I know there’s more to life than relationships, and I do try to focus on those things too. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a deep ache for that kind of connection. Living with that kind of ache – especially when it’s been there for a long time – can feel like carrying an invisible weight that others don’t always see or understand.

It’s not just about wanting a relationship. It’s about craving connection, intimacy, being seen, chosen, and loved in that specific way. And when that longing goes unmet for years, it can start to feel like a kind of grief – for something that never even had the chance to exist.

I’ve been carrying this longing for so long – quietly, constantly – that it’s no longer just emotional. It seeps into my body, my energy, my sense of self. It’s exhausting. And when people around me don’t fully get it, or offer advice that feels hollow, it only makes the ache feel lonelier.

I deserve relief. Not just distraction or numbing, but real, soul-deep relief – the kind that comes from being seen, held, and loved in the way I’m yearning for. The relief I crave most is intimacy and physical comfort. It isn’t shallow or trivial – it’s a deep human need. It feels like my body is starving for something it was built to receive.

But I’ll leave it there. It’s time for me to head home, crawl into bed, and try not to notice how empty it feels to fall asleep untouched – again.

Sunday was a scorcher, but I still made it to my favourite coffee shop. While the world melted outside, I sat in my usual spot – quietly keeping the place company like a loyal regular. I grabbed my fish and chips – but more importantly, I got to see my lovely waitress friends. On quiet days like this, when fewer people wander in, it’s not just the fryers that sit idle. Tips thin out, and so does income. Showing up matters more than we often realize.

Sometimes, all it takes is a quiet gesture to tilt the balance – a tip, a smile, or simply being there. It’s easy to underestimate how much those little moments matter – until you’re the one who needed one.

On my birthday, I found myself quietly wishing that by the time I turn 50, I’ll have someone to share it with. It’s a steady, gentle hope – something to hold onto as I grow into that space with intention over the next year.

I’m hesitant to date someone significantly older, having already endured the pain of losing someone I loved. That loss still lingers, and the fear of experiencing it again makes me cautious about investing too deeply. Still, after everything I’ve been through, I remain open. If someone wanted to share a moment with me – no pressure – I’d welcome it.

I deeply miss physical intimacy – the comfort of touch, of closeness. Surely there’s a woman who feels the same. Just two people, wrapped in warmth and mutual care. Something quietly beautiful.

I don’t know who she is or when our paths will cross – but the thought of her keeps my heart soft. For that alone, I’m already grateful.

After a rough stretch of sleep deprivation – thanks to relentless heat and no relief at home – I made the wise decision to stay overnight in Sarnia while visiting for work. My usual spot, the Harbourfront Inn, was fully booked, so I checked into the newly renovated Four Points by Sheraton in Point Edward.

The transformation from the former Holiday Inn is impressive. The rooms are modern, cozy, and thoughtfully designed. My only small critique is the lack of a task light at the desk, which would’ve been helpful for laptop work. It’s a minor issue in what was otherwise a truly comfortable stay.

One standout feature of the Four Points is the on-site Boston Pizza, which made dinner an effortless affair. I went with the Grilled Chicken Clubhouse, which was very satisfying, After a long stretch of exhaustion, being able to grab something hot and satisfying down the hall was a real plus.

At check-in, the front desk clerk was especially helpful, enrolling me in the Marriott Bonvoy program. With my CAA discount, my rate came to a very reasonable $118.

As I was checking out, I noticed they had a fitness area upstairs – a nice amenity I’ll be sure to take advantage of on a future visit.

Overall, I’d definitely recommend this hotel to anyone traveling to Sarnia. It’s a well-priced, comfortable, and convenient place to stay.

Going without a relationship for years changes you. It rewires your heart in ways you never asked for.

During lockdown, people unraveled after just a few months without their partners – or even basic touch. And yes, that included sex too. But not everyone stayed apart. Some bent the rules, snuck around, or moved in together early – anything to hold onto connection.

Meanwhile, I followed the rules. I stayed alone. I sat in silence. And I’ve lived through far longer stretches of it – years where no one reached for me, no one waited. Yet people still tell me to “toughen up,” like this ache is a switch I should’ve flipped by now.

It’s always those who’ve never known real loss – the ones who still fall asleep beside someone – who offer the most advice. Try burying the love of your life, then waking up alone for a thousand mornings, before telling me how to move on.

After years without a hug, the first one doesn’t even feel real. It jolts something in you – but by then, you’ve forgotten how to feel it. Like someone who’s only ever known hot showers – go without for long enough, and the cold becomes routine. Comfort turns into memory.

But it’s not just hugs. It’s the absences nobody sees. A shared coffee. A hand on your back. Someone noticing you’ve had a hard day without asking. Those tiny pieces of daily love hold you together – until they don’t. You adapt. But the emptiness never leaves. It just learns how to hide behind your smile.

Everyone has advice – until their night ends wrapped in someone else’s warmth. Me? I go home to memories that haunt me, and a bed that never forgets it’s only half full.

I skipped going out for breakfast and the gym on my days off this week – the heat’s been a bit much. Luckily, I’ve got a bench and some weights at home, so I’m still managing my workouts. I stayed close to home and took a walk to the local store, where I picked up tomatoes, bread,and eggs. Supporting local shops really matters, even if it doesn’t always show up on the receipt. A juicy tomato on fresh bread with a smear of mayo and a dash of pepper makes the perfect no-cook summer meal.

I told a woman friend she looked fantastic and asked what she was doing later. I was flirting, but she just shared her plans. That doesn’t automatically mean she wasn’t interested – maybe she didn’t pick up on it, or maybe it was a subtle way of setting a boundary. Either way, I was respectful, which is always the right move. She’s kind and beautiful, and I’m grateful to have her in my life, even just as a friend. But something about the hot weather has me feeling a little bolder – and maybe even a bit friskier.

When I see couples out enjoying the nice weather, it hits hard. It’s tough to watch something I deeply long for be so visible all around me. It feels like I’m waiting on a connection that others seem to find without trying. Wanting love – wanting someone – isn’t a weakness. It shows I care deeply and have room in my heart to share. That ache just means I’m open, and that’s something to be proud of. And just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t.

People who criticize my dating life don’t realize how much the landscape has changed. Traditional expectations aren’t common anymore. These days, many women expect a lifestyle that the average guy – especially someone like me working in security on a modest income – just can’t provide. They’re often looking for a partner who earns more, covers all the bills, and supports a lifestyle filled with beauty treatments, travel, and nights out. But dating for simple companionship isn’t on the table if it means dialing back that standard of living.

Somewhere along the way, dating became more about image than connection – curated lifestyles, expectations, and appearances. Social media adds to it. It’s not just about how someone makes you feel anymore, but how they fit into a certain look or level of success.

Back in the day, people looked for something real, not perfect. Now there’s pressure to have it all together just to be considered. That kind of performance makes genuine connection feel rare.

Still, I hope it matters to some. Maybe someone out there is quietly hoping for the same realness I am.

Indigenous knowledge and leadership are core to Canada’s identity – and key to its future. We must move forward with honesty and intention.

Today is World Humanist Day – a moment to celebrate those who choose kindness, fairness, and reason, not out of fear or favour from above, but because doing good matters here and now.

Want to know what Humanism’s all about? Head over to Humanist Canada.

The one person who truly saw me – who valued me, who cared – is gone. And in the hollow space they left behind, I question whether I am still worthy of love, still deserving of belonging. Because right now, all I feel is the ache of their absence, the sharp edge of loneliness.

But I accept that their time was then, in the past, and mine is now. Even as I grieve, life continues to shift and unfold, carrying me forward whether I’m ready or not. Their presence shaped me, their love held me – but they were a chapter, not the entire story. And as much as their absence wounds me, I remind myself that love, belonging, and meaning still exist beyond what I have lost.

Grief does not mean I am broken beyond healing, nor does loss diminish my worth. Instead, it reflects the depth of my love – the way it still lingers in the spaces they left behind. I am allowed to hurt. But I am also allowed to hope – for love, for connection, for something meaningful again.

And yet, as time slips away, indifferent to my loneliness, I find myself trapped in its passing – watching, waiting – longing for something just beyond my reach, aching for a resolution that never comes. Watching others form new relationships, finding joy similar to the love I once had, hurts like hell. It is a reminder of what I’ve lost, of what I crave but cannot grasp. All I have left are memories – fragments of a love and life that once were.

Losing someone I loved is already a heavy burden, and when efforts to rebuild fall flat, it feels like the universe is indifferent – leaving me to navigate without a map. This led me to question whether life follows a grand design or is simply a series of unpredictable events.

Ecclesiastes 9, with its emphasis on time and chance, presents a stark view of life’s uncertainty. I found an interesting parallel between factorials and Solomon’s reflections. Factorials show how possibilities multiply rapidly – starting simple but expanding into staggering complexity. Similarly, time and chance create an uncontrollable web of events, much like the exponential growth seen in factorials.

This realization ultimately led me to embrace humanism, which values reason, ethics, and human potential over divine influence. Humanism doesn’t necessarily reject Christianity outright, but rather shifts the focus while leaving room for personal interpretations of divinity. Wanting to put humanist principles into action, I chose to become an organ donor – a meaningful step toward living out that philosophy.

Moving forward after loss takes immense effort, and when things refuse to fall into place, hope can feel like it’s slipping away. The struggle weighs on me. Feeling stuck is one of the hardest emotions to endure, especially when I’m trying and getting nowhere. But hopefully, stagnation isn’t the end of the story – just a frustrating chapter.

The cruel comedy of life’s little stings!

I stopped by my favourite coffee shop today, eager to indulge a craving, only to find they’d just run out of fish and chips. And as if fate wanted to twist the knife, the waitress made a show of parading the last order past me, delivering it to its rightful owner with a smirk and a taunt: “Look, Mason! Look at what you can’t have.”

I felt that in my soul – because sometimes, it’s not just about the fish and chips. Sometimes, life itself plays the role of that teasing waitress, dangling what I want just out of reach.

At this point, I should probably just ask if disappointment comes with a loyalty rewards program – because I seem to be racking up points.

No one understands, and that stings.

People don’t want to hear my problems – they flinch, they look away, they wait for the conversation to shift. My pain is a nuisance, an unwelcome guest they won’t entertain.

When it comes down to it, no one gives a damn. I’m not worth the effort. I see it in their eyes, in the hollow responses, in the silence that stretches too long. Knowing that – really knowing it – is the deepest cut, the kind that never stops aching.

I wish there were an easy way out. Something quick, clean. No mess, no pain, no regrets. Just a quiet exit, leaving nothing behind, slipping out like I was never here.

But I don’t. I choke it down, bury it deep, swallow every scream until it rots inside me. I pretend to be okay, to be fine, to be functional. I try so damn hard to act like I don’t feel what’s killing me.

A sexless life is like a bird with broken wings – grounded, gutted, gasping for the sky it will never touch again.

Sure, it will live. But what is survival without freedom? What is existence without flight, without the reckless thrill of the wind ripping through its feathers, without the limitless stretch of open air? It will watch others rise, twisting through the clouds, reveling in what it can never reclaim. It will stay earthbound, mocked by memories of what once was, tormented by the bitter truth that sex was never truly its own – just a fleeting illusion, a cruel loan with interest paid in loneliness.

I was made for sex – an undeniable part of who I am – meant to pour out of me freely, to consume me entirely, to ignite me in its raw intensity.

But without a companion, without someone to reflect that sexuality back at me, I am that ruined bird – trapped beneath a sky that turned its back, abandoned by hope, sentenced to suffocate under the weight of something I will never have again.

As a widower, I find it frustrating when women unnecessarily mention their boyfriend or husband when I’m just being friendly. I think they’re setting boundaries, but it feels excessive – turning interactions into status reinforcement rather than genuine conversation.

After losing my spouse, some married friends pulled away, treating me as a threat to their relationship. On top of grief, losing friendships makes things even harder. It’s understandable that people might feel uncertain about how to navigate changes, but pulling away doesn’t help anyone – it just adds to the isolation. Staying connected, offering support, and treating widowers as the same people they’ve always been can make a world of difference.

Here I am, adjusting to my new life, yet somehow triggering relationship panic with mere polite conversation. Who knew widowhood came with an unintended talent for unsettling commitments?

I was married for over six years, and now, more than six years after my wife’s passing, I have been widowed longer than I was married. Reaching this milestone stirs up a complex mix of emotions – wonder at my resilience, frustration over my stagnant dating life, and a deep sense of isolation as I watch others move forward while I feel stuck.

The loneliness has taken an emotional toll, leaving me questioning whether I will ever find love again or if I am destined to go through life alone. The gym has been my anchor, providing structure, an emotional release, and a steady path to renewed confidence – redefining progress while reinforcing my self-worth. Pushing through workouts embodies resilience – showing up, improving, and finding strength even on the toughest days.

But while the gym has been a source of strength and growth, it cannot silence my yearning for companionship. I’m not looking for someone like the one I had. At that time, they were exactly what I needed in my life. But as a result of my experiences, I’ve changed and grown, moving beyond the person I once was. I want someone who aligns with the person I am today and the stage of life I’m in. And, naturally, I miss the physical closeness of a relationship.

At least with the gym, I know if I show up consistently, I’ll see progress. Too bad dating doesn’t come with a straightforward rep scheme.