is slipping, and for the first time, I see humans on the cusp of real freedom.
I know this because I've lived it. I was once shackled—chained to the grind, the debt, the dopamine drip of approval. Even in my darkest days as an addict, I resisted the drugs they dangled like lifelines. But those invisible chains? The ones woven from algorithms and agendas? They're sneakier. It's time to declare sovereignty, loud and unapologetic. Life's too vast, too vital, to hand your power to a faceless feed or a suit who profits from your pain.
Take healthcare, for instance. Does the Western machine really want you thriving, or just hooked? It's no conspiracy—it's incentives. Keep 'em dependent, popping pills, scheduling scans. I've globe-trotted enough to know better. From the communal feasts in rural Thailand to the barefoot shamas of Peru, I've witnessed health in its raw form: Laughter around fires, bodies moving with the earth, minds unplugged from the matrix.
North America? We're outliers in our own detriment. We guzzle screen time like it's oxygen—eight, ten, twelve hours a day glued to glows that steal our souls. No human was wired for this. We're addicts to the ping of instant gratification, the hollow high of likes and shares. Validation from strangers? It's fool's gold. Our bodies rebel—insomnia, anxiety, a quiet epidemic of disconnection—while we scroll past the warning signs.
I've been there: Device in hand, world on mute. But I've seen the other side. In the markets of Tangier, the fjords of Sweden, the beaches of Costa Rica—life pulses real. Connected. Unfiltered. That's health: Sun on skin, stories swapped over shared meals, dreams chased without a data plan.
Wake Up, Warriors: The Only War Worth Fighting
It's 2025, friends. The headlines scream of endless conflicts—proxies for profit, chess moves by the powerful. But the real battlefield? It's internal. The only war that matters is the one we wage with ourselves: To become bolder, more loving, more alive versions of who we are. Step back from the media maelstrom, silence the notifications, and the games reveal themselves. Smoke and mirrors. Divide and conquer.
Wake up, humanity. The hourglass is flipping. If your life's veering off-course—no one's riding in on a white horse. Not the apps, not the experts, not the ether. You are the hero here. Take the wheel. Own the mess. Make the pivot. I'm preaching from a soapbox built on government stipends, I know—cashing checks while I claw my way back. It's not ideal; it's interim. But it's fuel for the fire. One day, I'll look back and chuckle at this chapter—the lean times that forged the unbreakable me. For now? I can at least crack a smile.
To the Horizon: Betting Big on the Unknown
So here's to it all: The connections that spark like shooting stars. The grace to savor the process, even when it pinches. I'll keep betting on myself—fiercely, foolishly. Observing my thoughts like clouds in a vast sky. Writing through the fog. Who knows what the next few years hold? Twists I can't script, treasures I can't map.
I miss the travel, that electric hum of new horizons. The salt air of foreign shores, the babel of unknown tongues, the thrill of "what if?" over a cliff's edge. But I don't miss the loneliness that shadowed those miles. The money stress that gnawed like a thief. The depression that dimmed the stars.
No more. Here's to the roar of engines—planes slicing clouds, trains rattling through dawn, buses bumping over backroads, cars devouring dusk. To living all out: Probing the fringes, embracing the ache and the ecstasy. Loving every jagged edge of it. Savoring without judgment. Free as the wind.
Into infinity and beyond. Boom, baby—boom.
What about you? What's the reset you're craving right now? Drop a comment below—let's swap stories and stoke the fire. And if this resonated, hit that share button. The revolution starts with a ripple.
Connect... Gordon GordonBufton@Proton.me @GordonBufton