Welcome to Summer 2025. It's a once in a lifetime moment, one generations before us dreamed about, and here we are, overwhelmed by the current state of affairs, barely even thinking about how The Jetsons were set in 2062.

Looking back on the paths we've walked thus far, it's easy to see the things we might've done differently. From big things like what if I had pursued a different career, to I shouldn't have said that thing I said, we’re quick to judge ourselves for our past actions.

I've gotten better at choosing. From sussing out what's probably good on the menu, to the company I keep, lately I can't help but notice that I'm choosing wisely. This isn't to say that I'm making the right choice, as that's often arbitrarily defined by whom you ask, or societal expectations.

The sun is shining, dandelions are fluffing, bees are buzzing (and keeping our food supply going) -- everything is verbing. Humans -- understandably pent up after the snowy, rainy spring -- are out in their full glory, gussied up, and travelling in packs.

My Kiddo messaged me the other day, saying that she is the most awkward person alive. She'd gone to an interview, and I dunno, she's my daughter, so she probably kept wondering what to do with her hands, and if her face was facing correctly.

I'm sure I've written about this before. A peek behind the curtain would reveal that I don't check to see if I've already discussed something, because if it's coming up again it's in the air, the lesson hasn't been learned, or I've had a new thought about it.

Everytime I leave La Belle Province, I am reminded that the reputation of Polite Canada doesn't count in Quebec. Strange that for all the impeccably cool art vibes, and European tendencies, Montreal isn't friendly per se.

This essay will be a two-parter. I've never done this before, but it seems fitting. See, I'm always telling you (and anyone who will listen) that we must face our discomforts to level up, so it seems apt that you should join me through a joyful discomfort.

While it should go without saying, allow me to open this essay by clarifying that I am not a doctor. I do have a correspondence school diploma in Adult Psychology, an expensive piece of paper I was really proud to get, and Concordia says can get me out of Psych101.

I believe that it's now actually Spring. Sure, I could be wrong; stranger things happen regularly. It could yet snow record amounts, but I doubt it. Flowers are blooming, grass is greening, and the air smells like life and dirt.