I was restless. Squirly. Like I was running out of time. Worried that each wasted day brought me that much closer to the grave. Which, I guess, was literally the truth. After all, what did this all amount to? What have I actually accomplished in my life?

Spent most of my spare time hanging out in the underbelly. The other side of the city. The section where the invisible people lived. I had spent too much time between and behind buildings, where the darkness collects and the threat always looms of truly and finally losing myself, giving up, giving in to my primitive side. The side that lives in all of us.

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A couple weeks ago, I took the train from Ottawa to Toronto. I like taking the train, it’s relaxing, the WiFi sucks so you’re not prone to do too much work, and mostly I just read. Look out the window lots of the time. Let the blur of the trees take me away.

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Last week at the launch for the Stories We Don’t Tell book, we posed the question: What does Stories We Don’t Tell mean to us? For me, I think quite a bit about how this all came so close to never happening.

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I send out a newsletter every month with information about what I’m up to. It’s fun and short and I’d like to try and interest more people to join. For the next few months, I’m going to post what I wrote in the newsletter the week after it’s sent out. You can have a look and see if this is something you might want to appear in your inbox every month. Scroll to the bottom to sign up.

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