Mindset
“Never Give Up….”
― RAYE – Life Boat
This past week felt like a convergence point.
A return to the moon.
A return to my past.
A shift in direction for my family.
And the experience of watching something rare emerge on stage.
For some time now, I have had a quiet feeling in my gut that something was not quite right.
My wife and I have been working relentlessly to build something we believe in. Something meaningful. Something that can help people move, think, and live better. It has always been a labour of love, rooted in a desire to share what we have learned over a lifetime.
But the reality is, building something like that in today’s world is not simple. Economics shift. Technology evolves. The landscape changes faster than you can stabilize your footing. It can feel like navigating a maze that keeps redrawing itself.
And somewhere in that process, I began to feel alone.
What started as a conscious decision to step into a quieter life, to enjoy nature and space after the pandemic, slowly turned into isolation. No one to blame but myself. But also not the life I want to lead.
At the same time, there has been a growing sense of responsibility. A pull to continue using what I have learned to help others move beyond their limitations.
This past weekend changed something.
I stepped back into my past. Concordia University held its Hall of Fame event, and several people who shaped my early career were being honoured, including athletes I had worked with, and my mentor and friend, Ron Rappel.
Walking into that room felt like stepping into a time machine.
It was a gathering of athletes, coaches, therapists, and physicians who had all been part of a shared pursuit. I found myself moving from one conversation to another, reconnecting with people I had not seen in decades.
And what came rushing back was not just the memories, but the feeling.
Connection.
The act of being around others who are striving, learning, exploring what is possible.
Some of the relationships built during that time remain among the most meaningful in my life. That environment shaped me more than I realized.
At the same time, my wife, my daughter, and I were making a decision.
We are heading back.
Back to the city. Back to where it all began professionally. Not out of nostalgia, but out of a desire to reconnect with what allows us to grow, to contribute, and to feel alive.
The chapter we created up north served its purpose. It gave us space, perspective, and time. But it has run its course.
It is time for a new chapter.
Then, on Sunday night, everything seemed to come together.
We went to see Raye perform.
And what I witnessed felt like the emergence of something rare.
A true artist.
My daughter introduced me to her music a few years ago, and since then, it has been a constant in our home. There is something about her that draws you in. Not just the voice, but the honesty. The depth. The willingness to explore without limitation.
You cannot quite define her sound.
You cannot neatly categorize her.
She does not fit into a box.
She is simply Raye.
If you have not listened to her yet, give yourself the space to do it properly. Put it on and let it run. See where it takes you.
What stood out most that night was not just the talent.
It was the message.
Hope.
Resilience.
Joy.
Not spoken as ideas, but expressed through experience.
Supported by an incredibly talented micro-orchestra, she did not perform at the audience. She invited them into her world. Into her musical home. And for a few hours, everyone in that room became part of it.
In her music, she does not hide from difficulty. She speaks to heartbreak, trauma, and moments where giving up felt close.
One line in particular stayed with me:
“Never give up.”
And then, in a moment between songs, she looked out into the crowd and said, “Everything is going to be alright.”
Simple words. But delivered with conviction.
You could feel that they were earned.
It felt like the entire weekend had been building toward that moment. As if everything I had experienced over those few days had been leading to a single message.
A reminder.
At the same time, almost as if it were part of the same story, we watched the return of a mission connected to Apollo 11 Moon Landing.
Fifty-six years after humanity first stepped onto the moon, we were again looking back at our planet from afar.
That image.
That small blue sphere in the vast darkness.
I was six years old when I watched the moon landing on television. And seeing those images again brought back that same sense of possibility.
It is remarkable what we are capable of.
And yet, it is just as remarkable how easy it is to lose our way.
This past week reminded me of something simple, but important.
We are meant to connect.
We are meant to grow.
We are meant to contribute.
And when things feel uncertain, when the path becomes unclear, sometimes all you need is a moment, or a series of moments, to bring you back.
A conversation.
A room full of people.
A decision to change direction.
A voice on a stage.
What a week.
What a reminder.
Never give up.
Everything is going to be alright.
