There’s been a lot of recent talk about Canadian provinces putting US alcohol back on the shelves. It’s been one of the side-effects of the trade war between the US and Canada. In government controlled liquor stores in British Columbia and many other Canadian provinces, US produced alcohol was removed from the shelves. A nuisance for many large distributors, but for smaller producers who used to sell directly to Canada the consequences may be severe.

Even if liquor distribution boards in Canada decide to bring US products back onto the market, will consumers buy it? The choice ultimately lies with people who decide what to spend their money on, despite on what may be available, or not. Freedom is about having the option, and making a choice whether to use it or not.

People aren’t just looking to buy wine, but also for a reason to slow down. We can order almost anything online, without ever leaving home. Visiting a winery should offer something a delivery truck cannot: the small experience of being somewhere else on purpose.

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My Great Canadian Wine Tour

I’m not avoiding the United States, in liquor stores or otherwise1. While I’m currently on a longer US motorcycle trip, my choice earlier this summer was to stay local explore some local Canadian wineries instead of buying from liquor stores altogether.

Starting from Vancouver, there’s a lot of options to pick from within a reasonable riding distance. For this ride, I gave myself a simple challenge: visit seven wineries in one day while covering roughly 250 kilometres through Langley, Abbotsford and Chilliwack.

Just to be clear: I didn’t taste any wine along the way. My “wine tour” consisted of buying bottles to bring back home. Riding motorcycles and drinking wine are two things I enjoy, but they have no business being combined. So I bought two bottles from each winery: one to taste later, and another one to save for a future occasion.

Canadian Drops of God

Also, I wasn’t trying to rank vintages or pretend I could identify all the flavour profiles like they do in Drops of God2. Some people can write the label after tasting a sip. My skill is mostly reading the label before tasting the wine. But before tasting any wine at all, I wanted to know which wineries felt worth visiting, and maybe return to in future without my motorcycle waiting in the parking lot.

Wine is like music. It connects you to your emotions. It repairs wounds. ~Drops of God

My route included 1st R.O.W. Estate Winery, Chaberton Estate Winery, Township 7 Vineyards & Winery, Backyard Vineyards, Glass House Estate Winery, Ripples Winery and Whispering Horse Winery.

Seven stops in one day sounds ambitious when I looked at the route the night before. The wineries are close enough together that the route felt manageable with about 250km total. I could always decide to cut it short if the day somehow got too long. In the end, the entire ride was enjoyable. Scenery was mixed with a series of short breaks mixed in throughout the day.

1. First R.O.W. Estate Winery

This was my first stop of the day and the only one I probably wouldn’t rush back to. The wines are made using grapes sourced from several regions, and the property felt more like a production facility than a winery. In essence, there’s nothing wrong with that.

On this particular ride I was looking for places that offered more of an experience: somewhere attractive to sit, wander or imagine spending an afternoon. First R.O.W. wasn’t that kind of stop for me. I have yet to try their wines so can’t comment on the two bottles Léon Millot (a red blend) I bought.

2. Chaberton Estate Winery

Chaberton offered one of the broader selections of wine on my route. There’s a good chance you will find something you like. The prices are somewhat reasonable, and generally it feels like a good spot to start exploring British Columbia wine. The staff were extremely friendly and helpful, but the whole setup felt more like a retail store than a winery.

That said, despite the large wine selection, it may not have been the most surprising stop of the day. Regardless, “reliability” (in case that’s a criteria when visiting a winery) has its own value; not every place needs to reinvent the grape. My suggestion is to make this a quick stop, skip the bistro and picnic area, and buy whatever is on sale. For me, it was two bottles of 2024 Riesling. The taste for me was dryer than expected (a plus), and overall good value for a local wine.

3. Township 7 Vineyards & Winery

Township 7 gives you the feeling of arriving on a local farm. I parked my bike beside a shed (away from the cars), almost like I belonged there. It felt like I did as nobody cared my motorcycle wasn’t following parking regulations - not surprisingly that became the cover image for this post.

Meanwhile, the outdoor space looks like somewhere you could easily spend an hour with a charcuterie board and a bottle of wine or two. Only issue was that I didn’t bring a designated driver along for the ride. I left with the recommended two bottles of 2025 Rose to bring home, which I have yet to enjoy.

Some wineries make you feel as though you should know more about wine before walking through the door. Someone once told me “wine is about rotten grapes, so there’s no need for attitude”. For me, Township 7 had exactly that no-attitude vibe.

4. Backyard Vineyards

Backyard remains one of my favourite wineries in the Vancouver area because it delivers exactly the experience the name suggests. The backyard seating and lawn games invite you stick around for a while. I found the atmosphere to be friendly, and the wines offer good value.

Backyard may sound almost too simple for a winery. In my opinion, this is exactly what makes this a place worth returning to. Low-key, good value, and an unpretentious approach to wine. It’s the kind of place you’d imagine spending a lazy afternoon. Although I’m limited to a balcony now, it reminded me of my early days in Canada where I’d have a much larger backyard with lots of great wine shared with friends and neighbours.

5. Glass House Estate Winery

It’s hard to pick a favourite out of this list, but Glass House comes close. The gardens are beautiful, the newer patio is bright and inviting, and the whole property has the feeling of sticking around for a while. The wines are priced a little higher than at some of the other stops, but the setting helps justify it. My favourite are the two bottles of Rose de Pinot I bought, but I’d certainly be back for more.

The Dutch owners may also explain some of the gezelligheid, a Dutch word that roughly describes warmth, comfort and conviviality, although translations never quite capture the feeling. Their “‘Zellig” wine cans attempt to capture it. While convenient for the beach, I prefer the quality in their bottles over canned wine. Either way, with “gezelligheid” you know it when you encounter it, and Glass House delivers.

6. Ripples Winery

Ripples may have been the biggest surprise of the day. I’d been there before on a charity ride, but never had the time to explore or buy wine. The grounds have a farm-like vibe, and the setting feels welcoming and encourages you to explore the different spaces.

I bought a couple of bottles of their 2023 Bacchus, which was supposed to be their dryest. At 12.5% alcohol they were dry-ish for a white, but reminded me of pineapple wine I brought home from Manila many years ago. Based on the property alone, though, I’d happily return.

7. Whispering Horse Winery

Whispering Horse was perfect for a final stop of my tour. By the time I arrived, the day already included a long stretch of riding, and an increasingly ambitious collection of bottles to transport home on the back of a motorcycle. Despite the luggage rack and relatively large travel bag, there’s a limit to what I can carry on a bike. I was starting to feel the weight and worried about how much more I could take without exceeding restrictions on my bag and luggage carrier.

Arriving here felt worth it though. After a long day, the quiet setting felt like a a different world, and a natural place to pause before beginning the return trip home.

Mentally, it felt like I had travelled further from the city than I had distance-wise. This is my approach to travel: sometimes you don’t need to go far. Whispering Horse felt like a mini-vacation off the beaten path, with some decent rose options. I started my trek home after adding two bottles of their 2025 Pinot Gris to my already heavy bag.

The Final Judgment

The final count was difficult to complain about: 250 kilometres on my motorcycle, with 7 wineries visited and 14 bottles brought home. The whole day felt like a mini-vacation to the South of France while staying in Canada. Travel doesn’t always mean you need to go far from home.

While I definitely have my favourites, I’ll leave the final judgement to you. Please comment below and share this post. My recommendation is to choose three or four wineries from this route rather than trying to visit all seven. Build in enough time to sit down, explore the grounds and enjoy the places rather than treating them like checkpoints. Designate a driver, arrange transportation or bring the bottles home unopened, like I did.

Further reading

One of the little luxuries I enjoy when I’m travelling is daily housekeeping. I appreciate returning to my room at the end of a day, and finding my room has “magically” been refreshed. It’s not magic: it’s hard work that mostly happens behind the scenes, if all goes well.

Housekeeping changes how a hotel stay feels. At home, my space waits for me to deal with it. At a hotel, someone takes care of my space while I’m out exploring. That difference is, or used to be, what I’m enjoying and paying for.

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The Post-Covid Reset That Never Reset

During Covid, most hotels suspended daily housekeeping. Understandably, because there were real health concerns, for guests and hotel staff. Social distancing and minimizing contact were the name of the game. We accepted that trade-off in exchange for being able to start travelling again.

After Covid, a lot of hotels raised their room rates faster than they brought back their services. Daily housekeeping became optional by default, available only by request. Fresh towels are discouraged through carefully worded cards and notices about “protecting the environment”.

I don’t change my towels every day at home. Living in Vancouver, I’m learning to become fluent in speaking “climate change”. Still, every “environmentally friendly” hotel initiative also produces a financial benefit for the hotel. Washing less towels is cheaper, no matter how good it may be for the environment.

When Green Programs Become Cost-Cutting Programs

Providing re-usable coffee mugs would also be environmentally friendly, yet most hotels still stick with disposable paper cups, which creates less work. Similarly, washing less towels and bedsheets also means less work. Those savings can be the right thing to do and also better for the environment, but they are still financial savings too, which I don’t necessarily see reflected in my room rate.1

Are we using environmental language to make a reduced service level sound like a good idea? We may be heading for “ultra basic” hotel fares similar to airlines, while removing all the little luxuries that make staying at a hotel fun.

Housekeeping is easy to overlook when it works. You leave, and by the time you return to your room everything has magically been reset. When hotels try to optimize to the point of reducing those human touches, we may have missed the mark completely. I’ve said it before: Service is a mindset, not a department.

Hospitality Should Happen on the Guest’s Schedule

I prefer to stay at hotels that take housekeeping serious. Some places even allow me to select a preferred time for my housekeeping. Their message is simple: “vacation should run on your schedule, not ours”. That’s next-level, but feels like actual hospitality.

During a recent stay, I returned to my room at 4:30 in the afternoon and still saw the “please make up room” tag hanging on the door. I had been out for the day and was looking forward to coming back to a clean room. Instead, everything was exactly as I had left it. The hotel seemed to have forgotten about the hospitality experience it was supposed to be providing.

I like tipping housekeeping on stays longer than a single night. But that daily tip is also part of an unspoken agreement: I don’t expect perfection, but I do expect the service to be completed within a reasonable part of the day, preferably before I come back.

Another Room That Wasn’t Ready

While I was being irritated about my uncleaned room, I went to the pool and ended up chatting with another guest. They had arrived at the hotel around 2pm that afternoon. As this was before the regular check-in time, they were told their room wasn’t ready and were invited to spend some time at the pool. No issues so far.

At 5:45pm, they finally received the call their room was ready. This was no longer an early checkin or even an on-time checkin. The hotel was simply late.

I’m not naming any names, but this particular hotel has existed for roughly a century. It has history and character many newer hotels can only be jealous of. Unfortunately, age and reputation don’t compensate for a lack of care by the staff managing the place.

Get Into Action

When I’m travelling I’m not just looking to book a room, I’m looking to feeling welcomed. That moment usually happens when you open the door and notice the view is better than expected, the room is bigger than what you paid for, and there’s a handwritten note waiting for you, and maybe a welcome cocktail or two - on the house, of course. As I said before, it’s about genuinely attentive service at a beautiful place somewhere far from home.

This is the style of travel I explore and teach in my Travel Revolution travel hacking course. If you’re ready to dive in, please preview the course information below. I’d love to have you on board.

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Further reading

I’ve recently updated my author course “Write a Book in a Week”, and the whole program is once again available as a single masterclass. While going through the content, I kept thinking about what it actually means to write a book these days? Especially with AI, it’s never been easier to produce something that looks like a book.

You could give an AI chatbot a topic, ask for ten chapter ideas, and tell it to expand each chapter into a few thousand words. Before you know it, you have a “manuscript”, right?

Wrong. You’ll have a large collection of grammatically competent sentences, arranged in roughly the shape of what resembles manuscript. AI can generate words and predict sentences, but it cannot think or decide what you genuinely believe and want to write about. Call me a purist and maybe a bit old-fashioned, but outsourcing your book to another writer (AI or not) has nothing to do with becoming a published author yourself. What exactly did you want to become an author for?

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The Book Only You Can Write

My writing is my own and based entirely on my own thoughts, ideas and experiences. I use AI as a research and drafting tool, not as a writing or thinking replacement. Pretending AI tools don’t exist would be the same as returning to typewriters because Word made writing too easy. There is a difference between using a tool and outsourcing your reason for wanting to write in the first place. Problems arise when AI is used as a writing or (even worse) thinking replacement.

“I write because I cannot NOT write.” ~ Charlotte Brontë

Pick any topic, and you’ll find there are already more books written about it than any of us could read in several lifetimes. The world is not suffering from a shortage of generic advice. What we do need more of, is the specifics of what you bring to the subject.

What have you learned through your life experiences that you know can benefit other people? Which experiences changed you? And why are you the person who should tell your particular version of the story? That doesn’t mean you need to have all the answers on the topic. As an author, you often find most answers through the process of writing your book. You just need a reason for entering the conversation.

Give Your Book Somewhere To Go

Having a process to follow removes much of the unnecessary difficulty from writing a book. It makes the intimidating process to write a book much more manageable. It’s about taking that book idea you have in your head, and putting it down on paper.

My author program is called Write a Book in a Week. That doesn’t mean you pump out low-quality writing in under seven days, and call it done. It’s about focus. Most of the time writing your book isn’t spent on writing. But until you have that first manuscript done, you can’t get started on the process of becoming a published author. Your first goal is having something to work with.

A good structure removes many of the stumbling blocks most authors face that may derail their work, sooner or later. It doesn’t matter if you finish your manuscript in a week, or use the same process to take months. Once you know the system, you can go as fast (or as slow) as you want to go. Speed is only useful when it removes friction rather than thought.

Keep Your Writing Human

We’re not looking to replicate Shakespeare. Most of us never will, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write. Your first draft just needs to contain something worth editing and refining further. Drafting is about creating material, that you can judge later when editing and refining it.

Don’t judge while writing. Just write your ideas down, make the argument poorly, and repeat yourself if you must. In the early days, don’t worry about anything. Your goal is to just keep moving. There will be plenty of time later to make all the sentences play well together. That’s what the editing process is for. A good editor will even see weaknesses you have become too close to notice anyway.

Human brains are programmed to recognize authenticity. You’ll instantly feel if someone is being fake. Similarly, your future readers want something real, useful, and interesting. Your human voice and hard-earned opinions are not defects that need to be polished away. Quite often, those are exactly what makes (or breaks) the book.

How Your Book Is Experienced

Finishing your manuscript isn’t the end of the journey: that’s where your author journey really begins. Turning a draft manuscript into a published book is giving shape to how your reader will experience your words.

A good manuscript with a confusing title or amateur-looking cover may never get the chance to prove itself. The saying goes “never judge a book by its cover”, but everyone does. A clear title, and a well-designed cover helps the right reader understand what your book is and why they might want to care enough to pick it up.

A well structured book is more than a pile of words on paper. A book can establish your credibility around an idea, introduce you to people who would never otherwise encounter your work, and create new opportunities in your life and career.

Your Author Journey

For me, writing has always been more about what happens while creating your book. People think authors have all the answers before they start writing, but in reality you’ll find a lot more questions and answers while writing. Turning vague thoughts into clear ideas forces me ask myself the hard questions about what I believe. Writing a story for someone else makes me notice details I had forgotten. Trying to explain something exposes where my own thinking is still fuzzy.

I’ve brought the original parts of my author program back together into one complete process covering how to plan the book, write the manuscript, publish it professionally and build a sensible strategy for selling it and creating opportunities beyond royalties.

If you’d like to explore how you can finally turn your book idea into a published paperback book you can hold in your hands (and give to others), check out the course and preview video below.

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Further reading

This week I went through all the hotels I’ve pre-booked for my upcoming motorcycle trip to Los Angeles. This is not something I usually do. Once a hotel is booked, I consider that part of the trip done, and move on to planning the rest of the trip.

But hotels (and airlines) make money by selling the same product (rooms or seats) at different prices. Rates go up, rates come down, and sometimes the same room appears a few weeks later at a price that’s very different from what you booked. This can work against you, but also in your favour if you’ve booked a flexible rate.

I took an hour to open every reservation and checked the current hotel rate. As expected, some of the hotels had increased since I booked them. That’s a small victory already. I had locked in a good rate and didn’t need to do anything. But a few others had dropped, sometimes a little, sometimes by a lot. And when I did the math, even small savings started to add up, especially for a longer trip like mine.

The Price Is Not Final Until You Stay

Two reservations I booked in US dollars dropped by a combined US$204.96. Based on the exchange rate I used, that worked out to be $287.33. Three Canadian-dollar reservations produced another $81.56 in savings.

My total savings? $368.89.

Almost $400 is not bad for an hour’s worth of “work”. It’s free money I recovered from a trip I had already booked, without changing hotels, downgrading rooms, or changing anything but the price I paid.

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Once booked, a hotel reservation can feel like a done deal, but a refundable or flexible booking is more of a temporary agreement. They’re “flexible” rates for a reason. You have reserved the room at a certain price, but you have not necessarily agreed you’ll stay there. Having the option is what matters.

When I made my long list of original reservations, I was more or less comfortable with the rates I booked. I did my research and found places to stay that fit the itinerary and purpose of my trip. For most stops, I even found a place to sleep that seems fun to stay. And without exception, the cancellation terms gave me flexibility.

Why Hotel Prices Change

Hotel prices change all the time. Rooms stay unsold or empty, and other guests may change their mind. A rate that looked good several months before a trip may not be the rate available several weeks closer to departure. The trick is to make this work in your favour. As long as you didn’t book a non-refundable rate, you still have options. Freedom means having the option.

Meanwhile, constantly monitoring every booking would drive me crazy. But reviewing a long itinerary once or twice before departure may give you the competitive edge you’re looking for to make sure you’re paying less than average.

Book the New Rate Before Cancelling the Old One

The process is fairly simple, provided your existing reservation is cancellable. Double check that first, or you may end up with two rooms when you only needed one. When I find the same room is now available for less, I double check that I am comparing the same product. Hotel booking pages are very good at making two different rates look identical until the final screen.

This means all the details of your booking should be identical: the room type, cancellation deadline, taxes, resort fees, and any extras like parking, or breakfast. A lower price is not necessarily a better deal if those details change. For example, if the cheaper rate doesn’t include breakfast, you want to be aware of that before accepting.

Only when I have confirmed that the new rate is better, I book the new lower-priced reservation first. I wait until the confirmation has arrived and check once more to confirm that the dates, room, rate, and cancellation terms are all correct. Only after that I cancel the original booking. Especially with long or complex itineraries, it’s important to not mess up the dates or you may end up with a gap in your trip.

Get Into Action

Travel hacking can be as practical as keeping your options open, protecting a good rate, and having an extra $368.89 available for the road ahead.

If you’d like to dive deeper into my approach to travel hacking, I invite you to check out my Travel Revolution online program. It’s once again available as a full program in which I share all my “secrets”, using walk-throughs with my own accounts so you can exactly see how I book airfare and hotels for free, or deeply discounted. And most importantly, you’ll learn how to implement these strategies to your own travelling life to help get you to that one destination you’ve always wanted to visit, but never did (yet).

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Further Reading

SeaWheeze returned to Vancouver last weekend after a long Covid-induced break. Sadly, I didn’t run it, and apparently neither did anyone I know. That was the part I found strange, hence this post.

After moving to Vancouver and ditching the long Calgary winters, my running career “took off” with 17 ultra/marathons (and counting).1 While I consider myself a very average runner, I used to be a substitute run club leader, and participated in more local races than I care to count. I’ve learned to appreciate running solo, but will still check out some select groups when I can. As a result, my Strava friends group represents a reasonably broad cross-section of people who run and race around Vancouver.

So whenever there’s a local event, my Strava feed lights up, even if I’m not participating myself. This weekend with SeaWheeze returning - almost nothing: I didn’t see a single SeaWheeze finisher among the runners I normally see racing around Vancouver. Ouch2

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Instagram shared another story

Meanwhile, my Instagram feed painted a different story. The algorithm immediately coughed up a local influencer showing off her SeaWheeze medal. I’m not naming any names, but she usually posts about travel, not running or fitness. Congratulations, nonetheless, in case you read this: a medal is a medal and I’d be the last not to cheer on fellow runners of any capacity. Cheers to you.

Meanwhile, I noticed a lot of people last week whom I don’t normally see during my runs. Several of these visitors were filming themselves with selfie sticks, and one guy even had a drone following him. It made me wonder: Is this about running, or more about creating content?

I’m not suggesting Lululemon packed the start line with influencers while actual Vancouver runners were left out. There was a lottery, and plenty of ordinary runners undoubtedly got lucky. Just not me, and disappointment aside, that’s fine. But here’s a reality check: the lottery accounted for less than half of the running field, and the lottery wasn’t the only route into SeaWheeze.

Lululemon offered early access to higher-spending customers, while “employees, legacy runners, ambassadors and other strategic partners” also made up part of the field. That fine print makes the picture considerably more complicated than simply saying 10,000 runners entered a lottery and only some got lucky.

The SeaWheeze Training Plan

Based on the spend tiers, my SeaWheeze training plan for next year should focus more on giving my American Express Card a workout as spending $1,000+ on Lululemon will improve my odds. That may explain why a lot of runners were decked out in Lululemon gear top to bottom this weekend.

Full disclosure: Despite my observations and being unlucky in the lottery aside, I’m not interested in attacking Lululemon over any of this. I wanted to get into SeaWheeze, and will probably try again for next year if my schedule aligns.

SeaWheeze appears to have delivered something many Vancouver running events increasingly struggle to provide: an actual event.

I Can Run 21.1 Kilometres for Free

I can run a (half) marathon for free any day of the week, and I often do. I don’t need a race organizer to charge me actual money for the same medal they gave out last year.

When I pay more than $100 to enter a race, I’m paying for the experience around those kilometres: I want a properly supported course with crowds, aid stations and a finish line that feels like I crossed a finish line. Yes, I like receiving a medal, and a finisher shirt I want to wear again. I also enjoy exploring the race expo and, despite telling myself I don’t need anything, buying a lot of stuff anyway. It’s all part of the experience.

None of those things are necessary to run a half marathon, which is precisely my point. If I’m paying for a race, I’m paying for more than the ability to move my legs the advertised distance: I’m paying for the event experience. And while local Vancouver race registration prices have steadily climbed, I’m not convinced the experience has kept up with the pace.

When “Included” Stops Being Useful

Last year’s Vancouver Half Marathon was a small example of what I mean: the race shirt was cotton. Seriously? There’s a saying among runners that cotton is rotten, and there’s a practical reason for it: cotton doesn’t breathe well, it absorbs moisture, and gets heavy. Why give this out as a runner’s shirt? Almost every piece of clothing I actually run in (or wear on in-office days) is made from some kind of technical fabric.

A cotton race shirt may technically allow an organizer to tick the box marked “shirt included,” but that doesn’t make it useful running gear. So I skipped the Vancouver Half Marathon this year, and donated my cotton shirt last year to the Salvation Army as I wasn’t going to wear it, period.

Then there’s a growing popularity of “green bib” registrations, where runners can opt out of shirts, medals or other race items, disguised as sustainability. I like the idea, but sustainability shouldn’t become a convenient way to remove things runners may actually use while registration prices continue moving in the opposite direction. Most if not all “green bibs” cost the same as a full registration including all the swag, so how is this sustainable?

Make The Medal Great Again

Organizing a race isn’t cheap. Race organizers have to pay for road closures, policing, permits, medical support, timing equipment, staff and insurance - just to name a few. But runners are customers too. As prices rise, it’s reasonable to ask whether the experience is getting better. At this rate, local running events may eventually become unsustainable despite all the “sustainability” efforts.

For example, RUNVAN has incorporated Indigenous artwork into its events, and their medal designs are beautiful. The only issue is that the indigenous art component has been identical for several years running.

Maybe it’s time to pay the Indigenous artist more than once to create another amazing design. Consider changing more than the year stamped on the front, and give runners something new they’re excited to see each year. Make the medal truly collectible again.

Expensive Is Not the Same as Experience Value

At a registration fee of about $325, SeaWheeze wasn’t cheap. But if you’ve been with me for a while, you know price and experience value aren’t the same thing. Yes, viewed just as a half marathon, SeaWheeze is expensive.

I’m running the New York City Marathon later this year, and once you start paying for major destination races, flights, hotels, meals and everything else surrounding major running events, the definition “expensive” gets put into perspective. A local race not requiring any flights or hotel stays typically is a good idea from a budget perspective.

When viewed as an experience, including Lululemon gear, race activities, a festival, food, entertainment and a highly produced weekend in downtown Vancouver, the idea of “expensive” changes. As a result, runners wanted to get in. Lululemon seems to understand something other race organizers have conveniently forgotten about: runners will get excited about an event when you give them something worth getting excited about.

Designed Around Running, or Designed for Runners?

Maybe this year’s return of SeaWheeze became so good at representing the brand that it felt disconnected from the community that gives the event its reason to exist.

There’s an odd parallel sitting in my running drawer: a pair of Lululemon running shorts. The material is fantastic, they look good, and they’re comfortable. No surprises there, but then you notice the open pockets.

For a casual 5k run, open pockets may be fine. But when I’m heading out for my weekly long run carrying a phone, keys, gels and whatever else I need for a couple of hours, my Brooks shorts feel as they were designed for running. A single zippered pocket doesn’t do the trick. My good looking Lululemon shorts feel like an excellent product designed with running as an afterthought, while my Brooks shorts feel designed for runners from the start.

SeaWheeze left me with a similar impression as my shorts.

SeaWheeze Raised the Bar

I’d love to see local organizers look at SeaWheeze and ask how they can make their event an experience that’s even better next year: better shirts, unique medals, stronger expos, finish areas that are worth remembering and sticking around for. I can’t be bothered to run another event and get the exact same “Indigenous art” medal as last year.

At the same time, I’d like to see Lululemon ask a different question before SeaWheeze hopefully returns next year: How do we make sure Vancouver’s running community feels included in Vancouver’s “biggest” running celebration? Because I didn’t this time around - and more importantly, none of my somewhat-representative Strava community didn’t either. And that’s a shame.

SeaWheeze may have evolved from a running-community event into a carefully curated brand experience that happens to include a half marathon ran by people resembling that exact brand head-to-toe. I don’t think that’s the goal, as this well-produced event looked different from almost every other race in Vancouver on many levels. Yes, my personal lottery disappointment aside, I still want at least some of my running circle to be there as more than volunteers.

See you next year?

Further Reading

I don’t like monthly payments. Five dollars here, seven dollars there, it all adds up. One of those charges was on my monthly cellphone bill: $7 for visual voicemail.

“Basic voicemail” is included with my phone plan, but nobody really wants to dial into a voicemail system, enter a password and listen to messages like it’s 1998. So Apple invented visual voicemail: you can see your voicemail messages on screen, without the need to dial any number. Much better. I just wasn’t convinced it should cost an additional $84 a year.

Then, more recently, I discovered that my iPhone could do most of this by itself using “Live Voicemail”. And somehow nobody really explicitly told me I don’t need to pay anyone for voicemail anymore. So let me share it with you.1

Traditional Voicemail Versus Visual Voicemail

Traditional voicemail is controlled by the cellphone provider. When I don’t answer, the network forwards the call to the provider’s voicemail system. The message is stored there, and I call that system to listen to it.

Visual voicemail improves the interface, but the provider still controls the underlying service. The messages appear inside the iPhone’s Phone app, yet the voicemail system remains part of the carrier network. That gives the provider an opportunity to package it as a premium add-on.

Apple’s Live Voicemail works differently. When enabled and my phone is connected to the network, my iPhone answers the call itself. It records the message, shows me a live transcription and gives me the option to answer while the caller is still speaking. This all happens entirely on my device.

At first, I assumed “Live Voicemail” was simply a new interface connected to my provider’s existing voicemail system. The name certainly sounds that way.

Once I understood that the phone was handling it locally, the equation changed. I no longer needed to pay my provider for visual voicemail, and I didn’t need its traditional voicemail as a backup either. So I called them and asked them to disable all voicemail services on my account.

How to Replace Carrier Voicemail With Live Voicemail

Start by enabling Live Voicemail before making any changes to your cellphone account.

On your iPhone, go to: Settings → Apps → Phone and scroll down to the Live Voicemail toggle:

Turn it on, then call your number from another phone. Don’t answer. Leave a message and confirm that the transcription and recording appear in the Phone app. If you see the transcription, this call is handled directly on your device.

Once you know Live Voicemail is working, contact your cellphone provider and ask them to disable carrier voicemail completely. You have to be specific with them: removing the paid visual voicemail add-on may simply leave you with traditional voicemail, which means unanswered calls will still be forwarded to the provider’s system. I wanted the entire carrier voicemail service turned off and handle everything locally on my device.

This took me several phone calls. Apparently, completely disabling voicemail is not a request that fits neatly into every customer-service script. Keep checking until a test call confirms that the provider’s mailbox is gone. You may wish to temporarily turn off live voicemail again to confirm the unanswered call doesn’t go anywhere on the network.

Afterward, unanswered calls should be handled by Live Voicemail while the iPhone is on and connected.

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The Catch

Live Voicemail only works when the iPhone is turned on and within the carrier network’s range. When the phone is off or unavailable, the network sends the call to carrier voicemail if carrier voicemail exists. Because I disabled my network voicemail service, callers cannot leave me a message when my phone is off or unavailable.

For me, that’s fine, but this may be a problem for someone who needs to receive urgent messages at all times. Test the behaviour before cancelling anything and decide whether you want or need the carrier backup.

For me, it’s more of a feature. When my phone is turned off or disconnected, I’m comfortable being unavailable. People can call again or, better yet, send me a text.

Add Call Screening While You’re There

The other iPhone setting that has made a noticeable difference is Call Screening.

Go to: Settings → Apps → Phone and scroll down to Screen Unknown Callers, and select Ask Reason for Calling:

When you receive a call from a number not in your contacts, the iPhone answers without ringing and asks the caller for their name and the reason for the call. I see the response transcribed on screen and can decide whether to pick up. Calls from people who are in my contact list ring normally. Everyone else can briefly explain what they want before interrupting me.

Since enabling it, almost all my spam calls have disappeared. Most spammers don’t bother responding to a screening prompt, and the two that did (in the last year or so) could be easily ignored.

The calls still reach my phone, but automated diallers and scammers don’t like explaining themselves to Siri before being connected. Most legitimate callers have no problem providing a name and reason.

Thanks, Siri.

Cellphone Providers Must Do Better

Call screening can also be done at the network level. TELUS, for example, offers a Call Control feature that screens callers before connecting them. The CRTC has encouraged Canadian providers to offer advanced call-filtering services and has required network blocking for certain types of invalid calls. The technology exists, but the protection networks provide is simply non-existent.

Privacy rules are often used as an excuse providers cannot inspect, identify or block more suspicious calls. Privacy matters, but it can’t be a permanent excuse for doing the bare minimum while customers continue to be bombarded with spoofed numbers and fraudulent calls.

The consequences go beyond irritation. Telephone scams deliberately target people who may be more trusting or less familiar with how convincing modern spoofed calls can be. Older adults fall victim to fraud more often than other age groups, with phone calls remaining a common method.

Providers control the networks carrying these calls. They may not be able to stop every scam originating somewhere outside Canada, but they can add more friction, provide better screening and make effective protection available consistently. They don’t. Meanwhile my iPhone eliminated almost all the problem with one setting.

Get Into Action

All the steps are included above - give this a try for yourself and see if it works for you. If you can, please share this article so more people can save $7 a month, or, more importantly, filter annoying scam calls so your family, friends and loved ones don’t need to be the next victim of some scam operator.

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Further reading

Travel hacking is usually presented as a set of tricks: get the right credit card, collect a huge number of points, and very soon you’ll be sipping champagne in business class while everyone else wonders why airport coffee costs nine dollars. It’s never been quite that easy, and these days maybe even less so.

Airlines devalue points by changing redemption rates. Hotels reduce their loyalty benefits. Credit cards introduce qualifying spend tiers to access certain perks, like airport lounge access.1 A strategy that worked well in the past, may produce less value, and more fees today. Or you may be stuck with an itinerary involving three connections and a night in an airport that seemed only a good idea because the total points required was less.2

The good news is that travel hacking still works. The principles I wrote about in my book and teach in my travel hacking course still hold true today. The best results still come from understanding the principles behind the travel industry rather than taking advantage of tricks.

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Start With the Trip You Actually Want

I don’t really care about redemption opportunities, or what may be a good “deal”. Instead, I prefer to start with the trip itself and the experience value it provides. Do I want a direct flight? A better seat on an overnight route? A hotel in the right neighbourhood? Breakfast before a long travel day? Late checkout so I am not wandering around a city with luggage for six hours?

Once I intentionally design my trip around the experienced I’d like to have, I can decide whether cash, points, loyalty benefits, or a combination of all three offers me the best value. The goal is never to pay bottom price, but simply to pay less than average (for an above average experience).

A “free” flight with high fees and an inconvenient connection may be worse than a reasonably priced direct ticket. Using points for an inexpensive hotel can also be poor value when those same points could reduce the cost of a much more expensive trip later. Points can be useful, but they are only a tool: the trip itself should remain the focus.

Everything Popular Is Wrong

The most valuable reward seats and hotel rates rarely appear when everyone wants to travel. The opposite is true: look slightly in a different direction of when and/or where everyone is travelling. I often find better deals that way.

Everything popular is wrong. ~Oscar Wilde

A day or two of flexibility can make a substantial difference. So can checking nearby airports, considering a different routing, or travelling outside the busiest periods. It doesn’t necessarily matter if you’re using points or cash: the same flexibility can reveal better fares and more reasonable hotel prices.

Flexibility still does not mean I let the “deal” decide the entire trip. I have little interest in saving money on a trip I did not want to take in the first place, even if it’s free. I’ll still start with outlining the trip I actually want to take, but build in some creativity to allow the trip to “come together” naturally when looking at options.

Build a Strategy That Can Survive Change

Sometimes I’ll have several options when I’m planning my travel for the year. There’s usually a backup plan, and sometimes a backup-to-the-backup plan, just in case things don’t work out as planned.

Every hard condition reduces the number of options available. The exact date, exact flight, exact hotel, exact room type, and exact redemption price may not all cooperate at once. For me, I usually roughly know how I’d like a trip to come together.

If things just don’t want to line up, I deviate to a backup plan. This sometimes means an entirely different destination altogether. Other times, it just means moving my trip to a different time of year when availability is better. A little flexibility gives you more room to make the system work for you.

The Secret of Travel Hacking

Even though I have my favourites, the true value of travel hacking is not hidden inside one credit card, airline program, or secret booking website3. It’s about figuring out what fits your lifestyle, and understanding how the different pieces fit together.

If you’d like, there are quite a few best practices you can borrow from my approach to travel hacking. It all begins with knowing what kind of travel experience you want, and then applying a travel hacking system to achieve your goals.

Programs will continue to change. Benefits will disappear, but new opportunities will appear as well. The goal is not to build a perfect system and preserve it forever. The goal is to have some fun with this, and build in the ability to adapt without requiring you to start over every time an airline updates a rewards redemption chart.

Get Into Action

This is why I rebuilt my Travel Revolution course. The program originally brought airfare and hotel strategies together in one complete travel-hacking system. Over time, those topics became separate courses, which made sense for a while but also divided two parts of travel that work best when considered together. I have now brought them back into one updated, all-inclusive program.

The Travel Revolution covers both sides of the experience: finding better ways to fly and getting more value from the places you stay. The focus is not on following tricks that may be obsolete by the time you leave. It is about building a practical system you understand and can adjust as rewards programs, booking tools, and travel habits change.

If you are ready to rethink how you plan, book, and experience travel, I invite you to preview my newly updated Travel Revolution program.

Preview the Travel Revolution

Further reading

A few weeks ago, I was putting the finishing touches on a new course about customer service. The timing couldn’t have been more ironic.

During the review process, I ran into an unexpected challenge with the platform. It wasn’t the experience I had anticipated while publishing a course about creating better customer experiences. After a few conversations and a fair amount of back and forth, I realized the review itself wasn’t really the problem.

I decided it was time to build the learning experience I actually wanted my students to have. Stop participating in somebody else’s platform, and create my own.

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Frustration Is Just Information

I’ve been teaching online (and offline) for many years, and I’m grateful for what marketplace platforms have made possible. They lower the barrier to entry for instructors, introduce students to new topics, and make online education accessible to people around the world.

But every platform you participate in as a content creator is designed around its own priorities, not necessarily yours. No matter how successful you are, a platform can change overnight and change that success in an instant. They have policies, processes, review systems, and guidelines because they need to support thousands of instructors and millions of students.

What became clear was that, once again, the experience I want to create for my students no longer fits comfortably inside someone else’s framework. I’ve been there before. Sometimes you don’t discover you’ve outgrown a system until you bump into one of its rough edges.

Shaping the Learning Experience

For a long time, I treated course delivery as something that happened after I’d finished creating the content. I would record the lessons, upload the videos, create exercises, write descriptions, and click “publish”. The platform handled the rest for me.

It seemed easy, but over time, I started thinking differently about my setup. The course content itself is only one part of learning. An important part, yes, but students often want to be part of the course community: get updates as topics evolve, recommended next steps, and a clearer path from one course to another. They benefit from seeing how different subjects connect instead of collecting isolated certificates like digital souvenirs.

That student experience is much harder to create when everything is primarily controlled by a marketplace. I always wanted to build an environment where learning could continue long after someone clicked “Join”.

Becoming Platform Agnostic Again

One of the things I value most is freedom: having the ability to make a different choice, if you wish. In travel and business that often translates to flexibility. Platforms, algorithms and marketplaces can be useful, but they also take away some level of control in exchange of the apparent convenience they provide.

Rather than building everything around a single marketplace, I’m moving back toward being platform agnostic. I’m giving up some of the comfort in exchange for getting a bit of control back over my student experience.

For me, that doesn’t mean abandoning marketplaces altogether. Many of my introductory courses will remain there because they’re still an excellent place for people to discover my work. What changes is where the deeper learning happens.

Service is a mindset, not a department

Over the past several months, I’ve been rethinking how I teach and bringing back the delivery under my own control. As a result, you’ll find more comprehensive courses, downloadable resources, updated content, structured learning paths, and an experience designed to help build practical skills rather than simply finish another course and collect a certificate (but yes, we will have certificates too!).

That’s the part I’m genuinely excited about (not the certificates, but the learning experience on the new platform). It gives me the freedom to keep improving the experience long after someone has signed up for a course.

Checkout the new platform

Ironically, my new customer service course ended up reminding me that customer experience doesn’t begin when someone buys something. It begins when you’re designing the product for people you’re trying to help. As I’ve said before: customer service is a mindset, not a department.

Get Into Action

My new customer service course will be the first major course released through this new learning platform, and I’m excited to finally share it.

If you’re interested in building practical customer service skills that go beyond scripts and checklists, you can pre-register now at a special early registration rate before the full course launches. I’m aiming to release it over the next few weeks, with September 1 as the latest launch date.

Preview the new course

Whether or not customer service is your profession, I think it’s one of the most underrated business skills you can develop. It’s about communication, trust, problem-solving, and creating experiences that people actually remember. Fittingly, building this course also reminded me that the same principles apply to the platforms we choose and the businesses we build.

Further reading

A schedule-change email arrived in my inbox this week. If you’ve ever booked a flight several months in advance, you’ve probably seen those. The airline may have adjusted a departure time, changed the aircraft, moved a connection, or made some other change it considers important enough to trigger an email (but never important enough to apologize for).

For most airlines, there is a button asking you to accept the change. The replacement itinerary has already been selected, the airline has done the administrative work, and all you need to do is click. Because they usually can’t just change the contract you signed with them when booking without your consent.

The one-click “accept” is designed to be the most convenient route. But sometimes other options may exist, which may very well improve your overall travel experience.

I had a flight booked that I no longer needed. Under the fare rules, I could cancel it, recover the points I had used, and receive a refund of the taxes and fees. I would simply have to pay a cancellation charge.

No surprises there, I was well aware of the ticket conditions I had booked. Recovering my points for a fee can still make sense. But I was hoping for a better option, as I also know airlines regularly adjust flights booked far in advance. So I waited.

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What “Non-Refundable” Usually Means

A non-refundable fare sounds final. You bought the ticket, changed your mind, and now the airline gets to keep the money, or charge you a fee before returning the points or issuing a credit. Sometimes that fee could be up to 100% of the money you paid, so I advise my Travel Revolution students to be aware of what they sign up for when booking anything.

The cancellation fee, as high as it may be, applies when the passenger is the one changing the agreement. Whether you like it or not: it’s your responsibility to know the terms and fine print before accepting them. There’s very few exceptions to this rule.

Things change when the airline changes the itinerary first. A meaningful schedule change may give you the option to accept the replacement, move to another suitable flight, or decline the new proposed itinerary and ask for a refund. The available choices depend on the airline, the route, the fare, the applicable passenger-protection rules, and the size of the change. No matter how small the change, it never hurts to ask for something different or better.

A five-minute schedule change is unlikely to set you free from every condition attached to a ticket. But a cancellation, airport change, unwanted connection, cabin downgrade, or substantial shift in departure or arrival time can change things in your favour.

“Non-refundable” describes the fare you purchased under the original circumstances. When the airline changes those circumstances, you may have new choices.

Don’t Automatically Accept the Replacement

Airline emails tend to make the proposed itinerary feel inevitable: “Here is your new flight. Here is the accept button. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Not so fast. Before doing anything, I always compare the new itinerary with the original confirmation they send me when booking. I look at the flight times, airports, connections, total travel time, cabin, seat assignment, aircraft, and any other detail that mattered when I made the booking.

We tend to evaluate whether the replacement is acceptable without asking whether the airline’s change gives us an opportunity to reconsider the reservation altogether.

Perhaps the trip no longer fits your plans. Perhaps another routing has become available. Perhaps you found a better option after booking. Perhaps the new schedule requires an extra hotel night or turns a comfortable connection into an airport sprint while juggling coffee and carry-on luggage, while questioning every decision that brought you there.

Travel Hacking Beyond Points

Flights booked far in advance often change. Airlines revise seasonal schedules, swap aircraft, adjust departure times, and renumber flights. None of this guarantees that a passenger will receive a free cancellation. Waiting also comes with risks, especially if you still need to secure a replacement flight or make other arrangements.

In my case, when I knew I no longer needed this particular flight, I saw little benefit in cancelling immediately. The flight was still months away. I understood the cancellation fee, and I had accepted that I might eventually need to pay it. Waiting simply preserved the possibility that the airline might change the itinerary first. I had nothing to lose.

Most travel-hacking conversations revolve around points. There is another side to travel hacking that receives less attention: learning how reservation systems actually work. This is part of what I teach in my Travel Revolution course. Understanding your options and knowing where they come from, helps sway the odds in your favour.

Read the Change as an Opportunity

An airline schedule change may allow you to move to a more convenient flight. It may open a routing that was too expensive when you originally booked. It may let you remove an unwanted connection and fly direct instead. In some situations, it may make a ticket refundable when cancelling it yourself would have resulted in a fee, a credit, or a complete loss.

There is no guarantee, and there is no universal trick. The value comes from slowing down long enough to understand what the change means for your particular reservation, and understanding what your options are.

The Flight I Needed to Cancel

My flight was part of a motorcycle trip I had planned for this summer. Below, I’ll share the details of exactly what happened for those that are interested.

Read more

Someone asked me a few weeks ago whether, after 18 years in Canada, I would do it all over again.

The honest answer: I don’t know. Every major life decision creates a shadow life beside it: the version you did not live. In my case: The version of me who stayed in Europe, and maybe moved somewhere else entirely, but much later in life. The version who made one different phone call, booked one different ticket, said yes instead of no, or no instead of yes.

Those unlived lives are easy to romanticize because they never had to deal with dentist appointments, taxes, bad bosses, or the price of wine.

The Life Not Lived

When I left the Netherlands 18 years ago, I remember seeing a cartoon of a couple about to board a plane. The caption was something along the lines of, “Funny how we’ll romanticize this sh*t country again in a few decades.”

I laughed at it then, but by now it’s become uncomfortably accurate. Nostalgia edits out the reasons you left, softens the things that annoyed you, and adds a silver lining to everyday habits you couldn’t wait to escape. The things that once made you restless become part of a homeland reel on Instagram. Even the rain becomes charming (hello, Vancouver), and the smallness becomes cozy, or better yet, gezellig1.

But nostalgia isn’t entirely wrong. There is a real loss in leaving. There are birthdays, funerals, ordinary Sundays, friendships changing shape, and places that continue without you. There are versions of home you miss not because they were perfect, but because they belonged to a version of you that no longer exists.

I sometimes miss a version of the Netherlands that remained frozen in my mind while the actual country kept moving, renovating, arguing, building, pricing people out, changing governments, changing menus, changing moods. Meanwhile, I changed too. So when I go back, I am not returning as the person who left. I am visiting with 18 years of Canada in my luggage, whether I checked it in or not.

Home Gets Complicated

Whenever I’m back in the Netherlands, I enjoy being home. There is something easy about understanding the small codes of a place without having to think about them. The dry humour, the blunt directness, and even the way people complain about everything. Everyone has an opinion about everything and they’re not afraid to let you know.

And then, after a few days of homey comforts, I start missing Canada.

That is when immigration becomes inconveniently honest. Home is not as simple as a passport, a postal code, or the place where your childhood photos were taken. Home is a feeling, and sometimes that feeling exists between multiple places.

There are days when Canada feels really like home. There are also days when it feels like a country I am still figuring out after nearly two decades. Then I go somewhere else entirely and, within about 36 hours, I start fantasizing about moving there too (hello Santiago, Tulum, Lima, Buenos Aires, …). My brain sees a nice café, a walkable neighbourhood, and a decent view, and immediately starts browsing real estate listings. Very reasonable behaviour.

Maybe that is part of the immigrant condition, or maybe it is just my particular kind of restlessness. Either way, “home” has become less of a final destination and more a recurring question.

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Canadian Pride And The Loud Neighbour

The “proudly Canadian” vibe comes out a lot more recently, especially when Canada is being compared to the United States. It’s unfortunate two great countries are pitched against each other in a trade war that doesn’t benefit most people living on either side of the border.

I wish Canadian pride did not need that contrast to become visible. I would like us to be proud of Canada for the sake of Canada, not by comparison “against” the neighbour.

Why does it take outside pressure to make us talk seriously about fixing things inside the country? Why does interprovincial trade suddenly become more of a priority only when our southern neighbour has another tantrum? Canada has enough internal absurdities to keep us busy without needing a third party to remind us to care.

That is not anti-American, by the way. It is more anti-comparison. We can like the quiet, the space, the imperfect healthcare, the landscapes, the relative politeness, and the deeply Canadian habit of measuring hail by coin size without needing to wave a flag in someone’s face.2

The Outsider’s Verdict

I overheard a Dutch tourist on the phone the other day, saying (in Dutch) that Canada is like Australia: just a piece of the world nobody else wants anything to do with.

In true Dutch-opinionated fashion, it sounded like the kind of conclusion a person reaches after spending a lot of money on a two-week vacation to Western Canada and deciding they have now understood this entire country, and Australia. Impressive efficiency.

There may be some truth in it. Canada is geographically inconvenient in many ways. It is huge, spread out, expensive to cross, and often weirdly disconnected from itself. Flying across Canada can feel like you accidentally booked an expensive international itinerary without the benefit of arriving somewhere warm. The country is vast enough to create distance not only between provinces, but between realities.

But the “nobody wants anything to do with it” misses something important. People do want something to do with Canada. Many of us built lives here, from scratch, with no guarantee that any of it would work. Many stayed not because the country was perfect, but because it offered enough room to become more fully ourselves.

Canada is not an easy country to summarize, which is inconvenient for people who like tidy opinions. It is both generous and frustrating, open and bureaucratic, beautiful and expensive, calm and occasionally ridiculous. It offers space, but in that space you can also find loneliness. It offers a neutral kind of peace, but not always peace of mind.

Summarizing these contradictions is probably why I have no real clear cut answer to “Would I do it again?”.

Knowing What You Know Now

“If you knew then what you know now, would you do it all over again?”

The question sounds smart until you realize it is built on an impossible premise. The only reason I know what I know now is because of the choice I made 18 years ago. Hindsight 20/20 says you cannot remove the experience and keep the wisdom.

The younger version of me who left the Netherlands did not have all the information I have now. He had restlessness, ambition, curiosity, probably a little impatience, and a plane ticket. He did not know which parts of Canada would become familiar. He did not know which friendships would last, which ones would fade, which places would matter, which winters would test his sense of humour, or how often he would end up explaining the Dutch concept of gezellig to people who were mostly just being polite.

He also did not know what staying would have cost.

That is the part we forget when we imagine the alternative. We compare the difficulties of the life we lived with the highlights of the life we did not. We imagine the other path as smoother because we never had to walk it. But even the life not lived would have had its own disappointments, compromises, bills, illnesses, missed chances, and weather alerts. Maybe the hail would have been smaller. Maybe not.

I Would Not Trade The Question

Canada changed the shape of my life. It gave me distance from where I came from, which helped me see it more clearly. It gave me room to build, explore, work, travel, run, write, photograph, and become a person I might not have become otherwise. From time to time, it also gave me homesickness, for more places than one.

Belonging is not always a settled feeling. Sometimes it is just a rhythm where you carry pieces of one place into another. You become fluent in more than one kind of normal.

That kind of reflection is exactly why I wrote The Freedom Project: Happiness. Freedom often starts with understanding the life you actually built, not the imaginary one that keeps looking better from a safe distance.

After 18 years in Canada, I still don’t have a perfect answer. But I do have a better question: what kind of home am I still looking to create from here?

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Further reading

For me, a trip starts when I am on my way to the airport. Cats are taken care of, and my final list of pre-departure checks are done. I’m on my way.

That may sound too early to start enjoying the “vacation”, especially if you are the kind of person who treats the airport commute as a necessary punishment before the “real” travel begins. But how you move through those first few hours carries over into the rest of the trip.

The trip is not only the beach, the city, the conference, the race, the hotel balcony, the glass of wine, or the first walk through an unfamiliar neighbourhood. It is also the leaving, and the transition into something new. The slightly awkward in-between state where you are no longer fully at home, but not quite there yet.1

Small Victories

Travel, despite what Instagram posts suggest, is rarely one smooth reel from front door to destination. It is a sequence of small tests. Can I get out of the house on time? Did I remember my passport? Is downtown traffic behaving? Will security line ups be reasonable, or will I end up behind someone unpacking their entire life into six grey bins?

This is where the idea of Small Victories comes in, something I talk about in my book The Freedom Project: Travel. The trek from home to airport to final destination can be hectic and stressful, but it becomes easier to handle when I stop treating it as one giant, exhausting event. Instead, I break it into smaller steps. Each one completed is a small victory. Get out the door. Victory. Arrive at the airport. Victory. Check the bag (or better, avoid checking one). Victory. Clear security. Big victory.

Small Victories give me a better way to move through the uncertainty of a long travel day. I do not need the entire day to go perfectly. I just need to complete the next step.

The Lounge Is Just One Small Victory

This is where the airport lounge enters my story. With any luck, depending on the airport, I may have a few lounges to pick from.2 I like lounges that offer a quieter place to sit, and enjoy a drink with a light meal that does not require a second mortgage. Most importantly: I may find a little breathing room away from the terminal chaos.

A good lounge represents a little bit reduced friction, however the lounge does not make the trip meaningful. No social media bragging required about your pre-departure cheap sparkling wine. But, with a little luck, it can create one small victory in the middle of a long travel day, and provide a quick reset before the next step.3

The Better Travel Day Is The Achievement

On social media, there is a strange humble-brag subculture in my newsfeed around premium travel perks. Somewhere along the way, lounges, elite status, premium cards, and travel memberships became wrapped in a little too much self-importance. As if access to a bowl of mixed nuts and a slightly better chair proves one has achieved enlightenment. It does not. And sometimes the food isn’t even that great.4

A comfortable, calm space that feels a little like you have arrived, is useful. I don’t care my trip looks impressive to anonymous people online. I care whether it makes my trip easier. The true value of travel rewards and premium memberships is in preserving energy: you arrive at your final destination feeling just a little better. You arrive with enough attention left to actually experience where you are going.

Access to a lounge, priority check-in, and/or a business class seat can all support the experience. The better travel day is the achievement.

Premium Perks Should Support the Experience

An American Express Platinum card can be valuable for the right traveller. FounderCard can be useful for the right business owner, creator, or frequent traveller who will actually use the benefits. But neither of them are magic keys. If your flight is cancelled, it still sucks. If they lose your bag, you may not get it back.

These tools can become expensive distractions, if you’re not careful. The real question is whether they reduce friction in a life you are already building, or whether they tempt you to build a lifestyle around benefits you did not need yesterday. Don’t mistake access for freedom, what these programs really offer is options: the ability to choose a different path than most, if you choose.

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The Real Luxury Is Arriving With Something Left

Long-haul flights, red-eyes, delays, weather, and airport logistics can humble anyone. Travel has a way of reminding us that control is something we didn’t really have to begin with. Still, we can design parts of the experience to be better.

The point goal is arriving with a little more patience, a little more energy, and a little more capacity to enjoy the place I came to see. If a lounge helps with that, excellent. If a quieter route, a better departure time, or a less frantic layover schedule helps more, start there.

Get Into Action

In my book The Freedom Project: Travel, I talk more about Small Victories and the idea that travel begins long before arrival. The book is a good place to start if you want travel to feel less like escape and more like a deliberate way of seeing the world.

Get the book

For VIP readers, I also keep a private VIP Lounge of my own with travel invites that are not publicly advertised. Right now that includes elevated invites for the personal American Express Platinum, with roughly $300 in additional points value, and FounderCard, where VIP readers can access Elite for less than the regular first-year membership price. Those are not general-public links, and they are not a reason to apply for any card or program that does not fit. They are simply available for readers who already know these tools would make their travel life smoother.

Access the VIP lounge benefits

Further reading

There’s a point most people hit when running an online business: things start to feel heavier than they should. The number one reason for a business to fail isn’t running out of money: it’s running out of energy. The business owner simply burns themselves out to the point of not being able to continue. Yes, you can burn yourself out doing what you love.1

It’s not because you’re doing something wrong, but because you’re doing too many things at once. You’re writing content, thinking about funnels, trying to stay visible on social media, setting up email sequences, tweaking offers, and somewhere in all of that, the actual business starts to feel fragmented.

I’ve been there more times than I’d like to admit, and for a long time I assumed the solution was to find a better strategy. Hire a coach. Attend an expensive conference or (better yet) retreat. If I’d only design a better funnel, use a better tool, find a better way to optimize whatever piece felt like it wasn’t working. Instead, the real issue was focus on all those moving pieces instead of a dedication to the structure underneath what I was trying to do.2

The problem: lack of passionate focus

When things feel messy, it’s tempting to add something new to fix it. Another tool, another approach, another idea that promises to bring everything together. In practice, that usually just adds another layer of complexity on top of something that already lacks cohesion. With every step you lose focus, and get a little further away from what made you start in the first place: passion. Success sometimes has more to do with what you have to stop doing.

“Successful people are not only willing to do what unsuccessful people are unwilling to do, they’re also willing to stop doing what doesn’t work.” ~Jack Canfield

What helped was stepping back and simplifying the whole picture. Every business should run on a fairly straightforward progression: Someone finds you, spends some time around your content, starts to trust you, and eventually decides to buy your products or services. Everything else we create that doesn’t support that progression, is just noise.

Where things start to break

Things get even worse when your online presence isn’t interconnected and each piece just exists in isolation. Businesses struggle because systems fall apart: when nothing is really integrated, follow-up happens inconsistently, and the business owner becomes the glue who holds everything together. Until it doesn’t anymore. You may end up with bursts of activity followed by silence, good ideas that never quite get implemented, and systems that almost work but never quite run on their own.

That’s not a motivation problem. It’s a systems problem. The goal is to build a business that runs while you’re not there.

This is usually the point where people get excited about tools. It feels like the logical next step. But automation doesn’t fix a broken system, it just makes it run faster. The same applies to AI. When you automate or outsource a broken system, it just drives you into the ground faster.

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What actually changed things for me

The tools I had struggled with before didn’t suddenly work better because I got better at using them. First, I had to stop using the ones that weren’t working for me. I had to get rid of most of the apps I used. Next, the remaining ones became easier because they finally had a role to play.

When there’s a clear structure underneath, tools can help you execute what you already know how to do. You have to know the steps first that work for your business. Once you do, the right tools can help make sure nothing falls through the cracks. Without that clear purpose, any tool tends to add more noise rather than reduce it.

A simple way to look at your own setup

Most of the progress I’ve made hasn’t come from big changes. It’s come from smaller things that actually run. A message that gets sent every time, a follow-up that consistently happens, a piece of content that connects to something else rather than standing on its own.

None of that is particularly exciting on the surface, but it compounds in a way that random effort never does. Once there’s consistency, everything else becomes easier to improve. The difference isn’t the tool. It’s whether there’s a process in place for the tool to support.

Get Into Action

If this resonates and you want to see how this looks in a more structured, practical way, I’ve put together a free preview of my Business AutoPilot course. It walks through how to build a system like this step by step, along with where automation and AI can support it without turning it into a technical project.

You can watch the preview and decide from there if it’s something you want to explore further.

Further reading

Eight years is a long time for a book to exist in the world. Long enough for the cover on the shelf in my office to feel familiar and slightly foreign at the same time. Long enough for readers to have found it, ignored it, underlined it, forgotten it, or possibly used it as a coaster under a glass of wine by now. Cheers to you, I try not to take that last option personally.

When The Freedom Project: Love 2.0 first came out, I knew it was going to be a different kind of book for me. Travel is easy to talk about, we all do it, all the time. You can complain about airports, wrong turns, bad hotel rooms, missed connections, and the weirdly emotional relief of finding decent coffee somewhere unfamiliar. But Love is messier.

Not the Instagram version of love, where everyone looks suspiciously well-lit and nobody has ever argued about logistics, money, family, exhaustion, or whose brilliant idea it was to leave the house late. I mean the everyday version of love: the part where belonging, expectations, disappointment, loyalty, compromise, and personal growth all get stuffed into the same carry-on bag. Until the zipper breaks.

That was the uncomfortable territory of Love 2.0. Eight years later, it still is.

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This Book Was Never Just About Romance

The funny thing about a book with “Love” in the title is that people assume it’s about romance. Yes, relationships are in there, but I wasn’t interested in (or capable of) writing a manual for candlelit perfection. The world has enough unsolicited advice about date nights and communication hacks already.

Love 2.0 is about the question underneath: how do we live with other people without losing ourselves?

That question shows up everywhere. In friendships that slowly become obligations. In families where love and history are tangled together so tightly you can barely tell one from the other. In relationships where peace becomes more important than truth, until that “peace” starts feeling uncomfortably expensive. It’s finding an answer in the search for belonging, especially when the places or people that once felt like home no longer fit the same way.

Love 2.0 was never about creating or finding a perfect relationship, but about learning to pay attention to the patterns that shape how we connect, what we tolerate, and what we keep calling “love” long after it has turned into something else.

Eight Years Is Enough Time to Notice What Holds Up

Relationship lessons age differently. Yes, people change, but we also keep being people with impressive consistency. We still want to be seen. We still confuse attention with connection. We still avoid difficult conversations and then act surprised when the bill arrives later, with interest. We still want freedom, but we also want belonging, and we are often not honest about how much both of those things cost.

Looking back at Love 2.0 after eight years, I don’t see a book that solved anything, but a book that tried to name a few tensions honestly. I don’t think the reader wants a tidy answer. Sometimes it’s just about giving language to something they already felt but had not yet admitted out loud.

Love Is Not an Escape From Personal Responsibility

Love does not excuse us from doing our own inner work. It, unfortunately, does not always rescue us from self-awareness. It also does not make poor boundaries noble just because they are wrapped in good intentions.

We expect relationships to provide certainty, identity, comfort, validation, and sometimes a full-time emotional support department with no lunch breaks. Love can carry a lot, but it should not be asked to carry everything. At some point, the romantic idea of “you complete me” starts to sound less like devotion and more like a staffing problem.

Relationships require a certain kind of accountability for our own patterns. Our human tendency to repeat what is familiar, even when familiar is not the same as healthy. That kind of ownership is not very Instagrammable as it rarely photographs well. But it changes everything.

Belonging Should Not Require Disappearing

A major theme in Love 2.0 is belonging in the different circles of life, and I think that theme has only become more important. We live in a world where connection is everywhere while loneliness spreads like a disease. We can message anyone instantly and still feel isolated and unseen. We can belong to groups, platforms, networks, communities, and comment sections, while quietly wondering whether any of it is real.

Belonging is one of those words that sounds warm until it starts demanding payment. Sometimes the price is small: a bit of compromise, a shared rhythm, a willingness to care about things may not naturally interest us. That is part of living with others, and can be a good thing. Yet sometimes the price of belonging is too high. We begin editing ourselves into a more “acceptable” version. We keep quiet to preserve the mood. We confuse harmony with silence. We trade honesty for approval, then call it maturity because that sounds better than fear.

Eight years later, this still feels like one of my hardest lessons. Real love should give us more room to be ourselves, not less. It should challenge and refine us, yes. It should occasionally irritate us into becoming better people. But it should not require us to disappear.

The Book I Wrote Then, the Person Reading It Now

One of the odd gifts of writing books is that they become a letter to your future self. Not like a diary; a book is shaped, edited, structured, and hopefully made readable for someone who does not live inside the author’s head. (Lucky them.)

Still, when I look back at Love 2.0, I meet a version of myself who was trying to understand relationships in all areas of life with the tools I had at the time. Some of those tools have gotten sharper over time. Some assumptions have softened. Still some questions remain unresolved, which is annoying but probably honest.

We sometimes expect old creative work to represent us perfectly forever. If something I wrote eight years ago still reflects exactly how I see everything today, then either I was unusually wise back then or I have done zero useful thinking since.

What I appreciate now is not that Love 2.0 captured a sincere attempt to understand love as part of freedom, not separate from it. That idea still feels right today.

Love and Freedom Are Not Opposites

A lot of people talk about freedom as if it means having no obligations, and no commitments. There is some appeal to nobody expecting anything from you, especially after dealing with international bureaucracy, family logistics, or a relationship conversation that begins with “we need to talk.”

Freedom without connection is often empty inside. And the opposite, connection without freedom, can become suffocating. The answer lies somewhere in the middle. How do we build relationships that support a life with more freedom rather than shrinking it? How do we choose people, places, and commitments that make us more honest, more capable, more alive? How do we stop treating love as either a cage or a rescue boat?

That is where Love 2.0 belongs within The Freedom Project. It is not a detour from the freedom conversation. It is one of the more difficult chapters of it. Because freedom is not just the ability to travel, work differently, or design your own schedule. It is also the ability to relate to others without abandoning yourself.

Get Into Action

Eight years after The Freedom Project: Love 2.0 was published, I’m less interested in celebrating the book as a finished object and more interested in the questions it still raises.

• Where have you confused peace with avoidance?

• Where has belonging started to feel a little too expensive?

• Which relationships give you more room to become yourself, and which ones quietly ask you to stay smaller?

Those are not questions to answer in a hurry. They are better carried around for a while, perhaps on a long run/walk, over coffee, or during one of those inconveniently honest moments when life refuses to stay neatly organized.

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Further reading

I may be the only Dutch person alive who doesn’t care about soccer. Somewhere, a distant relative I don’t know is probably shaking their head into a plate of bitterballen. I live in Canada for a reason, I suppose.

So when FIFA announced Vancouver as one of the host cities for the 2026 World Cup, I didn’t exactly run into the street waving an orange flag. I also didn’t immediately become one of those people who complains about every big event that comes to town. Vancouver has hosted large events before. Some of them even leave behind something useful besides traffic cones, security fencing, and a temporary shortage of patience amongst local residents.

Big events can be good for a city. They can bring attention, investment, visitors, and a certain amount of civic cleanup that somehow only becomes possible when the world is watching. Funny how that works. A homeless camp that exposed a city’s deeper issues yesterday can become an image-management emergency tomorrow, once an international television crew might accidentally film it.

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Calgary Said No, and I’m Still Not Sure They Were Right

Cities sometimes underestimate the value of being seen. A few years ago, Calgary decided not to pursue hosting the Winter Olympics. Cost was the main concern, and obviously that concern was not imaginary. The city had every right to look at the price tag and wonder whether the whole thing was worth it.

I do wonder if Calgary may have missed out on something though. Yes, Olympic budgets can become financial sinkholes with (st)rings attached. But a major international event also puts a city in front of people who may never have heard about it before.

In case we forgot, Calgary, of course, has hosted the Olympics before. The 1988 Winter Games put the city on the international map in a way people still talk about today. So when they opted not to pursue hosting again, I wondered whether they were underestimating the long return of investment an event like that can bring.

Then There’s FIFA

Personally, I prefer to live somewhere a little more ambitious, so I moved to Vancouver. (I write that with huge wink, a lot of affection, and also from a safe distance.) Now Vancouver gets FIFA, and I’m still not happy.

Yes, Vancouver looks very good on Instagram: mountains, ocean, glass towers, floatplanes, seawall, overpriced coffee served with the silent expectation of an 18% “customary” tip (just to remind the tourists). If you’re selling Canada to the world, Vancouver is not a terrible cover picture.'

But even for people who actually love soccer (not me), the event feels less like a public celebration and more like a luxury product that happens to involve sports. I’ve seen local ads from people trying to sell their tickets at face value. Most of these ads sound less like excited fans who had a change of plans and more like hopeful speculators who bought early, expected a quick flip, and are now discovering that “everyone wants to go” is not the same as “everyone can afford to go.”

The Speculation Game

In addition to the exorbitant cost of the ticket to begin with, the speculation is the part that bothers me. People are actively trying to offload tickets at face value, which suggests their gamble is not be paying off. I somehow hope they’ll enjoy watching the game themselves, with a $30 watery beer as a consolation prize.

There’s a certain dark humour in watching people buy up access to something they don’t personally care about, hoping someone else will care more later, only to discover the “someone else” is also looking at hotel prices, flight prices, food prices, and the general cost of existing in Vancouver, and quietly deciding to stay home. Somehow this isn’t a sporting event anymore - everyone is just trying to make money.

Spending Money on “Experiences”

When tickets climb into a price range where even locals shrug and stay home, the event starts to feel detached from the place hosting it or the “sport” associated with it. At this point, Vancouver isn’t the host so much as the backdrop. The city becomes scenery for a travelling global money machine.1

Yes, I understand nobody is forcing anyone to buy a ticket. If someone wants to spend a mortgage payment watching a ball cross a line, that is their choice. People spend money on all sorts of things I don’t understand. I ride a Harley-Davidson, so I’m not exactly throwing stones from a financially spotless glass house. (Mine just has chrome and makes more noise.)

Unsolicited financial advice aside, there’s still something off about a global sports event that depends on local enthusiasm while pricing out many of the true fans, whether local or not.

Big Events Matter

I like cities (and people) that take action and do real things. I like movement, visitors, energy, and the sense that a place is connected to the wider world. Travel has taught me that cities are living systems that need new people, new money, new stories, and occasionally a reason to repaint things that should have been repainted six years ago.

FIFA may bring real benefits to Vancouver. It may give local businesses a strong season. It may introduce travellers to British Columbia who come back later with more time and less face paint. It may create memories for people who genuinely love the sport. For them, this is a big deal, and I don’t want to take that away.

But I do think we should be honest about who gets to participate. A citywide event that many residents experience mostly as higher prices, closed streets, crowded transit, and impossible tickets is not quite a celebration.

Get Into Action: My Game-Day Plan

As for me, I may go for a long run or take my motorcycle out of town on game days. Assuming, of course, that getting out of the city is easier than getting in. That may be optimistic. Traffic in the Lower Mainland has a way of humbling even the most carefully planned escape.

But the next time a major event comes to your city, try looking past the headline excitement and ask a few questions: Who benefits? Who pays? Who gets priced out? What stays behind after the visitors leave? And most importantly, does the event help you experience your own city more fully, or does it make your home feel temporarily unavailable?

That same question applies to travel in general. A trip is not automatically meaningful because it is expensive, famous, or hard to book, even when Instagram influencers suggest otherwise. Often, the better experience is the quieter trip you actually picked for yourself. 2

Travel safe.

Further reading

I have an elevated referral offer available right now for the personal Amex Platinum card. I could do what the internet usually does and start waving it around like I discovered fire. I could write a post about big points, premium perks, airport lounges, and the like. I’m not going to write that post today.

Premium travel cards look simple from the outside: get the card, meet the spending requirement, earn the bonus, travel better. The marketing tends to wrap the whole thing in a soft-focus cloud of “free travel,” as if a bank suddenly decided to sponsor your personal growth, with a glass of complimentary airport champagne.

The Word “Free” Is Where the Trouble Starts

I like travel rewards and use them all the time. Points absolutely reduce the cost of travel. They can turn an expensive business class seat into a manageable expense, make a better hotel possible, or simply soften the sting of a trip you were going to take anyway. Used well, travel rewards cards are a practical tool. They can create real value by unlocking experiences you may have not enjoyed otherwise.

Premium cards also come with annual fees, spending requirements, terms, credits, categories, deadlines, and little bits of administrative confetti that someone has to keep track of. Did I use my dining credit already this year? When does the annual incentive reset again? Some perks are great, but the onus is on you to make sure you take full advantage of them. To make that easier, you’ll want to ensure the card fits in with the rest of your life easily.

One Simple Rule

For me, the first rule is simple: I treat these cards as charge cards only. Technically, the personal Amex Platinum is a charge card (the balance has to be paid in full each month), but I apply the same logic to any card I own. I use the card, collect the value, and pay it off in full, every month.

The minute you start paying interest, the math changes quickly and any points value starts shrinking. What looked like an asset or a useful travel tool becomes a liability. Not because the card changed, but because your behaviour around it did. Nothing ruins a “free” flight quite like paying for it through interest charges you did not need to create in the first place.

A Travel Tool Is Only Useful If It Serves the Trip

A premium card makes sense if you travel enough to use the benefits. If lounge access saves you from another sad airport sandwich and a plastic chair near Gate 47, great. If the insurance, credits, hotel benefits, or airport perks replace things you already value, even better. If the welcome offer helps fund a trip you were already planning, that can be a smart move.

If you have to change your spending habits, invent reasons to travel, or reorganize your life around a card’s benefit calendar, the card may not be serving you as well as it should. When the perks stop feeling like freedom, you should reconsider.

Yes, there are points people who can track fifteen cards, four loyalty programs, six promotions, and a spreadsheet that probably deserves its own carry-on allowance. That’s not for me. I prefer sustainable systems that support my life without becoming my life. This is the system I teach in my Travel Revolution course.

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A tool that saves you time, adds comfort, and reduces friction is useful. A tool that creates extra work, extra spending, and extra mental clutter is not luxury.

That is why I do not think a premium referral offer should be treated as an automatic yes. A bigger welcome bonus might make it easier to ignore the boring stuff.

Get Into Action

For my VIP readers, I’ll share a unique referral link that could earn you up to 140,000 Membership Rewards® points - worth about $1,400 in travel credits. That’s about $300 more than what’s publicly available.

This is a special offer that is not currently available publicly, and it’s subject to Amex approval. Details included below. And if the Platinum fee still feels too steep, don’t worry: that same link lets you explore other Amex cards with different benefits and lower annual fees.

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There’s a moment that seems to happen on almost every trip, usually somewhere between the second margarita and the last sunset: everything feels just right. The light hits differently, time slows down a bit, and for a brief second I catch myself thinking: I could live here.

I have that moment on almost every trip. Buenos Aires, Rome, Paris, New York, and yes (for a very brief moment) even Toronto - I could picture myself living there.

Tulum definitely had that moment. The beach, the warm evenings, the rhythm of days that don’t really need a plan. While you’re on vacation, it’s easy to get swept into that feeling. Like a quiet thought that shows up uninvited and sits down for a bit.

And then, just as naturally, the thought fades again. Not because the place isn’t special, but because there is a difference between visiting a feeling and building a life inside it.

The Difference Between a Vibe and a Life

Travel has a subtle psychological trick built into it. In my book, I’ve called it a catalyst for personal growth. You remove everything familiar, and start exploring with a blank slate.

It makes a destination feel bigger than it actually is. More complete. More permanent. The separation between real life and visiting somewhere disappears a little. When travelling, almost everything I experience is curated, and intentional.

But living somewhere is different. It includes grocery runs, utility bills, routines, responsibilities, and all the parts that don’t make it into a highlight reel. The same beach that feels magical on day four becomes background noise after a few months for most people. The rhythm that feels relaxing might start to feel limiting.

Recognizing that in real time has become part of how I travel. I don’t push the thought away when it shows up. I just let it settle back into reality. It’s also become part of how I live my life by experience: even as an immigrant in Canada and recent transplant to Vancouver, I still try to seek out those “touristy” experiences that most people only get to experience once in a lifetime. I get to live in it.

Why I Rarely Go Back

Near the last day of almost every trip, I always say I’ll come back. I usually don’t.

Not because the place didn’t matter, but because something else calls my attention before I get the chance. Another destination, another curiosity, another experience I haven’t had yet.

That’s the traveller’s paradox:

Over time, I’ve stopped making return plans and started building a quiet “maybe someday” list instead. Places I’d happily revisit, without needing to commit to it.

Tulum is on that list now. But so are Buenos Aires, Santiago, Lima, Paris, Rome, London, New York, New Orleans, … (yes, this list goes on for a while).

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The First Trip Is Discovery. The Second Is Different

The first visit to a new place is all about discovery. Figuring things out and getting a feel for how it works. There’s a bit of friction, but that’s part of the experience. Once I figure out a supermarket for something to eat and a bottle (or box) of wine, I’m happy and the settling in has started.1

If I ever go back and revisit a destination, the second trip is different. Everything feels easier, and maybe a little more relaxed. I already know where to go, what to avoid, how the place moves. It becomes less about finding my place and more about enjoying it.

But if that second visit never happens, that’s fine too. There’s something nice about leaving a place exactly as it was experienced the first time. Untouched, and complete.

Get Into Action

If you’ve ever had that feeling of wanting to stay somewhere, or wondering why you don’t go back as often as you think you will, you’re not doing travel wrong. You’re just experiencing it fully. That’s exactly what I explore in The Freedom Project: Travel, where I break down how to travel in a way that actually adds to your life instead of pulling you away from it.

If you’re ready to take the next step, request a free preview to my all-inclusive travel hacking program The Travel Revolution below. I’d love to have you on board.

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Further reading

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

I know that quote has been used so often it almost belongs in a museum of motivational clichés by now, but every once in a while it still fits. In my case, it applies to a cardboard box of allegedly “imperfect” produce.

After much consideration, I signed up for Odd Bunch a few weeks ago because groceries have become ridiculous. I’ve been walking out of the supermarket lately with a small bag of stuff, wondering if I had accidentally bought a small appliance. Grocery shopping appears to have become another high-stakes financial decision.

Odd Bunch promises imperfect or surplus produce at a lower price, delivered as a box of fruits and vegetables. The idea is simple: Some produce is oddly shaped, too small, too big, cosmetically imperfect, or simply surplus inventory that might not fit the polished supermarket standard. Apparently even what you buy in the supermarket needs to be social media worthy. Who knew. So instead of otherwise perfectly good items going to waste, it ends up in a box on your doorstep.

So how odd are we talking, exactly?

Odd Bunch isn’t glamorous or some elite performance hack. Nobody is going to film a video about me unpacking slightly odd-looking produce in my kitchen.1 But it does deliver: I get some fruits and vegetables into my fridge at a price that is at least half of what the supermarket charges me.2 In my experience so far, that math holds and the value has been good.

More than good actually. I worried whether the produce is actually good, or whether “imperfect” is just a polite word for “sad vegetables near the end of their emotional journey.” Just over a month in, I’ve had zero quality issues. Only a few items looked a little unusual. Think some of the smallest apples you’ve ever seen. But they tasted great.

Supermarkets have subconsciously trained us to expect produce to look a certain way. Shiny apples, straight carrots, perfect peppers. Size matters. Everything displayed as if it is auditioning for a lifestyle magazine, complete with the occasional “mist” for that extra shine.

But flavour doesn’t follow cosmetic standards. Most supermarket blueberries, blackberries, and the like, are half moldy before you can carry them home. Instead, Odd Bunch seems to have a shorter supply chain, allowing produce to stay fresh in my fridge for much longer than I expected.

The Green Bean Issue

Full disclosure: there has been an issue. There have been green beans, two weeks in a row. Even worse, someone at Odd Bunch considers green beans a “plus” item. I beg to differ. I hate green beans with a passion. I don’t want them lightly steamed. I don’t want them tossed with garlic. I don’t want them hidden in a stir-fry. I don’t want them described to me as “actually good if you cook them properly.” I don’t want them, period.

Luckily, Odd Bunch allows me one free substitution per week. Out with the green beans, in with something else (of my choosing). This is how peace is maintained. More substitutions are available for a small fee, but so far the one free swap has allowed me to keep my meals green-bean-free.

This is one of the things I actually like: while you have some control, the boxes are “curated” and there is an element of surprise. That matters because a produce box only works if it fits real life. If I’m “rescuing” produce to only throw out items I detest myself, we’ve missed the point.

The Margarita Experiment

There’s no recipe cards (although they’re working on that), so the best part is that you have to get a little creative in the kitchen. If grapefruit shows up, that can become a margarita. Blood orange? Also a margarita. Pomegranate? Absolutely a margarita.

I’m not saying every produce problem can be solved with tequila, but I’m also not ready to rule it out. Almost everything else can be turned into something good with either an air fryer, slow cooker.

A squash can look intimidating if you have never really dealt with one before. Then you figure it out, make a mess, get the seeds out, and suddenly you’re halfway to a meal that feels more interesting than whatever you would have bought pre-made at the store.

The box pushes me to use what is there. Some of it gets roasted. Some of it goes into fried rice. Some of it becomes a smoothie. Some of it becomes a margarita.
The green beans, of course, become someone else’s problem.

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Learning to Improvise

One thing I love about travel is that it gets easier when I stop needing everything to go exactly according to plan. The best meal of the trip might come from the place I found by accident because the original plan fell apart. Maybe the restaurant was closed due to a power outage, a schedule change disrupts the plans, or the local grocery store carries things I don’t normally buy. It’s all part of the fun.

Odd Bunch brings a little of that home every week. I’m working with what is actually there instead of what I thought I wanted. Sometimes it leads to a better meal than I would have planned. Other times it leads to margaritas. Either way, for a minute, I stop trying to optimize every little decision and just work with what is in front of me.

I’m not trying to make healthy eating inspirational. I just have to make it easier. A box of fruits and vegetables is not magic. But it helps.

The Verdict: Is Odd Bunch Worth Trying?

In a world where groceries cost too much, food waste is still a problem, and most of us could probably use a few more vegetables in our lives, this felt like a pretty good idea. And I have not been disappointed, especially since I have veto power over green beans.

If you’re curious about trying Odd Bunch, order a box. You’re not locked into any contracts: I’ve found skipping a week to be easy, and you can cancel anytime. Click the button below if you want to give it a try with $10 $15 off your first box.

$15 your first box (limited time)

Update

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Three years ago, at the start of my running career, I ran BMO Vancouver1 for the first time, and I promised myself “never again”. This year, I remembered why, but did it anyway. It’s true, the scenery on course is very pretty - but the hills are relentless.

The hard part wasn’t the marathon, the hills, the heat, but the taper: The strange mental mess that happens when the hard work is already done.

My training followed a rhythm I followed before2: only three runs a week, supplemented with cross-training like yoga, strength, interval/speed workouts, and weekly long runs that all combined made the difference on race day. I no longer need to run six days a week to prove anything, especially when I’m also trying to have a life outside the training plan.

The real marathon: 18 weeks of training

The real marathon is not the 42.2 kilometres you run on race day. It’s the weeks of planning around work, sleep, weather, meals, laundry, appointments, social capacity, emotional energy, and all the other invisible things you do in the weeks leading up to race day that either support your training or slowly ruin it.

This time, the actual race was hard. Vancouver is not a flat course, and the weather turned unusually warm, climbing toward 24 degrees Celsius. I like heat more than most runners do, and I was probably one of the few people deliberately running in the sun while others chased every patch of shade.

But the part I want to write about here is not race day. It’s the taper. Because somehow, after all those long runs, all those early mornings, all those structured weeks, the taper still managed to be the strangest and most difficult part of the entire training cycle. Doing less sounds easy, until you have to live through it.

When less running creates more noise

Doing less is easy, right? You reduce mileage, and let the body absorb the work. You stop chasing fitness and start preserving energy. You trust that the training is already in the bank. Somehow, this is where it’s all supposed to magically come together.

For me, taper weeks feel like someone took away the one thing that was keeping the whole system organized. During peak training, I know what I’m doing. There is a long run. There is a midweek run. There is a treadmill class or speed session. There is yoga, maybe strength, maybe some recovery work. The week has a shape to it.

Then taper arrives, and suddenly the structure is gone. That should feel restful, but it can also feel unsettling. I start noticing every small ache. My mind starts questioning every decision: Do I run? Do I rest? Did I do enough? Did I do too much? Is that tightness something real, or just taper madness with better branding?

By the final week before BMO, I wasn’t exactly floating into the race in a state of blissful calm. I had trained well, but emotionally it had been a tense week. Work, life, conversations, fatigue, and the general static of being human all seemed louder than usual. The running volume goes down, but life does not always get the memo.3

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Three runs a week still works for me

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No matter whether it’s in business conversations, personal development books, or even casual chats about life goals: Mission and vision get bundled together like they’re interchangeable, thrown into the same sentence, and treated as if they mean the same thing.

But mission and vision are two different things. And the confusion, subtle as it seems, is often exactly what keeps people stuck. The problem usually isn’t the goal. It’s that the path to get there hasn’t been thought through, or worse, hasn’t been separated from the goal at all.

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The Mission Is the Destination

The mission (should you choose to accept it) is the end goal. The thing that, if I’m really honest with myself, I want to move toward no matter what. The goal is the anchor.

The goal usually doesn’t change much, regardless of how long it takes or how many versions of myself it requires along the way. It’s likely tied to your passions in life, the things you keep doing no matter what, even if the circumstances change.1

For me, a lot of that has always tied back to freedom. Not in the abstract, Instagram-quote sense, but in a very real, lived way. The ability to design my days, to travel when I want, to not feel boxed in by systems that don’t align with how I want to live my life. That concept hasn’t really changed over the years. If anything, it has become more clear.

The details around it have, but the mission itself has stayed remarkably consistent.2

The Vision Is the Path

The vision is how you get there. This is where things get more fluid, and honestly, more interesting. Vision is the strategy, the approach that will (hopefully) get you to the goal. The way you choose to move toward your mission, based on where you are right now.

And unlike the mission, this part can (and probably should) evolve over time. I’ve had different versions of my vision over the years. At one point, it looked like climbing the corporate ladder while squeezing in travel where I could. Later, it shifted toward building online courses, writing, and creating something that could support a more flexible lifestyle. Now, it’s a mix of both, with a different priority. What I do supports the life I want to live, not the other way around.

Same mission. Entirely different vision.

That’s the part most people resist, because changing the path can feel like giving up on the goal. In reality, it’s often the opposite. It’s staying committed to the destination while being honest about what’s actually working.

Where Things Get Messy

The trouble starts when mission and vision blur into one. This is when the “how” becomes so rigid that it starts masquerading as the “what.”

For example, you may define a mission to be “successful”3, but then connect success to a very specific job title or company. Or, as I share in my Happiness book, it may be tied to being an entrepreneur instead of an employee, or vice versa. Somehow the grass is always greener on the other side. Years go by, things don’t quite click, and instead of adjusting the path, we double down on a vision that was never meant to be permanent in the first place.

Or, “I want to travel more”. Another popular mission. People say they want to see the world, but lock themselves into one version of how that should look. A specific type of trip, a certain level of comfort, a rigid itinerary. When reality doesn’t match that picture, the experience feels off, even though the underlying mission is still completely valid.

If travel is the mission, maybe the vision shouldn’t be limited to an “around the world cruise”. Maybe a cheaper, shorter repositioning cruise is more achievable for now. Or maybe travel is just a road trip to a nearby town. It doesn’t matter what it is - as long as you don’t give up on travel altogether because the vision is too limited.

Why This Matters More Than It Seems

Separating mission and vision gives you room to breathe. It allows you to keep your eyes on what matters while giving yourself permission to adjust how you get there. And maybe have a little fun along the way.

When I’m clear on my mission, I don’t panic every time something doesn’t go according to plan. A failed idea, a course that doesn’t land the way I expected, a trip that doesn’t quite deliver the experience I was hoping for.4

Yes, “limited vision” sucks, but none of that shakes the foundation. It just informs the next version of the vision. Being ok with that creates a very different relationship with progress. It becomes less about getting it right and more about staying aligned over time.

There’s a calmness in that. If the route changes or life throws some curves your way, you can lean into them and you’re still moving in the right direction.

Keeping mission and vision separate removes a lot of unnecessary pressure, because you no longer expect one decision along the way to carry the weight of both.

Get Into Action

If this resonates, it might be worth taking a step back and looking at your own setup. Not just what you want, but how you’re going about it, and whether those two things are clearly defined or quietly tangled together. Maybe you’re overthinking your passions (like me), or you’ve confused the end goal with the road there (also like me).

Either way, that’s fine. Just take a few steps back and a minute to reflect. Inside my Break Free Experience course, I go deeper into this topic by helping you define both a personal mission and your vision in a way that actually works in real life. Not just the end goal, but the strategies and systems that support it, so you’re not left guessing what to do next, even when circumstances change.

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Further reading

There’s a part of travel no one really likes to talk about: coming home. This is loosely what inspired me to write a book about Happiness. When we talk about Travel, we share the destination, the highlights, the sunsets and the stories we want to remember. The ending, whether it’s the trek back home or actually coming home, isn’t usually part of that highlight reel.

Trips don’t usually end with a perfect Instagram-worthy moment. The vacation doesn’t fade out on a beach with a drink in your hand and a profound sense of closure. Quite the opposite: it ends with packing, airport transfers, security lines, delays, and a bit of mental fog.

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The Quiet Weight of Return Day

The feeling is hard to describe, but I woke up with it on my last day in Mexico. It’s not sadness exactly, just… friction. Nothing was wrong and the trip had been great. Food, beaches, margaritas, everything I wanted it to be, despite the media trying hard to convince me otherwise.1

But at the end of the trip, there can be this subtle shift in energy. For me this is usually somewhere between the last few days and arriving back home. It’s the “travel twilight zone” where the trip is no longer happening, but real life hasn’t quite resumed yet either. You’re in between worlds, and neither one seems to fit.

Reframing the Travel Day

The trick is to be ok with feeling lost or out of place for a little while, without trying to fix it. Instead of seeing the travel day(s) as the end of something, or worse, a failed attempt at rest, I treat it as a decompression buffer.

When looked at it differently, long travel days have a strange quality to them. You’re moving across the planet, but at the same time, you’re completely removed from everything that normally demands your attention. You’re unreachable and no one expects anything from you.2 There’s no productivity to chase, no decisions to make beyond what to watch or whether you want another coffee glass of wine.

You’re just a human being sitting in a seat, simply existing for a few hours between places. There’s something oddly comfortable about that state of existing.

The Re-Entry Phase

The mistake I used to make was expecting to land and feel instantly “back” to normal routines and rhythms. That almost never happens.

Instead, there’s a “re-entry phase” where life feels slightly off. Even the familiar feels unfamiliar for a moment. My own bed doesn’t immediately feel like home again. My usual routine feels a bit forced. It’s temporary, but it’s real.

In my Freedom Project books, I’ve described travel as a catalyst for personal growth. By stripping away everything familiar, you have to figure yourself out again and discover your likes and dislikes in an unfamiliar environment. When done right, returning to everything that once was familiar, isn’t necessarily the same as the person inside that context may have changed, even a little. Travel expands, while coming home is the contraction. And transitions between those two states may cause a bit of turbulence.

So the interesting part isn’t the day I get home, but a day or two later when the experiences I took home from the trip start to settle. It’s when the small details that don’t stand out when I’m in them every day, suddenly feel grounding again. I’m back to my morning runs, a good cup of coffee, and my cats (who once again ensure I can never sleep in).

“Travel isn’t about finding a place to stay. It’s about discovering why you keep moving.”

Get Into Action

If return days tend to throw you off, you’re not alone. It’s not a sign you need a better vacation, it’s a sign you’re actually feeling the contrast. In The Freedom Project: Happiness, I share my blueprint for rediscovering joy and meaning in life. Whether you’re climbing the corporate ladder or running your own business, this book will challenge your assumptions about success and guide you toward a life of true freedom and happiness.

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Further Reading