I'm sitting in Terminal M, Vancouver International. In a few minutes, for the first time in 20 years, I'll be on a plane departing North America. My destination isn’t somewhere in Europe or Southeast Asia. In typical Ish fashion, my first excursion out of this continent is somewhere in the middle of the Amazon, the biggest city in the world that is not accessible by a car, all in the name of getting even deeper into this psyche and trying to get a glimpse of it. Mother Ayahuasca, the medicine that kickstarted my life, awaits me. By the end of my first month there, I'll have participated in close to 25 ceremonies. I come away from the medicine journey different each time, and I can't possibly know what's on the other side. So, it feels appropriate to take stock of this part of my life one more time.

As I look back, I witness how interesting of a life I've had; the variety of experiences, the profound relationships, and the most interesting places, literal and metaphorical. Throughout it all, the one constant has been my search for truth, my search for meaning, independent of the common sense. It was with me when I lived in abundance, and it was with me in poverty. It was with me through my conservative muslim upbringing, and it stayed through the more experimental life choices.

This search for meaning has been at times liberating, at times suffocating, and almost always profound. Through this, I've found intentional communities, lovers through whom I learned about relationships and attachments, and deep, deep expressions of my being. This search for truth has never abandoned me.

This search is what's leading me to Peru. As my seeking begins to feel more and more focused, I retrieve more and more of myself. And in the process, I find myself losing parts of identity, community, and things that felt important at different points.

I know that there are parallel universes where versions of me exist, content with the life they've been brought up to live. One of them is working in the private sector, probably as the head of a department. He has a house somewhere in California and a loving wife. There's another version in New York, who is conscious about taking the transit, visits Central Park after work most days, and takes out his dog Linda on a run to visit all of his friends. And there's a version who had the support to pursue and finish his film degree and now toils away in the bottom rungs of Hollywood, burnt out and wondering if he's doing is what he really wanted to do.

Then, there's this me. The one who lived different parts of all those realities at different times in this life, and the one who chose to excavate deeper in search of inner peace.

And through that excavation, this me has realized a few non-negotiable containers.

1. I love people.
And I need a lot of time away from them.

2. I am a lover, who desires a specific level of love.
And I'm willing to spend my whole life to seek that out.

3. I have a lot of kindness and patience.
I've been told that this makes me naive, which I have never known how to respond to.
Until recently.
I realize now that it's my strategy to deal with the bullshit of life.
It's easy to be miserable and distrusting of circumstances.
But for me to be true to myself and to live in accordance with my beliefs, I need to see the world for what it can be.

To that point, we see the world through the prism of our beliefs. If I'm looking for danger and evil, that's what I'll find. And if I trust in the good, that's what I'll get.

4. Toxic masculinity is just as dangerous for men as it is for women. Being frustrated in a world ripe with this toxicity, and by trying to counter it, I forgot to be myself. Oscillating between providing safety and expressing my desire to you, I stumble back and forth between being friendzoned and being a creep.

5. We keep replaying childhood wounds in our adult relationships until we consciously do the work to reparent our younger selves.

6. I know mostly nothing about life, and trying to make assumptions leave me ripe for a letdown every time.

The one revelation that I have is that life is full of surprises, unexpected ones, in unexpected places, with unexpected people.

Over a year ago, little did I know that I'd be living on a farm. Or that I'd be spending all this time by myself. Little did I know that I'd be fighting competitively, or that I would be spending 25 out of the last 50 days in absolute silent meditation.

So, who knows who I am, or who you are, in a week, in a month, in a year. The only thing to know is that we'll both be different in many ways, and through which ways, neither of us can imagine. All we can really do is be open to what the world has in store for us.

This message is mainly a reminder for me, but also for you, that our lives are made up of an indescribable amount of moments and actions that takes twists and turns, leading to possible conclusions that we, in this moment, can't even fathom. So, expecting our life to end up in any way is a big time recipe for disaster. What could happen instead if we allowed ourselves to live, from moment to moment, doing the best that we can each time, and letting our thoughts, behaviours, and actions slowly shape our destiny?

This version of me, in this life, doesn't get to hear this often, but I am so grateful for him. I am always in reverence to the teachers who have come to me in this life. Some of them include my once English professor who's a close friend now; a Québécois who I couch hosted by chance one night; a Minnesotan who I met by chance in a hostel in Kaua'i one night, and who showed me the meaning of living; a bad ass woman who teaches me to breathe through martial arts; a group of men who religiously gather around a fire every Wednesday somewhere in Northern California; and a father who's lost his daughter, who teaches me about love and intimacy. Every chance I get, they hear my gratitude for them.

And I think it's time that I say it to the little boy who's been searching his life. The one who is seeking out meaning that makes sense to him, the one who keeps getting closer to the core of some circle, and who is beginning to realize that this is not a circle at all, but more of a spiral. The one who needed to hear from someone else that he was OK, and that his journey is OK.

He is OK.

You are OK.

I am OK.

I better go. The PA system just announced my boarding call.

See you on the other side.