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Personal Growth
Personal Growth – Your Journey to Self-Improvement and Fulfillment Personal growth is more than just a buzzword — it’s a lifelong journey of self-discovery, learning, and evolution. It’s about intentionally shaping who you are, striving toward your goals, and building a life filled with meaning and fulfillment. At its core, personal growth is the ongoing process of becoming the best version of yourself while embracing the ups and downs along the way. We all have areas where we want to improve — maybe it’s advancing in a career, building stronger relationships, or finding a deeper sense of inner peace. The beauty of personal growth is that it touches every part of life. It’s not limited to one stage, skill, or milestone. Instead, it’s about choosing to keep moving forward, no matter where you are right now. Setting Goals That Inspire Growth One of the most effective ways to nurture personal growth is by setting clear, achievable goals. Goals give you direction, structure, and motivation. They turn abstract dreams into concrete steps you can follow. These goals can be big or small, long-term or short-term. For some, it might mean learning a new skill or habit. For others, it could mean improving communication, developing emotional intelligence, or becoming more resilient in the face of challenges. The key is to set goals that feel meaningful to you. Personal growth is not about comparison — it’s about defining success in your own terms. Every step forward, no matter how small, brings you closer to the life you envision. Self-Improvement in Daily Life At the heart of personal growth lies self-improvement. It’s not about perfection, but about progress and consistency. Self-improvement can take many forms, such as: Cultivating healthy habits like regular exercise, balanced nutrition, or consistent sleep routines. Seeking new experiences that challenge your perspective and push you outside your comfort zone. Practicing mindfulness and reflection to connect more deeply with yourself and your emotions. Learning continuously through reading, listening, or engaging with mentors and teachers. Small, intentional choices add up over time. By making self-improvement a daily practice, you create steady growth that transforms your confidence, your mindset, and your life. The Benefits of Personal Growth Why does personal growth matter so much? Because it enriches every part of who you are and how you live. When you prioritize growth, you: Strengthen your confidence and self-esteem. Build resilience to face life’s inevitable challenges. Develop adaptability in a constantly changing world. Enhance your relationships through better understanding and empathy. Gain clarity on your values and purpose. Personal growth is not just about personal success — it has a ripple effect. When you grow, you impact those around you. You become a source of inspiration, support, and strength in your community, family, and friendships. Support Along the Journey Sometimes, the journey feels overwhelming. That’s when guidance and support can make all the difference. Personal growth coaching, counseling, or simply connecting with a supportive community can provide fresh perspectives and encouragement. Having someone to help you set goals, track progress, and reflect on challenges can accelerate growth in powerful ways. But remember — the most important commitment is the one you make to yourself. Even without external support, your willingness to keep showing up for your own journey is what makes growth possible. Progress, Not Perfection It’s easy to fall into the trap of striving for perfection, but personal growth isn’t about flawless results. It’s about moving forward one step at a time, learning from your mistakes, and celebrating your small victories. Some days will feel like leaps ahead, and others may feel like stumbles — both are part of the process. The truth is, personal growth never ends. As long as you’re open to learning and evolving, you’ll continue to uncover new layers of strength, wisdom, and possibility within yourself. Final Word Personal growth is a journey that belongs uniquely to you. It’s about becoming more aware, more intentional, and more connected to the life you want to live. By setting meaningful goals, embracing self-improvement, and celebrating progress, you invest in yourself and the world around you. Remember: every effort counts. Every challenge teaches. Every victory, no matter how small, is worth acknowledging. Embrace the journey of personal growth — and discover how it can transform not only your own life, but also the lives of those around you.
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Latest Articles in Personal Growth
MaryAnn Perri
Personal Growth
When the Universe Says ‘Bet’ From Snowstorms to Siestas
July marks the anniversary of new beginnings and big changes for my family.You know what they say: "Be careful what you wish for." And let me tell you—when people talk about manifesting things by sending them out into the universe? I’m basically the universe’s favorite case study. I still remember that moment like it was yesterday: November 2003. I had just gotten home from work after being stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic during a snowstorm of biblical proportions. I was trudging through knee-deep snow, juggling grocery bags and a purse that weighed more than a small child, all while trying to find my keys with frozen fingers I could no longer feel. Somewhere between almost wiping out on black ice and muttering every swear word I knew, I mumbled to myself, “Please, God, get me out of here. I don’t care where—just somewhere warm and less chaotic.”The universe said, “Bet.”Flash forward one year later: we were unpacking boxes in Hermosillo, Sonora, Mexico—where the only white stuff on the ground was sand, and the only storm we had to deal with was trying to find decent air conditioning.Just a few months after my dramatic “my-hands-are-freezing-get-me-out-of-here” meltdown, the universe clearly decided to throw me a bone—or maybe a taco—because my husband Vince was presented with an incredible job opportunity in Mexico. Before I could even say “¿Una cerveza por favor?”, we were packing our bags and heading off to the land of sombreros, tacos, and glorious afternoon siestas. We made the decision to drop everything and move for a couple of years—no turning back (couple of years turned into almost 15 years). Our house? Sold.Our belongings? Packed. Our lives? Shoved into cardboard boxes with the hope they’d magically reappear in the right country (and in one piece).As thrilling as it all sounded, I was secretly terrified of this change. At the time, I was in the thick of building my career in Toronto - always busy, always moving. And suddenly I found myself thinking, “What am I going to do with my time in Mexico?”The following morning, I turned on my work computer and received a random message on the screen - like a digital fortune cookie. It read: "Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."Naturally, I did what any deep-thinking person would do - I panicked slightly and overanalyzed it for the next three hours. I thought, Okay… something to love? Check. I had a husband and an amazingly supportive family. Something to hope for? Absolutely. I was about to move to Mexico and was really hoping I wouldn’t melt or accidentally offend someone with my beginner Spanish.But something to do? Ummm, I was clueless. I was the queen of structure and a master planner. The thought of having a blank schedule made me extremely anxious. Was this quote trying to tell me that without “something to do,” I was missing the key essential to happiness in my life? Was I destined for unhappiness? After a few more minutes of inner drama (and one very unnecessary Jalapeno chip break), I took it as a sign, a powerful nudge. I had the language skills and the patience (sort of), so all I needed was ‘something to do’ that didn’t involve eating tacos and drinking tequila all day. I decided; I would become an English teacher. I went online and applied to several different private schools and landed a job – teaching grade 4. And just like that, my happiness level was – restored, with a side of lesson plans!“Change is good, change is absolutely necessary. Life isn’t about settling, dwelling and waiting. It’s about making things happen and always maintaining a positive outlook while experiencing all that’s different and new in this world.” I was ready to make every moment count. That was the goal as we dove headfirst into our new adventure. And let me tell you—our experience in Mexico did not disappoint.I began teaching Grade Four at a private bilingual school near our home. Suddenly, I was “Mees Perri,” living my best life. My first week, I showed up to the teacher’s meeting bright and early - Canadian punctuality in full force. Half hour later, the rest of the staff casually wandered in, laughing, chatting, and not a care in the world. No one was stressed. It was like walking into an alternate universe where chill vibes and relaxed timelines ruled the magical pueblo.I’ll be honest—after nearly 15 years of that energy, it became very contagious. I try to keep that same carefree spirit alive since moving back to Toronto... “try” being the key word since everything here is about deadlines, timelines and a scheduling nightmare.But life in Mexico? It was incredible. And this July marks eight years since we returned. I won’t say I’m thrilled to be back... but I’m also not hiding in my closet sulking with a bottle of Don (although sometimes it’s tempting). It’s just… different.Coming back gave me a whole new perspective on life.I remind my kids all the time: life is an adventure. It’s not always sunshine and street tacos. Change, challenges, and even the “what on earth am I doing?” moments are what shape us. It’s about taking chances, even if it makes us uncomfortable. At times we are happy and at times we are not, but we are constantly learning and growing as individuals. The truth is, we all need to zoom out and look at the bigger picture and not be afraid to try something new and accept changes with an open mind."You have to count on living every single day in a way you believe will make you feel good about your life -- so that if it were over tomorrow, you'd be content with yourself." Jane SeymourI remember once seeing an elderly couple leaving the mall, walking hand in hand. I smiled and held the door for them, feeling all kinds of wholesome, when the gentleman looked at me and said, “You’ll be just like us one day, dear.” Most people might panic at the thought—wrinkles! dentures! orthopedic shoes! - but I smiled and said, “I hope so, sir. What a blessing that would be.” And I meant it, because growing old isn’t scary - it’s a privilege.That said, it’s not really about how long we stick around, but how we live while we’re here. So go ahead & close your eyes. Picture yourself old and gray—rocking chair, fuzzy socks, telling the same stories on loop. Now ask yourself: what’s the one thing you’d be proud of? Would it be the jobs you had? The cars you drove? The fortune you built—or tried to build? Or would it be the good stuff—the traveling, the deep belly laughs, the memories that stuck like glitter? My guess? It’ll be the moments, not the mileage. The chances you took, the changes you made, the story you wrote –all in your own narrative.Moral of the story? Comfort is a place to rest, not a place to live. Don’t be afraid of change – instead – be afraid of staying stuck in what's simply comfortable. Take the risk. Make the move. Change the job. Say yes to the things that may scare you a little, because the only way we evolve as individuals, as professionals and as humans—is by stepping outside the box and believing there’s more waiting for us on the other side. And also - wish wisely when walking through that snow storm one day, the universe is always listening—and sometimes, it too has a sense of humor.
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Hae-won Jeon
Personal Growth
THE ART OF SHOWING UP WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE FALLING APART
There are days when I can't find matching socks for anyone in this house, including myself, and the emails are piling up like a digital Tower of Pisa threatening to topple and bury me alive. Yet somehow, I'm expected to show up—at work meetings, at family dinners, at life—looking like I've got my shit together.Spoiler alert: I don't.None of us do, really. We're all just various stages of fraying at the edges while trying to hold the center. Life doesn't come with an instruction manual, but if it did, the first page would just be "HAHAHAHA" written in crayon by someone who clearly had a mental breakdown mid-sentence.The Beautiful Devastation of Being Everything to EveryoneLast Tuesday, I found myself sitting in my car outside the grocery store, having a complete existential crisis over whether to buy the organic chicken that would make me feel like a responsible adult or the cheaper alternative that would allow me to maybe pay my electricity bill. I sat there for twenty minutes, not crying but not not-crying either, caught in that liminal space we know too well—the space between who we thought we'd be and who we actually are on four hours of sleep and seventeen competing priorities.Here's what nobody tells you about modern existence: it's not the big crises that break you. It's the constant, grinding pressure to be everything all at once—professional, partner, parent, friend, activist, informed citizen, and somehow still a whole-ass human being with needs and dreams of your own."The real art isn't in perfection. It's in showing up anyway, sticky shirt and all."The mental load isn't just heavy; it's fracturing. It's remembering deadlines and birthdays and that weird sound the car is making and whether you've had water today and did you respond to that urgent email and oh god is that a rash on your arm or just dirt?Yet we show up. Somehow.We show up because there isn't another option, but also because buried beneath the exhaustion and the doubt is a fierce commitment to the life we're building—messy and imperfect as it may be.The Permission to Be Gloriously Imperfect"You make it look so easy," someone said to me recently at a work event.I laughed so hard I nearly pulled a muscle. Then I told them the truth: that morning, I'd used dry shampoo for the fourth day in a row, eaten a leftover Pop-Tart for breakfastand had a complete breakdown over finding an unidentifiable sticky substance on my last clean shirt.There's this pervasive myth that we should be gliding through life with grace and wisdom, when most days I'm just a sleep-deprived disaster barely keeping the wheels from falling off this metaphorical bus. And that's on my good days.The real art isn't in perfection. It's in showing up anyway, sticky shirt and all. It's in admitting that you're barely holding it together sometimes, and that's not failure—it's just the honest landscape of being human.The Radical Act of Self-CompassionThe turning point for me wasn't finding some magical system that made everything manageable. It wasn't a planner or an app or outsourcing or even therapy (though therapy helped, and if you're not in it, maybe consider it?).The turning point was the day I looked in the mirror—eye bags like bruises, hair a mess, wearing yesterday's t-shirt—and instead of the usual litany of self-criticism, I simply said: "You're doing your best, and your best is enough."It felt like bullshit at first, to be honest. But I kept saying it. On the days when I showed up late. On the days when dinner was cereal. On the days when I snapped at people I love because my patience had worn thinner than my favorite threadbare t-shirt.You're doing your best, and your best is enough.Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I started to believe it. And that belief—that shaky, uncertain permission to be imperfect—has become my North Star on the days when showing up feels impossible."You're doing your best, and your best is enough."
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Joseph Tito
Personal Growth
Time: The Slippery Bastard You’ll Never Catch
The other morning, I had one of those rare, magical moments where the stars aligned, and I woke up before my kids. If you’re a parent, you know how rare this is. My kids have an uncanny ability to sense the exact second I even think about sleeping in. But not that day. That day, the universe handed me a gift—a quiet house, a hot cup of coffee, and a sunrise peeking through the kitchen window. It felt like I had all the time in the world.I thought, Today’s the day. I’m going to crush my to-do list. Emails? Done. Content? Shot. Laundry? Folded. Maybe I’d even squeeze in a quick workout (okay, probably not, but the optimism was there). I was ready to conquer the world.Fast forward eight hours, and I’m back in the kitchen, staring at the clock like it just betrayed me. The sun’s already setting, the kids are arguing over who gets the iPad, and I’m still in the same clothes I slept in. My to-do list? Untouched. My coffee? Cold. The only thing I managed to accomplish was deep-cleaning the junk drawer because, obviously, that was my top priority.How does this happen? How does an entire day disappear without warning? Time, my friends, is a sneaky little bastard. One minute, you’re basking in the glory of a quiet morning, and the next, you’re standing in the kitchen wondering how you’re supposed to make dinner out of three ingredients and a prayer. Shouldn’t there be somekind of alarm system? Like, “Hey, just a heads up—it’s already 4 PM, and you’ve accomplished exactly none of your plans. Good luck with that.”The Myth of Time ManagementI love how people talk about time management like it’s a skill you can just master. Oh, just color-code your planner! Use this app! Wake up at 5 AM! As if waking up earlier magically gives you control over a chaotic life. Let me tell you something: waking up earlier just means you’re tired and behind schedule.And don’t even get me started on those Instagram overachievers. You know the ones. By 8 AM, they’ve run five miles, made a green smoothie, and posted a motivational quote about “seizing the day.” Meanwhile, I’m over here celebrating the fact that I brushed my teeth before noon. Do these people live in some alternate universe where time moves slower? Do they get bonus hours in their day? Because I’d like to file a complaint.The truth is, no amount of planners, apps, or early mornings can tame the beast that is time. It’s slippery, unpredictable, and, frankly, kind of a jerk. And yet, we keep chasing it, convinced we can somehow wrangle it into submission.Letting Go of the To-Do ListSomewhere along the way, we all bought into this idea that our worth is tied to how much we get done. If we’re not ticking off every box on our to-do list, we feel like we’ve failed. But who decided that finishing every task was the gold standard for a life well-lived? Sometimes, just surviving the day without losing your mind is a bigger win than crossing off ten to-dos."Time is a pickpocket—gone before you even notice."Here’s the thing: time is never going to slow down. The days will keep slipping by, and the to-do list will keep growing. But maybe the trick isn’t about trying to control time. Maybe it’s about learning to dance with it—messy, offbeat, and imperfect as it may be.The Small Wins That MatterAt the end of the day, it’s not about the big wins. It’s about the small joys that keep us moving forward: the first bite of your favorite meal, an unexpected text from an old friend, or the relief of finally taking off your shoes after a long day. Life isn’t just the grand gestures—it’s all the little brushstrokes that create the masterpiece.So, maybe I’ll never master time management. Maybe my to-do list will outlive me. But if I can find five minutes to laugh at the absurdity of it all—or organize one damn junk drawer—maybe that’s enough. Because time, sneaky bastard that it is, will keep moving no matter what. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I’ll try again.
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Joseph Tito
Bitch Fest
Bitch Fest: Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Unbothered.
LETTER 1Dear Bitch Fest,I'm 34, recently divorced, and my ex-husband is already engaged to someone he met three months ago. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to figure out how to use dating apps without wanting to throw my phone into traffic. Everyone keeps telling me I should "get back out there" and "you're so strong," but honestly? I feel like a garbage person most days. How do I not hate myself for taking longer to bounce back than apparently everyone else on the planet?—Slow & Steady Loses the RaceDear Slow & Steady,First off, fuck everyone who's clocking your healing timeline like you're running a marathon they have money on. Your ex-husband didn't "bounce back"—he ricocheted directly into another person's life because sitting alone with his feelings was scarier than a horror movie marathon. That's not recovery; that's emotional whiplash with a ring attached.Here's what nobody tells you about divorce: there's no prize for speed-healing. You're not "losing" because you need more than a season to figure out who you are without someone else's dirty socks on your bedroom floor. You're being a goddamn adult about it.Let me paint you a picture of what's actually happening here. While you're doing the hard work of untangling years of shared everything and figuring out which version of yourself exists without his commentary, he's playing house with someone new. That's not strength—that's avoidance dressed up in wedding planning. He's using this poor woman as a human band-aid, and honestly? I feel sorry for her.Meanwhile, you're over here having actual feelings about the end of something that mattered. You're grieving not just the relationship, but the future you thought you were building and the comfort of knowing someone's coffee order by heart. That's not weakness—that's being human with a capital H.Here's what I want you to do: take all that energy you're spending on feeling like a "garbage person" and redirect it toward something that actually matters. Learn to cook that one dish you always wanted to try. Buy yourself flowers on a Tuesday for no reason other than you're still breathing. The goal isn't to become someone new—it's to remember who you were before you became half of a "we."Those dating apps? They'll still be there when you're ready to swipe through the wasteland of men whose entire personality is "I love The Office." Right now, your job is to remember that you're a whole person, not half of something broken. And for the love of all that's holy, stop measuring your progress against someone who clearly makes decisions the way a toddler picks breakfast cereal. You're not slow—you're thorough. There's a difference.LETTER 2Dear Bitch Fest,My best friend of 15 years has become completely obsessed with wellness culture. She won't shut up about her morning routine, her supplements, her "toxic" job (which pays well and she actually likes), and how I need to "align my energy." Last week she tried to sell me a $300 course on "feminine leadership" and got genuinely offended when I said no. I miss my friend, but I don't know how to talk to this MLM wellness robot she's become. Help?—Missing My Actual FriendDear Missing,Your friend didn't find wellness—she found a very expensive way to avoid her actual problems. That $300 course? It's not about feminine leadership; it's about buying a sense of purpose when you're too scared to examine why you feel empty.Here's the thing about wellness culture: it's designed to make you feel like you're constantly failing at being human. Your friend has found a community that tells her she's "awakened" while everyone else is "asleep," which is both incredibly seductive and incredibly isolating. She's not trying to hurt you—she's trying to save you from the same existential dread that's eating her alive.You have two choices: set boundaries harder than a prison wall, or have one brutally honest conversation about what's really going on in her life. Try this: "I love you, but I need you to hear me. I don't want to buy anything, join anything, or optimize anything. I just want my friend back. Can we hang out without talking about your morning routine?"If she can't do that, then you're grieving someone who's still alive, and that's its own kind of hell. But sometimes people need to get lost in the wellness sauce before they find their way back to being human.LETTER 3Dear Bitch Fest,I'm a 28-year-old woman who just started a new job at a company I actually love. The problem? My manager is a woman in her 40s who seems to hate me for no reason. She's supportive of everyone else on the team, but with me, she's cold, dismissive, and finds fault with everything I do. I've tried being extra friendly, staying late, bringing coffee—nothing works. I'm starting to think she just doesn't like young women, but I don't know how to handle this without looking like I'm playing the victim. What do I do?—Trying Too HardDear Trying,Stop tap-dancing for someone who's already decided not to clap. You're not imagining this, and you're not being dramatic. Some women absolutely do hate other women, especially younger ones, and it's usually because they're projecting their own insecurities about aging, relevance, or missed opportunities onto your unsuspecting face.Here's what you're going to do: document everything. Every dismissive comment, every impossible deadline, every time she treats you differently than your colleagues. Keep it factual, keep it dated, and keep it detailed. You're not playing victim—you're collecting evidence.Then stop trying to win her over. Seriously. No more coffee runs, no more staying late to prove your worth, no more performing the "cool, agreeable girl" routine. Do your job well, be professional, and let her weirdness be her problem, not yours.If it gets worse, you have options: HR, her boss, or finding a new team within the company. But first, try showing up as yourself instead of as a people-pleasing machine. Sometimes the only way to deal with a bully is to stop giving them the reaction they're looking for.LETTER 4Dear Bitch Fest,Okay, so I don't have a problem, but I can't fucking stand when people put their phone on speaker or FaceTime in public. It bugs the shit out of me. I don't care to hear about other people's conversations. People need to be more considerate of others around them. No, I'm not a Karen, but fuck, I feel like I'm getting there... lol—Almost KarenDear Almost Karen,Welcome to the club, baby. Population: everyone who's ever been trapped on public transport listening to someone's entire family drama unfold at maximum volume. You're not becoming a Karen—you're becoming someone with boundaries, and there's a difference.Here's the thing: people who blast their personal business in public spaces are the same people who think the world is their living room. They genuinely don't understand that the rest of us didn't sign up to be extras in their life documentary. It's not malicious; it's just breathtakingly self-absorbed.The real tragedy? These phone-blasters have somehow convinced themselves they're being "authentic" and "real" by turning every grocery store aisle into their personal therapy session. Meanwhile, you're standing there trying to pick out yogurt while learning intimate details about someone's UTI symptoms.You have three options: invest in noise-canceling headphones and join the rest of us in our protective bubbles, master the art of the pointed stare (works about 20% of the time), or embrace your inner petty and start loudly commenting on their conversation like you're providing live commentary. "Ooh, she should definitely dump him!"Just remember: wanting basic courtesy in shared spaces doesn't make you a Karen. It makes you someone who understands that civilization is held together by the thin thread of people not being complete assholes to each other.LETTER 5Dear Bitch Fest,I'm 29 and just found out I'm pregnant with my first kid. I'm excited, but I'm also terrified about what this means for my career. I work in marketing at a tech startup, and while they talk a big game about "work-life balance," I've watched two other women basically disappear after having babies. One got "restructured" out during her mat leave, and the other came back to find her responsibilities had been "redistributed." My manager keeps making jokes about how I'll "probably want to take it easy now" and asking if I'm "still committed to the big projects." I haven't even told them my due date yet. How do I protect myself without looking like I'm expecting special treatment?—Pregnant and ParanoidDear Pregnant and Paranoid,Welcome to the fucked-up world of pregnancy discrimination, where companies hang motivational posters about "supporting working mothers" while quietly pushing pregnant women toward the exit. Your paranoia isn't paranoia—it's pattern recognition, and you're absolutely right to be worried.First, start documenting everything immediately. Every "joke" about taking it easy, every comment about your commitment, every meeting you suddenly stop getting invited to. Keep a paper trail that would make a lawyer weep with joy. Email yourself summaries of conversations, save texts, screenshot everything. You're not being dramatic—you're being smart.Here's what your manager's "jokes" actually are: illegal interview questions disguised as casual conversation. They're fishing for information about your plans while pretending to be supportive. Don't take the bait. When they ask about your commitment to projects, respond with something like, "I'm fully committed to delivering excellent work, just like I always have." Keep it professional and give them nothing to twist later.The unfortunate reality is that pregnancy discrimination is rampant, especially in tech startups that love to talk about disruption but can't figure out basic human decency. Your company's track record speaks louder than their diversity statements. But here's the thing: knowledge is power, and you now know exactly what you're dealing with.Talk to an employment lawyer now, not after something goes wrong. Many will give you a free consultation to understand your rights and options. Know your provincial employment standards inside and out. Connect with other working mothers in your industry—they've navigated this bullshit before and can be invaluable allies.And remember: you're not asking for special treatment by expecting not to be discriminated against. You're asking for basic human rights and legal protections. The fact that this feels revolutionary says everything about how broken the system is, not about your expectations.A Note from the EditorThe inbox is overflowing with your workplace nightmares, family drama, dating disasters, and general life chaos, and honestly? I'm here for all of it. Your willingness to share the real, unfiltered truth about your lives is what makes this column worth reading. Before we go any further, let me be crystal clear: I am not a therapist, counselor, or any kind of licensed mental health professional. My advice should be taken with a massive grain of salt and the understanding that what works for one person's dumpster fire might not work for yours. If you're dealing with serious mental health issues or abuse, please seek help from qualified professionals who actually know what they're talking about.What I can offer is perspective, solidarity, and the occasional reality check delivered with zero filter. Think of this as advice from your most brutally honest friend—the one who loves you enough to tell you when you're being ridiculous and supports you enough to help you burn it all down when necessary. If you have something to bitch about, contact us at info@jeopublishing.com.
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Joseph Tito
Spotlight
From Rock Bottom to Sephora Shelves: How Jenn Harper Turned Sobriety Into an Indigenous Beauty Revolution
"I'm proudly a recovered alcoholic and I'm no longer going to feel ashamed. Shame will kill us - it almost killed me."Jenn Harper had been selling seafood for over a decade when three little Indigenous girls covered in lip gloss changed everything. The dream came in January 2015, just two months into her sobriety—brown skin, rosy cheeks, giggling and laughing while covered in colorful gloss. When she woke up, she wrote down what would become the business plan for Cheekbone Beauty."It was so real to me that building a cosmetics company was the next thing on my path," Harper reflects. "It's crazy when I think about it now—I'm embarrassed about how much I didn't know about this industry."What she didn't know could fill a warehouse: product development, supply chains, ingredients, retail merchandising, the crushing competitiveness of beauty. What she did know was this: a brand representing Indigenous people deserved to exist in the world.Ten years later, that naive conviction has built something unprecedented—the first B Corp certified Indigenous beauty brand to hit Sephora shelves, a company that's donated over $250,000 to Indigenous communities, and a new category Harper calls "Indigenous Beauty" that puts sustainability and cultural values at its core.But the real revolution? How Harper transformed the same addictive patterns that nearly destroyed her life into the obsessive focus that built an empire.When Shame Nearly Killed Her"I'm proudly a recovered alcoholic, and I'm no longer going to feel ashamed," Harper says with the directness that's become her trademark. "Shame will kill us—it almost killed me."Harper's battle with alcoholism lasted years, marked by rehab attempts, relapses, and a marriage hanging by a thread. In 2014, her husband delivered an ultimatum: get sober or he was leaving. It was the first time in their marriage he'd drawn that line."I had this moment of surrender. I had to believe truly that I could get well," she explains. The timing wasn't coincidental—2015 was also when Canada's Truth and Reconciliation Commission released its report on residential schools, finally giving Harper language for the generational trauma that had shaped her family."I used to believe I was just this person who comes from a completely dysfunctional family—we're just screwed up people," she admits. "Then I learned that this was systematically designed to take down a culture."Her grandmother had been taken from their community at six years old, forced into residential school until sixteen, beaten for speaking their language. Suddenly, Harper's family dysfunction had context—and a path to healing.Replacing One Addiction With AnotherTraditional recovery wisdom warns against substituting addictions, but Harper had a different plan. "I became obsessed with building this business, and maybe as an addict with an addict's brain, I'll never be fully healed from that in this life. But how can I use that power of obsession for doing something good versus destroying my life?"She admits the approach isn't typical AA advice, but it worked. Harper channeled her addictive patterns into something constructive: reading over a hundred books on entrepreneurship and Indigenous culture, diving deep into formulations and supply chains, obsessing over every detail of building a sustainable beauty company."That you can climb any mountain and get to the top," Harper says when asked what sobriety taught her about business. "You really can't see it unless you can see it—that line is so important for people from BIPOC communities. If you didn't see yourself represented out there, how are you supposed to think you can do those things?"Building Indigenous Beauty From NothingWhat Harper calls "Indigenous Beauty" isn't just marketing—it's a fundamental reimagining of how beauty products should be made. Where Korean beauty focuses on skincare and French beauty means perfume and red lipstick, Indigenous beauty centers sustainability and connection to the earth."Indigenous people have truly lived and breathed sustainability since the beginning of time," Harper explains. "We want to add that into how we make and create our products."At Cheekbone, that means formulas that actually biodegrade back into ecosystems, sustainably sourced packaging, and transparencyabout every ingredient. Harper spent years studying formulations to replace conventional ingredients with biodegradable alternatives—swapping propylene glycol for propendol, using only post-consumer recycled plastic, creating products that can serve multiple purposes."The truth is, true sustainability means we buy nothing and use what we have," Harper acknowledges. "We're still a consumer-based business. But can we do it so that the choice someone's making is a better choice they can feel good about?"The Cost of RepresentationHarper's drive for visibility became even more urgent after losing her brother BJ to suicide. "When you lose someone to suicide, you really spend a lot of time thinking about the what-ifs," she says quietly. "What I learned from my brother is that he really felt represented in these last few years. He would send me messages about Indigenous people on red carpets or athletes coming up."Those messages became proof of representation's power—and its absence's danger. Harper knows the statistics: Indigenous communities face suicide rates far above national averages, often linked to disconnection and lack of belonging."You really can't be it unless you can see it," Harper repeats. "For me, being able to represent our communities and help them see that entrepreneurship is an option—if I can figure it out and I wasn't a great student, I didn't have a university degree—if I can do this, they can too."Revolution, Not ActivismHarper's approach to change differs from traditional activism. "I feel like going and yelling at someone with a sign is never going to change their heart," she explains. "We need activists for many things, but I believe the way I love to connect with people is: can we change people's hearts?"Instead of protests, Harper builds. Cheekbone's scholarship fund has deployed 30 scholarships since 2021. Two percent of all revenue goes to Indigenous education initiatives year-round, with special Orange Shirt Day campaigns raising additional funds."We use the system," Harper says of their Orange Shirt Day strategy. "People arethinking about those things on that day, so of course we're using it. The algorithm of the world works on days now—if you're not speaking to the big things happening, no one cares because no one's going to see it."The approach extends to retail partnerships. When Sephora committed to Harper's "Glossed Over" campaign—featuring lip glosses named "Luscious Lead" and "E. Coli Kiss" to highlight water crises in Indigenous communities—it gave profits from Cheekbone sales to water treatment organizations."Sephora is really great—they take risks in that way," Harper notes. "They're truly the heroes in that story because they used their platform, and that's not easy to do on a bigger scale."The Real Beauty IndustryHarper envisions an industry transformation that goes beyond Indigenous representation. "Real people, no more editorial stuff," she says when asked what would make beauty actually beautiful. "We deserve to see real people wearing the products with real skin imperfections, acne, textured skin, hair on their face—let's just be real about it."It's a radical vision in an industry built on manufactured insecurity, but Harper's betting consumers are ready. As the first B Corp certified cosmetic brand in Sephora, Cheekbone legally prioritizes people and planet over profit—paying living wages, providing mental health benefits, and taking company-wide mental health weeks."Everyone at Cheekbone makes over a living wage for the area of the world they live in," Harper explains. "We take a whole week off every summer as an entire business so that it's a real mental health break for the entire company."What Her Grandmother Would ThinkWhen asked what her grandmother would think of seeing Cheekbone in Sephora, Harper pauses. "I think she would be proud. We're a humble group of people, a humble nation. We don't do the bragging thing—it's cultural. But there would be a lot of joy and happiness because I'm her granddaughter."That humility runs through everything Harper builds. Despite Cheekbone's success—Sephora shelves, B Corp certification, six-figure donations—she insists they're just getting started."I literally feel like we're just getting started," she says of the ten-year journey. "Over the last two years is finally when I feel like we've built something that's going to have value and matter."The Revolution ContinuesHarper's vision extends beyond Cheekbone to building an Indigenous beauty conglomerate—acquiring skincare brands, hair care lines, creating an entire ecosystem centered on Indigenous values and sustainable practices.“Cheekbone pioneered a category we call Indigenous Beauty," she explains. "What we intend to do is build this with that long view in mind."For women watching Harper's journey—especially those with their own healing to do—her message is clear: "I am no longer going to feel ashamed. If we've made past mistakes, big ones or small ones, you have to remove that shame part of it. Anyone can turn their lives around at any given moment."It's advice born from experience, spoken by someone who turned rock bottom into revolutionary business, addiction into empire-building, and personal healing into community transformation."If your heart's in something, there's nothing that can stop you from reaching that goal," Harper concludes. "I have regrets, many, many regrets. But shame will kill us. And I refuse to let shame win."Harper's story represents a new generation of Indigenous entrepreneurs building businesses that honor their heritage while challenging industry standards. As Orange Shirt Day approaches this September, her work reminds us that real reconciliation happens not through performative gestures, but through sustained action, authentic representation, and the radical act of building something beautiful from the ground up.When Jenn Harper talks about changing hearts instead of holding signs, she's describing a partnership that puts real money behind Indigenous education. For four years, Cheekbone Beauty has worked with Indspire, Canada's largest Indigenous-led registered charity, transforming lip gloss sales into life-changing scholarships."They're the one that we do our scholarship fund in collaboration with," Harper explains. "They're a not-for-profit, we're a for-profit business, so we get them to do all of our scholarship fund work."The partnership makes perfect sense: Harper brings platform and profits, while Indspire brings three decades of experience. Since 1996, Indspire has distributed over $200 million in scholarships to more than 54,000 Indigenous students across Canada.The collaboration has deployed 30 scholarships since 2021, with Cheekbone contributing 2% of all revenue year-round to their "For Future Generations Scholarship Fund." During Orange Shirt Day campaigns, that jumps to 100% of profits after operational costs."This year will be the fourth year," Harper notes. "The people at Cheekbone love their jobs because everything we do is about supporting and giving back to the community."What makes this powerful isn't just money—it's visibility. Harper's Orange Shirt Day campaigns educate consumers about funding gaps, systemic barriers, and why Indigenous education matters. Her customers learn while they shop."Education is powerful," Harper emphasizes. "Whatever path a young person can choose, it's going to help."Indspire's approach aligns with Harper's philosophy. Rather than charity creating dependency, they provide tools for self-determination. Scholarships support everything from trades programs to PhD studies, recognizing that Indigenous communities need leaders in every field.Harper's story—building a multi-million dollar company without a university degree—proves success comes in many forms. But systemic change requires Indigenous people in boardrooms, courtrooms, research labs, and government offices."Meeting people that have been impacted—they're a beautiful organization, and people should be supporting them in every which way they can," Harper says.The partnership creates a feedback loop: Cheekbone's success generates scholarship funding, which creates Indigenous graduates, who become role models for the next generation—the representation Harper wishes she'd had growing up ashamed of her identity.This isn't charity for charity's sake. Harper sees education funding as business strategy, community building, and cultural preservation. Every scholarship recipient represents potential future leadership and entrepreneurship."It's all about what are we doing here for the next generations," Harper explains. "That's part of our complete ethos as a brand."As Cheekbone grows into an Indigenous beauty conglomerate, the Indspire partnership ensures success lifts the entire community. It's capitalism with conscience, business as resistance, and proof that revolution can happen one scholarship at a time.
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Joseph Tito
Spotlight
The Feeling-Nothing Mother
Patric Gagné doesn't need her kids to love her back. She's okay with that. Are we?Patric Gagné cuts her kids' peanut butter sandwiches into stars and whales. She makes Christmas magical even though she hates it. She shows up for bedtime stories, tantrums, and bullies. But here's the kicker—she does it without the emotional fuel most of us run on. She's a diagnosed sociopath. And she's one of the most fascinating, disarming, and deeply human mothers I've ever interviewed.This isn't a hot take on TikTok psychopathy or a glorified redemption arc. This is someone telling the truth about what it's like to parent without the typical emotional wiring—and still doing the damn thing. I first reached out to Patric because her memoir Sociopath hit me in the gut. Not because I saw a monster. But because I saw a parent navigating the same chaos I was—just using a different map. What followed was one of the most honest, unfiltered conversations I've ever had with anyone."I told my kids they don't have to love me." That line stopped me cold. I asked her if she meant it literally—like, had she actually said those words to her children? "Yes," she said without hesitation. "We've had long conversations about love, and I've told them it should always be additive. You should never feel obligated to love anyone. Even me."It's not rejection. It's radical self-honesty. And it challenges every sappy Mother's Day card, every feel-good sitcom, and every sugarcoated idea we've been sold about what love between parent and child is supposed to look like. But that's the point. Gagné's entire existence challenges the mythology of motherhood—and not in a self-congratulatory way. She's not trying to shock. She's trying to survive. And raise decent humans in the process.The Baby Stage: "I wanted to leave."We talked about those early months of parenting—the dark, sleepless tunnel so many of us have barely crawled out of. I told her I was crying daily, unsure if I'd make it out in one piece. She didn't flinch. "I wanted to kill myself," she admitted. "Not because of them—but because I thought something was wrong with me for not bonding."She had hoped, deep down, that motherhood would unlock something in her. Some primal instinct. Some feral maternal love. But it didn't. And that realization broke her heart in a way she couldn't quite describe. She wasn't angry at her children. She was angry at herself for believing she could be like everyone else. "I was a fool to have thought I could have bonded that way," she said. "I should have been more realistic with myself and said, 'Hey, it's not going to be what it's like for everybody else, just like nothing in your life has been. It's going to be different. But you'll get there.'"The difference between her experience and mine? She had a partner she could tap out to. "Unlike you, I had the benefit of a partner that I could say, 'Here you go. I got to tap out.'"Parenting Without the ScriptWe don't talk enough about what happens when your kids trigger parts of you that have never fully healed. Or never existed. Patric doesn't fake maternal warmth to keep up appearances with other parents. She fakes it when her kids need it from her. "Not so much anymore—they're older," she said. "But when they were younger and needed comfort I couldn't access authentically, I gave them what they needed anyway."When I asked what it feels like to watch her kids sleep, she answered without hesitation: "Relief." Not joy. Not aching love. Relief. Because they're okay. Because she can finally rest. That answer gutted me. Not because it was cold—but because it was honest. And how many of us have felt that exact thing, but felt too guilty to say it out loud?But then she surprises you. When her older child witnessed a classmate being bullied for their sexual orientation and stood up for them, Patric had one of her proudest moments. "I told him, 'You have no idea how much that means to that kid. It really means the world to a kid who feels all alone to have another kid say, stop doing that. That's not kind. And you're being a dick.' I was really proud of him that he did that."Pride without ego. Protection without possession. It's parenting stripped of performance."I can't care about this."One of my favorite moments came when I asked her how she handles the petty day-to-day dramas that set most parents off. "I just say, 'I can't care about this,'" she said, laughing. "It started as a joke with my friends, and now my kids even say it. Like, 'Mommy, you can't care about this.' And I'm like, 'I really can't. I love you. I do not have the bandwidth for a Fortnight play-by-play. I'm a huge gamer and I actually love Fortnite, but I'm also not interested in a 30 minute rundown."It sounds harsh. But how many of us pretend to care about every scraped knee, every Pokémon card betrayal, every tantrum about the wrong color cup? Patric doesn't pretend. She just shows up with what she's got.For nightmares, she takes what she calls "the easy way out." Instead of processing the dream at 3 AM, she'll say, "That's so scary! Let's talk about it more in the morning," or "The best thing for a nightmare is to replace it with a fresh dream," and bring them into bed with her. "The middle of the night is no time to process a nightmare," she said. "If they still want to talk about it in the morning I'll tell them they have 90 seconds to identify every emotion they felt in the dream. The emotions hold the information and, let's be honest, no one is trying to hear 90 minutes of unconscious recall."Boundaries without guilt. Efficiency without cruelty. It's revolutionary, actually.The Santa Claus RebellionIf you want to understand how Patric's mind works, ask her about Santa Claus. From the time her children were conscious enough to have the conversation, she's been methodically dismantling the myth. "I think Santa Claus is crazy. This whole thing about Santa Claus is insane to me," she told them. When they protested that Santa was real, she'd respond with pure logic: "What's the truth? That a man who wears the same clothes 365 days a year comes down a chimney and leaves presents for you because you're good? So he's breaking and entering?"Her children would push back, insisting Santa arrives by sleigh. "I'm sorry, he comes on what? A sleigh?" She'd continue: "Don't talk to strangers unless it's a man in a red suit promising gifts, in which case get into his lap and whisper your secrets? We're teaching kids about stranger danger, but over here it's okay?"But here's the thing—she still makes Christmas magical. "I really work hard to make Christmas magical for them, because it's not their fault that I have a really hard time at Christmas. It's so hard every year. But I definitely do it for them."Her solution was brilliant: let her children convince her while maintaining her stance. "They would come to me with the stories, and I would say, 'That's bonkers,' and then it's on them to convince me. All along I would say, 'This is insane,' but I will tell you there is something about Christmas that is magical. I don't know what it is, but I know it's not some random guy.""I never wanted to tell them I believed in something I didn't believe in," she explains. "I'd rather my kids know they can always count on me to deal with them honestly, even if it's not as magical as they would like it to be."Radical honesty wrapped in love. It shouldn't work. But it does.When Marriage Meets LogicLiving with someone who processes emotions so differently presents unique challenges. When her Italian husband gets angry and starts raising his voice, Patric's response is clinically precise. "I say, 'You're increasing the volume of your voice, not the clarity of your communication.'" she tells me. "I don't respond to yelling. I don't allow anyone to speak to me this way, and I wouldn't allow anyone to speak to you this way, so you need to take a walk because all I see is someone who is so wrapped up in an emotion tornado I can't reach the person on the inside."It should sound cold. Instead, it sounds like the sanest relationship advice I've ever heard. Her husband, she says, thrived in the baby stage. But Patric prefers the teenage years. "People like us tend to have a much easier time with the teenage years," she explains. "So many people who thrived in the baby stage are ready to pull their hair out in the teenage years. I feel that I'm more equipped to be a teen parent because I can have those conversations—about sex, about violence in schools. I'm very direct. I don't shy away from anything."When it comes to discipline, Patric strips away the emotional drama that usually accompanies consequences. "Actions have consequences. Period," she says. "It's like being an adult—if you want to test the boundaries and get caught, you're not going to be able to have access to the things you want. It's not 'How can you do this to me?' It's more just meeting them where they are."She often lets her children choose their own consequences. "You did something, so what is the consequence? You tell me, because I can choose, but I think it's more effective if you choose your own consequence. They're usually pretty spot on." With her older child, she'll reframe situations by asking what advice he'd give his younger sibling in the same situation. "Is this what I should tell your younger sibling? Is this how you would handle this?" The answer, she says, is always the same: "No."It's accountability without shame. Consequences without manipulation. And it's working.The Boxes of MemoryIn her memoir, Patric writes about a box of stolen childhood trinkets—glasses, small objects that gave her some sense of feeling when everything else felt like nothing. I asked if she still keeps that box. "I do, but it's gotten bigger. So now I have many boxes full of things, and they're not necessarily things that have been stolen so much as they're things that I have from places that I've been where I shouldn't have been."The impulse has evolved but never disappeared. When she travels alone, she notices the old urges. "She's still there, you know. She's like, 'Hey, you wanna go? Do you want to get into it?' It's like, no, I do not want to get into it. It's a conversation that's more playful now."At a recent party, she watched a woman being "such an asshole to the people working the event" and felt the familiar pull toward chaos. "I remember thinking, I'm just gonna grab her purse and throw it in the garbage. She's gonna lose her mind. She's gonna think somebody stole it. All of her stuff's gonna be gone." Her husband intervened quickly. "He definitely interceded very quickly, like 'You're not doing that.' And I was like, 'Well, we aren't doing anything. Just go get the car, Buddy. You don't have to be a part of this.'"Instead, she kicked the woman's purse under a table three tables over. "She did lose her mind and started accusing the staff of stealing it, which just basically outed her for being an even bigger piece of shit than she was."It's vigilante justice without violence. Chaos with a moral compass. And I'm not going to lie—I kind of love it.Love, RedefinedPatric's definition of love doesn't come with fireworks. It's not desperate or possessive. It's mutualism. "Organic. Additive. Mutual homeostasis," she said. "Not transactional. Not ego-driven. Just two people benefiting from each other's presence."When her children accomplish something—good grades, first steps, small victories—she celebrates differently than most parents. "I'm happy for them. I'm proud of them. But pride is something that's egocentric, isn't it? So many people who have a lot of pride also take it as a reflection of them, like 'Look at what a good parent I am because my kid got an A.' I'm proud for them, proud of them, but it has nothing to do with me."She adds, "You can be diagnosed with secondary psychopathy and still love. You can love differently—and still make it count."Honestly? It sounds like a better kind of love than most people ever get.Of course, the part of her story that makes people recoil—the pencil-stabbing, the animal cruelty—can't be sanitized away. When I asked what those moments felt like, she said, "Relief. It was like I could finally stop masking. It was my way of saying, 'This is who I am.'" She doesn't excuse the behavior. She doesn't romanticize it. She just doesn't connect to it emotionally the way neurotypical people do. And that's what terrifies people.But that's also why this story matters. Because when we treat sociopathy like a horror movie diagnosis—something you either are or aren't, something inherently evil—we lose the nuance. We lose the opportunity for understanding. For intervention. For treatment.She's Not Asking for ForgivenessPatric doesn't want you to like her. She's not asking for redemption. She's not looking to be fixed. She's just telling the truth. "I don't need an excuse to be an asshole," she told me. "If I'm in a dark place and I act out, I act out. There should be consequences. But I don't feel guilt about it."Her diagnosis doesn't excuse harm. But it does explain how she moves through the world. And she's spent years unlearning harmful behaviors—not because she "feels bad," but because she understands what's right. There's something both terrifying and refreshing about someone who takes responsibility without the emotional theater that usually accompanies it.The Privilege to HealShe's the first to acknowledge that if she weren't white, articulate, and conventionally attractive, this story might have ended very differently. "There are thousands of kids with the same traits I had—oppositional defiant disorder, conduct disorder—but they don't get access to treatment. They get kicked out of school. Thrown into the system. Labeled as bad kids. But these are treatable conditions. We just don't fund the solutions."She cites staggering statistics: "Conduct disorder affects roughly 10% of girls and 16% of boys. Its symptoms, such as stealing and deliberate acts of violence, are among the most common reasons for treatment. And yet there's no testing for them or markers for them like there are for autism."This isn't abstract for her. This is the knowledge that hundreds of thousands of children are cycling through systems designed to punish rather than heal. Children who could be helped. Children who could become functional adults, partners, parents. Children who could become her.The Origin MysteryPerhaps the most significant revelation comes when Patric drops a bombshell about her condition's origins: "I was not born this way." She's discovered something about the environmental factors that shaped her—specifically, "having been exposed to psychopathic practices at a very young age." Her response to this discovery? "Relief, fury, and clinical curiosity."But she's not ready to elaborate. "I need to do more research," she says. If her research proves what she suspects, it could revolutionize how we understand and treat sociopathy. It could shift the conversation from "monster or not monster" to "how do we prevent this from happening to other children?" For now, she's keeping that discovery close to her chest. But the implications are staggering.So What Do Her Kids Think?"They've never asked why I'm different," she said. "Because I've always been honest. I've told them, 'Mommy doesn't experience emotions like that. So sometimes I won't understand what you're feeling. But that's okay. You can talk to Daddy.'"When her children heard some of the backlash against her book, their response was pure confusion. "They're like, 'I don't understand. Why are people angry? Why are they saying things like that?' They can't wrap their head around it."Her children aren't confused about their mother. The rest of us are confused about what motherhood is supposed to look like.The Uncomfortable TruthThis is not a "look how far she's come" piece. This is a "look how she lives anyway" piece. Patric Gagné isn't trying to be your role model. She's not trying to win you over. But she is asking you to consider that parenting doesn't always have to be soaked in guilt, martyrdom, and emotional exhaustion. Maybe it can also be about logic. Consistency. Showing up. Giving your kids the truth, even when it's not pretty.We love to say that "there's no one way to be a good parent." But we rarely mean it. We say it, then judge every choice that doesn't look like our own. Patric Gagné is here to remind us that the love we think is universal—that overwhelming, consuming, sometimes destructive devotion—might not be the only way to raise whole human beings.You can love differently and still make it count. And maybe that's what makes her the most honest mother of all.If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of self-harm, please reach out to a mental health professional or crisis helpline. If you suspect a child may be showing signs of conduct disorder or other behavioral concerns, early intervention can make a significant difference."I am a criminal without a record. I am a master of disguise. I have never been caught. I have rarely been sorry. I am friendly. I am responsible. I am invisible. I blend right in. I am a twenty‑first‑century sociopath."Patric Gagne’s Sociopath is one of those books that leaves you sitting in silence long after the last page—equal parts disturbed, cracked open, and weirdly comforted. She doesn’t sugar-coat a thing. From childhood violence to emotional emptiness, Gagne holds nothing back, and somehow in that void, you feel everything. It’s not a plea for pity. It’s a dissection of what it means to perform humanity when you don’t feel it—and the loneliness that comes with that mask. And while the motherhood stuff is only touched on in the epilogue, what lands is the deep, unspoken ache for connection. This book made me question what we call empathy, what we judge as broken, and who gets to heal. It’s haunting in the best way. Get your copy here.
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Angela Marotta
Travel
Il Dolce Far Niente: A Lost Art
My childhood summers were spent with my grandparents in a small Italian town where time stood still. Every afternoon after lunch, my grandfather would grab his wooden chair, place it under an olive tree, and sit, becoming one with the stillness of the hot summer landscape and the clicking chorus of cicadas.I waited for him to do something. He just sat there, looking at nothing in particular. "Nonno, ma che fai?" I finally asked. Granddad, what are you doing? He turned to me and answered, "Sitting."At the time I figured he didn't understand the question. I didn't understand what he was doing. Not then. Not for years.In 2019, my eight-year-old daughter and I discovered a café in Saint-Germain near the apartment we were staying at. We would go early in the morning for breakfast before starting our day in La Ville Lumière. Annalise, our server, found my daughter's obsession with pain au chocolat amusing and by day 3 she already had one warm and waiting as we walked through the door. We sat by the window and watched the city wake up—the flower vendor arranging roses, the man who always stopped to let his dog drink from the water bowl outside. On our last morning, Annalise hugged us both, pressed a parting pain au chocolat into my little girl's hands, and said she hoped to see us again soon. My daughter unexpectedly threw her arms around the young server, hugging her as if she were leaving someone she had known her whole life rather than just a week.This wasn't how I'd planned our Paris trip. It became something better.The New Luxury: TimeThere's a word for what my grandfather did under his tree: il dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing. In our age of FOMO travel, we collect destinations like stamps in a passport-sized achievement book. Paris: check. Istanbul: check. Machu Picchu: check. We have every day planned out, itineraries mapped out, cooking classes scheduled, reservations booked months in advance to all those restaurants that keep popping up on our Instagram feed—oh, and don't forget the three different beaches you absolutely cannot miss according to every travel blogger who's ever existed. We are very efficient at seeing places. Terrible at actually being in them. You're exhausted. In paradise.By the time you collapse into your airplane seat for the flight home, you need a vacation from your vacation. You spend the first three days back recuperating from what was supposed to restore you, scrolling through hundreds of photos to pick the ones that will be perfect for that reel you are going to post to let everyone see how good a time you had. But did you actually enjoy any of those meticulously planned experiences?Then it's back to the routine—work, obligations, the mechanical rhythm of daily life, and all the while you plan your next escape from where you just escaped from.But something is shifting. Travellers are beginning to reject the crammed must-see bucket list in favor of what some now call the joy of missing out travel—though my grandfather would have simply called it living.It's harder than it sounds. We're programmed for productivity, even in paradise. That voice in your head listing all the things you should be seeing, doing, experiencing. The guilt of flying halfway around the world to sit in a café you could find in your own city.But here's what I've learned: You can spend a week in Paris and see everything while experiencing nothing. Or you can know one café, one park, one street so well that a piece of your heart stays there.The New Luxury: TimeWhen I work with clients planning trips, I try to build in what I call "free time." Entire afternoons with nothing scheduled. No reservations, just go out and discover or literally do nothing. Without fail, these spontaneous moments become their most vivid and treasured memories: the restaurant they stumbled upon, the conversation with locals at a neighborhood bar, the afternoon walking through cobblestone streets without a map.Even the travel world is catching on. Hotels are reimagining luxury as time rather than activities—slow cruises where the journey matters more than checking off ports, train routes through Tuscany where you watch landscapes change gradually with wine in hand, spa retreats where "sleep programs" make doing nothing the entire point. You're not observing local life through a bus window; you're temporarily invited to be part of a community.This pushes against everything we normally do when we travel. It asks us to be present in a new place rather than productive in it. The real test of travel isn't how many sights you've seen, but whether the place changed how you see. My grandfather, sitting under his olive tree every afternoon, understood something we've forgotten in our rush to experience everything: Presence is the ultimate luxury, whether you're in Paris or your own backyard.Creating your own Dolce Far NienteDon't get me wrong. This isn't about throwing your schedule out the window and wandering aimlessly. It's about creating space for the sweetness of life even while travelling. It's about stopping to enjoy those little moments where you lean into your chair, coffee cupped between your hands, and sit with the moment.Instead of accumulating experiences like trading cards, let's lean into what feels good, not what looks good on Instagram. Spend a week in Tuscany picking olives and having dinner with a family at the end of the day on a farm. Choose a neighborhood and learn its rhythms. Have your morning coffee at the same café. These small routines create connection and transform you from tourist to temporary resident. Walk instead of taking taxis. The in-between moments often hold the most magic.We may not always have the luxury of long stays at our destination, but even then, we can find a pocket of presence. One unhurried morning, or a meal without checking the time.But here's the real question: What happens when we return home? As we settle into fall routines—school drop-offs, work deadlines, soccer practice, parent-teacher conferences. Can we maintain this practice of presence?The answer lies not in overhauling our schedules but in finding our own versions of my grandfather's tree. It's finding those pockets of stillness. Maybe it's five minutes with your morning coffee standing outside to enjoy the silent stillness of a city stillasleep before checking emails. Perhaps it's sitting in your car for a moment before heading into the office, or simply standing at your kitchen window, watching the leaves change colour.Since Paris, my daughter now asks for "pain au chocolat mornings" at home—our code for unhurried weekend breakfasts.I never got a chance to tell my grandfather I finally understood what he was doing under that tree. But sometimes, when I manage to sit still long enough to hear my own breathing, to notice the light through the window, to feel the weight of the mug in my hands—I can almost see him there. Still sitting. Still teaching me, decades later, that the sweetness isn't in doing nothing.It's in being present enough to taste it.il dolce fare niente.Angela Marotta, CEO and founder of Marotta Travel, is a travel designer with three decades of experience in the travel industry, having spent most of her career living and working in Italy and Mexico. Her mission today is to provide uniquely tailored travel experiences with purpose.
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Joseph Tito
Spotlight
That's Not What This Life Is About
How Joanna Johnson built a revolution from the wreckage of everything she thought she knewThe revolution wasn't supposed to start with TikTok dances.Joanna Johnson was lip-syncing to "Jesse's Got a Gun" in her empty house, buying guitars she couldn't play, performing for strangers on an app she didn't understand. Her friends were calling to check if she was having a breakdown. She was 44, recently divorced, trapped in lockdown, and according to every metric that had previously defined her life, completely lost."My friends were calling me, making sure I wasn't having a physical, emotional breakdown," she laughs, remembering those early pandemic days. "They kept asking, 'What is going on, Joanna?' What they were seeing—and I didn't know it then—was very much a level of authenticity."Three years later, that "breakdown" has become a movement. The Ajax, Ontario educator now has over 3 million followers who look to @unlearn16 for wisdom about identity, authenticity, and the courage to rebuild your life from scratch. Her memoir, "That's Not What This Book Is About," is a number one bestseller. She's a keynote speaker, a school vice principal, and—most surprisingly to her—someone millions of people turn to when they need permission to become who they really are.But here's what makes Joanna different from every other inspiration-peddling influencer: she's brutally honest about the fact that she's still figuring it out.The Perfect StormThe path to viral educator began with what Joanna calls "three things occurring at the moment in time to create the perfect storm: Divorce, COVID lockdown, and Charlie, my best friend's kid, persuading me to download the app."The divorce came first. After years of what she now recognizes as dimming herself—"not being the center of the room, not being the person on stage, just carrying the stuff, being in the background"—her marriage ended. But the real end, the soul moment, came later."There was a moment that I stopped being her person," she says, her voice quieting. "She would call often, especially very late at night, very upset, questioning, needing support, and there was a moment that I had the awareness to say, 'I'm not your person anymore.'"It was 3 AM. A friend had told her she was still only "75% out" of the relationship. "That was the moment I knew that if I continue trying to save you—I'm never going to be the person that I need to be. And even worse, I'm never going to—even if you wanted me to save you—I can't. One person can't save another."What's remarkable is how little of herself she had to grieve. "I had been packing away myself for a good chunk of that relationship. I'd been just dimming it, right? As soon as you have to go somewhere and be less to make them feel better..." She trails off, then adds with characteristic directness: "I wasn't being myself at all. I was limiting who I was, and by limiting who I was, I was standing still."Standing still wasn't an option during lockdown. Alone in her house with nowhere to go and no one to dim herself for, Joanna had to face who she actually was. Social media became an unlikely laboratory for authenticity."I accidentally said something about Doug Ford," she recalls. "Literally, I just blurted it out, and then people were responding. They were laughing and saying, 'Oh my God, you're so bang on!' That's when I realized people want to talk about things authentically."The platform grew because Joanna brought something radical to social media: the willingness to admit she didn't have all the answers while still standing firmly in her truth. Her approach to bigotry and hate comments reveals this perfectly."You can't talk to hate, but I assure you, ignorance can be educated," she explains. When trolls comment about her appearance or sexuality, she responds with curiosity rather than defensiveness. "People ask, 'How do you keep your cool?' I say, 'I just don't care. Here’s a guy that spelled ‘their’ wrong wrong. What do I care about this guy?'"But it's not sociopathy—it's privilege, and she knows it. "I've had the luxury of living a privileged life in the sense that it's not that I've never experienced homophobia or roadblocks, but nothing horrific. I'm not carrying trauma. So when people authentically ask, 'Are you a boy or a girl?' I can authentically have that conversation without it triggering something significant."The Teaching ParadoxHere's where it gets complicated: How do you teach kids to be authentic when you're still figuring out who the hell you are?"You lead with that, don't you?" Joanna says without hesitation. "You lead with 'I don't know.'"After 23 years of teaching, she's learned that the education system has it backwards. "I try to tell kids—do things that scare you, do things you're not good at, because those are the things that are really going to highlight when you have to dig down. If I was good at math, just taking math course after math course teaches me nothing. Being afraid but doing it anyway—that's going to teach you something."She practices what she preaches. Five years ago, after decades of refusing, she finally agreed to be in a school play. "I've never been so scared in my entire life ever," she admits. "The best part was I had students that I was teaching strategies to study history, calming me down and helping me go through a completely different skill set."The LGBTQ+ advocacy that has become central to her platform works the same way. She's not trying to convert anyone or have dramatic coming-out conversations with students. Instead, she exists openly, loudly, authentically—"a visual example of somebody living very openly, very loudly, very 'call me whatever you want, just as long as you compliment my hair'—so that they can see that when they go down their authentic road, they can have a good, happy, healthy life."When millions of people look to you for guidance, what happens when you don't feel wise?"Every day," Joanna laughs. "What happens when I don't feel wise? Every day."But here's her secret: "As soon as you know that you know nothing, I think there's a comfort in it. I think the wisdom comes from understanding you have relatively nothing on lock, but you're willing to try everything."This Socratic approach extends to her online presence, where she navigates the impossible balance between authentic and performative. "I am performative. If I wasn't, I couldn't be a teacher," she acknowledges. "You don't get the message across unless you keep somebody's attention. If I don't keep a 16-year-old's attention, I don't care—it doesn't matter what knowledge I have in my head."The difference is intention. On TikTok, every gesture is amplified because she's trying to hold attention for four or five minutes. On live streams, she's more natural because there's back-and-forth conversation. But the core message remains the same: be willing to be scared and do it anyway.Love After SupermanThe hardest comment Joanna receives isn't about her appearance or politics—it's when the right wing successfully conflates LGBTQ+ advocacy with the term "groomer.""Everybody has a guttural reaction—you want to throw up when you think about people taking advantage of or manipulating kids. And they've done such a horrifically good job at binding the two together that it makes it very hard to operate in that space."She refuses to repost such comments, even to discredit them, because "then you're adding to it." Instead, she focuses on what she can control: being an example and having authentic conversations when possible.This approach extends to her personal life. After years of playing "Superman" in her marriage—swooping in to rescue and fix—she had to learn an entirely different way to love when she met Ana."I luckily met somebody who didn't need nor want me to save them," she explains. "Ana said, 'No, no, I don't need you to do that. That's me. I'll take care of me. You take care of you.' We've had to have more than one conversation like that where I realized, 'Oh, my value doesn't come from making sure you're okay because you're making sure you're okay.'"The realization was profound: "If I would have met the wrong person, I would be in the exact same loop."What terrifies someone who has rebuilt their entire life? "Failing," Joanna says simply. But not in the way you might think.As a vice principal, she carries the weight of wanting to help every student who walks through her door. "I tend to try to think, probably sometimes with a little bit of hubris, that I can help. And I always fear that one kid that I can't."Her office reflects this philosophy—movie posters, pop culture references, things that make people feel comfortable enough to be real. "The more we can connect through those kinds of stories, the more authentic the relationship is."But success? She already feels like she's made it. "I'm good now," she says with characteristic directness. Though she has one big goal left: filling Massey Hall with people who want to have the kinds of authentic, difficult, necessary conversations that social media has proven people are hungry for.The UnlearningFor readers who feel stuck, who look at their lives and think "this isn't working but I don't know how to burn it down," Joanna has surprising advice: Don't."I don't know if I'd start with burning it down. I'd start with one thing—one thing that you want to do that you're terrified to do. It could be an acting class, it could be scuba diving, it could be writing a book. You start engaging in it in an authentic way. You don't have to burn everything down because everything else will just fall away."The key is recognizing what you've been carrying that was never yours to carry. "We need to recognize that you have to stop carrying that. You have to figure out -what can I put down? My 14-year-old can get their own lunch. I can go do the art class. We don't have to do everything together."Because here's the truth she's learned: "You can't make other people happy. You can't fulfill other people. You can't make other people feel whole and powerful. You can only do that for you. And the more you do that for you, people around you will say, 'Oh shit, I want that. I'm going to do that.'"If all of it disappeared tomorrow—the followers, the speaking engagements, the platform—what would remain of who Joanna really is?"It would all remain," she says without hesitation. "The connections that I've made, the idea that I could go into any business, shake hands with any person at this point, never feel that I was out of place, never feel that I couldn't belong—that would remain. The idea that I'll be scared but I'll do it anyway. That, I hope, stays."This is what makes Joanna's story so powerful: it's not about finding yourself through external validation. It's about finally stopping the performance of being less than you are and discovering that who you've always been is enough.Her book isn't really about the stories from her childhood, though they're there. It's not about becoming a viral sensation, though that happened. It's about the moment when you stop being who you think you should be and start being who you actually are.And sometimes, just sometimes, the world is ready for exactly that person."That's not what this book is about," she says, grinning. "But maybe that's exactly what this life is about."
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Joseph Tito
Restaurant Reviews
The Real Story Behind Newmarket's Hottest New Spot
I'm sitting across from Lilly Vona at Bar Locale just days before opening, and even in this final preparation stage, you can feel the energy she and partner Frank Facciponte have built into this space. The music system is being tested, the bar is being stocked, and small plates are being perfected in the kitchen. It's exactly the sophisticated yet genuinely fun atmosphere they envisioned when they first laid eyes on this landmark location.Between the Covers: So you're about to open. How does it feel to see your vision finally coming to life?Lilly: It's incredible. This has been something I've always wanted to do. Through my travels, all through my young life, at home when my parents were big entertainers—this is what I've always enjoyed. Sharing plates, small plates, it's collaborative. It invites social connection. Food is so many things to so many people, but at the end of the day, it's family, it's love, it's culture.BTC: So what made Newmarket the right fit for this concept?Lilly: Actually, Newmarket wasn't even on our radar initially. We were actively looking at locations in midtown Toronto when we got approached to look at this property. It's a town-owned landmark location, and we only had one hour to view the space before deciding if we wanted to go through the whole RFP process—business plan, presentation, financials, the works. But honestly, the moment we saw it, we knew. And then when we learned about Main Street's accolades and what this community has built, we got really excited about being part of both the community and the business community here. It's such a unique opportunity to be in a landmark location that has this incredible heritage and significance to the town.BTC: You and Frank are business partners AND life partners. How do you not kill each other when the restaurant is having a shit day?Lilly: laughs We're both Geminis, so we're like the nicest four people you'll ever meet! But Geminis make exciting lovers, exciting partners. Exciting doesn't always mean easy—it's intense sometimes. We play hard, we work hard, we love hard. It's just who we are. And somehow through this crazy life we live, we raised three of the most amazing, well-balanced young men. That's my proudest achievement.BTC: What's been the biggest learning curve in expanding to three locations?Lilly: Learning to step back and trust our team. It took years—me and Frank worked on site 24/7 for years—for us to be able to oversee operations without micromanaging. Now we can go to our own restaurants and enjoy them as guests. Well, mostly. I still notice dust and fingerprints on the walls—you can't help it!BTC: Let's talk about that renovation. You literally stripped this place to the bare bones.Lilly: We did! It was a massive undertaking, but we had this vision of a space that could effortlessly transition from relaxed daytime lunch and brunch to a vibrant nighttime hotspot. That required completely rebuilding and redesigning everything. Every detail matters when you're trying to create an experience that lets people fully immerse themselves from the moment they walk in.BTC: How are you planning to balance creating that vibrant energy while still making it a place people can actually connect?Lilly: The music's going to be loud. When people come from our other Locale locations and say "the music's too loud," we're gonna be like "Crank it!" People should know that before coming in. But trust me, it will work. I'm 60, and I want to go to a place with loud music and crafted cocktails on date night. Sometimes you don't want to talk so much to your partner—you listen to the music together. It's gonna be vibrant, it's gonna give you energy.BTC: Your team seems ready to launch.Lilly: I could not do this without my core team. Steve Oletic will be our restaurant manager here—what he's achieved to make sure Aurora's in good hands while dedicating himself 24/7 to getting this place ready is incredible. Chef Michael Dadd is our head chef, and Eli Rosch is our bar manager. We've collaborated on everything together, and I can't wait for people to experience what we've built.The relationship between restaurant owner and chef is like a very complex dance. When you find that balance with somebody, you fucking go with it. Michael had so much potential beyond what he was doing—small plates, ingredient-driven cooking—this is his niche. And when I let him go, this is what we got.BTC: Chef Michael, tell us about your approach to the menu.Chef Michael Dadd: It's all about Mediterranean inspiration using local ingredients. We're doing everything from scratch—sardines we'll be cleaning and marinating in-house, 40 pounds a week. The patatas bravas, which we introduced at Beer Fest, went over really well. And the croquettas—very Spanish traditional but with a Scotch egg element, so there's a beautiful soft poached egg in the middle.I grew up 15 minutes north of here, so using local produce from the Holland Marsh has always been engrained in everything I do. I can't wait for guests to discover these flavor combinations.BTC: What's the hardest part about getting ready to open this concept?Lilly: Honestly? The hardest part has been navigating the delays and supply chain issues. Post-COVID, everything is more expensive—30 to 35% more—and nothing arrives on time. A simple barstool turns into a six-week delay. But we push through because growth isn’t just about opening another space—it’s about creating opportunity. For our team, our community, and the vision we believe in.I can't wait for our regular customers from King and Aurora to discover this different side of what we do, and to welcome new faces to the family."Food is so many things to so many people, but at the end of the day, it's family, it's love, it's culture."BTC: The design here is stunning. Tell me about those details.Lilly: Every single detail has been thought of, from the bathrooms to the little fringe on the barstools. The glass chandeliers are hand-blown from England. The moth wallpaper—I wanted something edgy. But here's the crazy part: when we first got in this place during construction, I went into that dusty, ugly washroom, and a moth landed on the wall. I was thinking about a logo representing transformation—of Locale, of this space, of myself. Moths are attracted to night and light, and this is the night. Everything just clicked.BTC: What's next for the Locale empire?Lilly: We're going to go RV for a month, because that's what we do. Montreal's been calling, so... I don't know. Let's end it with that.As our conversation winds down and the final preparations continue around us, it's clear that Lilly is about to achieve exactly what she set out to—a place where food is love, where collaboration happens naturally, and where every detail serves the bigger vision of bringing people together. Bar Locale is ready to open, and Newmarket is about to discover something special.
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