The Road Back Home

Three weeks ago, I pointed my car north and began a seven-hour road trip from New York to Lindsay, Ontario, the small Canadian town where I grew up.

No podcasts. No news. No calls.

Just the road.

Somewhere north of Toronto, I began wondering when silence had become so unusual. The older we get, the more noise accumulates around us—careers, obligations, headlines, and endless demands for our attention. The road asked for none of it. It simply carried me home.

When I arrived, I gave myself one assignment: one thing each day. A visit with friends. Time with family. A round of golf. A walk through familiar streets.

The People Who Remember

The people waiting for me had known me long before careers became identities and responsibilities became routines. Friends like Paul, Mikey, Sean, Bill, Shane, Kevin, Aaron, David Joyce, Dee Dee, and Roderick have all been part of the story in different ways. They remembered stories I had forgotten and versions of myself I hadn’t visited in years.

People who remember who you were before you became who you are.

A nod to the Kiriakou family that is my extended family. They have seen it all and then some.

Not Nostalgia. Reconnection.

I spent much of the trip with family. My sister Marney and brother-in-law Mark opened their home—and their porch—to me for three weeks. My brother Greg, his wife Tara, my niece Ericka, my nephews Ryerson and Nash, and Ryerson’s partner Grace reminded me that families, like friendships, continue to evolve.

What struck me was not nostalgia, but reconnection.

I spent time with Bill and Tina, whose happiness together was a reminder that new beginnings can arrive at any stage of life. I also sought out elders like Tommy, Tasho, Carl, and Stepho, whose support when I was young has been matched only by the pride they express today.

My sister Marney and her family sharing memories on the golf course.

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Finding Andy Again

Most evenings ended on Marney’s porch. Wayne the dog stretched out nearby. The sky slowly changing colors overhead. Nothing happening. Which increasingly felt like something.

During those quiet evenings, I stopped thinking about work and the roles accumulated over a lifetime. Andrew slowly disappeared.

Andrew is useful. He built a career, raised a family, started companies, and learned how to navigate the world. But Andrew is also a construct—a collection of expectations and responsibilities accumulated over decades.

Sitting on that porch with Wayne beside me, I found Andy again—the kid from Lindsay, the friend, the brother, the son. Not a younger version. Just the person who existed before life became so complicated.

I started the trip thinking there might be a lesson waiting for me back home.

There wasn’t.

Just old friends. Family. Good conversations. A quiet porch. And a reminder of who I was before life became so complicated.

Sunset at Century Farm with my sidekick Wayne.