The Universe's Script Embracing Change and Elevating Your Story

Ever feel the universe has your back? This week, a forgotten jersey leads to a magical hug, plus how one mom's story transforms the medtech industry.

Forgotten Jersey, Free Hug: The Universe Had a Better Plan!

Welcome back.

This week, I want to talk about the universe. More specifically, I want to talk about what happens when you try to control every little detail of a plan, watch it completely fall apart because of your own mistakes, and then realize the universe had a much better script written all along. Grab a coffee (or a double from the 500-level patio section), and let's get into it.

THE "SURPRISE" BIRTHDAY & THE MASTER PLAN

About two weeks ago, a group of us went over to my friend Moe’s house to surprise him for his birthday. When you get to our age, "surprise" is a relative term. It’s less jumping out from behind a couch and more of a "What time are you coming over?" type of thing. But we brought some lunch, a cake, gathered some friends, and enjoyed a nice day in his backyard with good drinks, good laughs, and a couple of debates. It was a great way of connecting.

Moe and I have been friends for way over three decades. Yeah, thirty years. We both live pretty busy lives, and the next phase of our lives is a little gray as far as what we’re going to do to entertain ourselves. It’s called a midlife crisis—which Moe doesn't want to admit he's going through, has gone through, or will go through—but "What's next?" is something we always ask ourselves.

When you get to our age, gift-giving is hard. What do you get someone who pretty much has everything they need? While thinking about what to get him, my mind went to the World Series. You know, the one last year that the Blue Jays almost won, should've won, but didn't.

I’ve been to a number of Jays games in my lifetime, many of them through professional connections, often in pretty good seats or box seats. Seeing a game in a box is fun, I'm not gonna lie. But actually attending a game is not something Moe and I had done together.

I was sitting at the table talking to Katerina about what the hell I was going to get him, and I said, "Hey, why don't we get him some baseball tickets?"Kat thought it was a great idea and immediately started the search. (Obviously, if it was left to me, we'd still be looking). It just so happened the Yankees were going to be in town in a couple of weeks. There was a Friday game and a Saturday game available. I told her to please pick the Friday game.

I’m frugal, so I set a budget of $200 for two tickets, thinking that was a fair value. Little did I know that $200 thirty years ago would have gotten you really good seats, but these days you're gonna be really up high. But we were going! I did some crafts with my daughter Alyce, and we made him a birthday card that read: "New York versus Toronto in a couple of weeks."

The Marketplace Mission & The Banana Socks

Taking time for friends sometimes doesn't take priority when you mix in family responsibilities, work, dogs, and overall relationship duties. It takes time to plan any outing mentally, physically, and emotionally. But making that time is exactly what is needed for one to stay mentally stable. Sometimes you need a break from the everyday and just have a pint with your mate.

As much as the Jays are my team, I haven't been following them much outside the playoffs. When I was younger, a three-hour match was a very enjoyable event; now it feels like three hours taken away from something else. But I wanted to do something special for Moe.

I’m one of those people who wants to be prepared and look the part. So, I jumped on Facebook Marketplace. I found a seller in another city (St. Catharines), negotiated a pretty fair price, and drove out to pick up the goods. Smooth transaction, shook hands, liked the quality. Two Vladimir Guerrero Jr. jerseys secured.

Why was this so significant? Because I have a knack for knowing just what Moe needs to complete an outfit. A long time ago at a festival, I randomly decided to buy him some socks with bananas on them. They absolutely 100% matched his outfit that day. When he saw them, he literally threw me out of the way to try them on.

Matching jerseys were going to be our next cool moment.

The ADHD Tax (And the GO Train Rant)

Fast forward two weeks. It was a busy work Friday, and Kat was out of town on a business trip, leaving me as solo-dad to get Alyce ready. Getting from Hamilton to Toronto for a 7:00 PM game is a daunting effort in patience if you take a car, so I decided to take the GO train. Kat had kindly looked up the schedule the night before and created a task for me to leave by 4:00 PM to catch the 4:27 train.

I got Alyce off to school and powered through my meetings. By 3:00 PM, I had one quick 15-minute meeting left that ran a little long, but I showered, shaved, and got my clothes on. Then I got a call from work for one quick edit to a PowerPoint presentation. I finished the edit and headed for the door.

The night before, I’d left Moe’s jersey right on the stairs so I wouldn’t forget it. Out of sight, out of mind is a big problem for me. But with a toddler in the house, what could go wrong? Exactly. Somewhere between the morning rush and toddler chaos, the jersey was moved. Out of my purview, out of my mind.

I grabbed my keys, drove to the gas station, and found all the parking was under construction. I had to park pretty far away—a minor inconvenience, but I had enough time.

As I walked toward the train in my Jays jersey, someone noticed me and said, "Hey, are you heading for the 4:27 train?"

"Yeah."

"It's cancelled."

I looked up at the clouds and said, OMG. I thanked the person for saving me the time, got back in my car, and checked the schedule. There was another train in 30 minutes from a completely different station. I called Moe to tell him I'd be 30 minutes late.

When I arrived at the new station and saw everyone else in their Blue Jays outfits, I looked beside me and screamed. I had forgotten Moe's jersey. I was devastated. I could drive back home, but then I'd have to take an even later train. I don't care about being late myself, but I hate making people wait, and Moe doesn't like to wait. So, I headed downtown empty-handed.

> A Note on Transit: Let me tell you, the train from Hamilton to Toronto is slow. Having traveled to Japan and seen how their transit system works, our GO train feels antiquated. In Japan, you are absolutely spoiled rotten when it comes to common courtesy, organization, and noise levels. Here, the noise was absolutely unacceptable. The World Cup was in town, and people were yelling, screaming, and sharing stories.

> When the train finally stopped at Union Station, I saw some of the worst human behavior. As soon as the doors opened, the people waiting on the deck started trying to shove their way onto the train. We had to yell, "We're getting off!" just to make them stop. Wild pandemonium. The fact that people didn't understand you need to let people off before you get on absolutely baffled me. City and transit designers need to study other cities and steal all their ideas.

Daggers, Baymax, and Retail Prices

When I finally met up with Moe, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Hey, nice jersey."

That comment was a dagger to my soul. I confessed the whole story about driving to St. Catharines and how my ADHD caused me to forget his gift. He said no problem, and we walked toward the stadium.

I had one trick left up my sleeve: tonight was a giveaway for an Andrés Giménez Replica Soccer Jersey! If we could just get there in time.

As we were about to go in, an Asian lady noticed my bag. "Hey, that’s Baymax! That's cute." I told her I got it in Osaka, and we struck up a conversation about my trip to Japan and how Kawaii is a culture I've fallen in love with. Moe knows I’m always doing things a little bit different. A grown-ass man carrying a Baymax bag to keep all of his stuff versus a Prada or Gucci—that’s just how I roll.

And it makes for an interesting conversation topic. Being unabashedly yourself just invites people in.

We got past security, but when I asked the lady at the front about the jerseys, she said, "They're all gone, I'm sorry."

So no jersey. "Surprise Moe, we're not in a box," I said as we headed to our seats. "I figured," he chuckled, and we climbed up to the 500 level.

We decided to grab a couple of doubles since it was going to be a three-hour game. As we made our way to our seats, we saw a gift shop. This was my last opportunity. I told Moe to just pick one, but he couldn't find the color he wanted. He wanted an off-white jersey, which is the rarest thing. When we looked at the prices, we both had a good chuckle. We share the art of the deal, and we knew we could find way better prices on Facebook Marketplace. So no jersey in hand, it was time to just watch the game.

The Universe Steps In

In the first inning against the Yankees, the Blue Jays went up by a number of runs. Everyone in the stands was energized. Moe and I were making friends left, right, and center. It felt almost like a festival. They were playing electronic dance music, and we were having a good old party. This is what it's like to go to a Jays game!

We decided to head down to the patio section to fill up our drinks and experience the vibe. Walking around the Rogers Centre brought back memories of music festivals like Solaris, where Moe and I went years ago. Back then, I used to walk around giving everyone high-fives.

So, I started giving high-fives to people as we walked around. And guess what? People responded. It doesn't matter if you're at a festival or a baseball game; as long as you share a common goal or interest, people are generally nice.

Moe decided to go find us some drinks, and I continued giving out high-fives. I walked right up to one gentleman, gave him a high-five, and he stopped me.

"Hey, I like your vibe. I like your vibe."

"Thanks, bro!" I said. "Let's go Blue Jays!"

Then he asked, "Hey, do you want a jersey? Did you get one of those jerseys from earlier?"

"No, I didn't."

"You want one? I have an extra one."

I was shocked. "What do you mean? Sure, that would be awesome." He pulled out a jersey and just handed it to me.

"Bro, how much are you offering that for?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing? No, at least let me buy you a drink."

He looked at me and said, "No. Just give me a hug."

I gave him a hug, and he gave me the jersey. I stood there in complete disbelief. Here I am having a good time, and out of nowhere, the universe did its thing. It wasn't prompted, it wasn't scripted. I can't explain the feeling I got hugging that gentleman, because he had absolutely no idea that I had forgotten my friend's jersey. That single act of kindness made my night.

I started walking to go find Moe, hiding the jersey behind my back. I saw him with two drinks in his hand. I grabbed one of the drinks and said, "Hey, hold out your hand."

He held out his hand, and I put the jersey right into it.

"What the... bro!"

"Hey, some random guy just made this happen."

"No way."

"Yes way, bro. The universe has a way of just making things happen."

He immediately put the shirt on, and the smile on his face was one for the books.

The Game & 3 Decades Counting

The story of the night was catcher Alejandro Kirk. Back from a 62-game absence with a fractured thumb, he received a massive standing ovation and delivered a perfect 3-for-3 performance with 2 RBIs.

The Jays jumped out to an early 5-0 lead behind Kirk’s RBI double, a 423-foot Kazuma Okamoto blast, and a George Springer two-run homer. While the Yankees clawed back to make it 7-5, our bullpen slammed the door shut, with Ernie Clement adding insurance and Louis Varland locking down a clean ninth for his 12th save.

After the game, we stopped at the CN Tower and shared a moment of pure friendship. Three decades, and we are still having fun. And none of it would have been possible without Kat holding down the absolute chaos of the home front with Alyce and the dogs while I was out chasing trains and high-fives. Maybe there will be a few more games for us this summer.

The moral of the story: Sometimes, don't fight the universe. It has it figured out. We just gotta give back. Maybe it's just a high-five when a person needs it.

Have you ever had a moment where you messed up, but the universe stepped in and completely bailed you out? Or maybe a time when a random act of kindness turned your whole day around? Drop a comment below and tell me your story—I'd love to read it!

I Used to Tell Alyce's Story in Hospital Rooms. Now I Tell It on Stages.

There’s a specific kind of morning that only exists when you’re about to do something that matters. It’s not the nervous-excited of a first date or the anxious buzz before a big work presentation. It’s quieter than that. More settled. Like your body already knows this is right, even if your brain is still catching up over its second coffee.

That was me, getting ready for the Medtech Canada Conference in Oakville on a Wednesday morning. Boujee was doing her signature concerned-eyes routine from the bedroom doorway — the one she reserves for occasions when the good handbag comes out. Dapper was horizontal on the couch, deeply unbothered, as is his brand. Damian was already in meetings. Alyce was at daycare, probably running her own agenda with the confidence of someone who has already survived more than most adults. And I was standing there thinking: I’m about to go say her name in a room full of strangers. And that feels exactly right.

I am a member of the Patient Co-Creation Council (PCC) at Roche Canada. This is not my day job. My day job involves research infrastructure, national engagement strategies, and an embarrassing number of shared Google Docs. But the PCC is some of the most important work I do — full stop. The PCC exists to bring the patient voice into the heart of how Roche Canada thinks, designs, and acts. Not as a footnote. Not as a box to tick at the end of a process that’s already been decided. As a genuine seat at the table, from the beginning. I joined because Alyce’s journey taught me something I can’t unknow: the system works better when the people living inside it help build it. And if I have the privilege of a voice and a seat, I’m going to use both.

The session was titled “Innovation to Action: A Patient Journey of Medtech Opportunity” and it was moderated by Ursula Mann, Principal and Chief Patient Officer at PatientVoicePartners — a woman who has the rare and extraordinary ability to make a room feel both professionally rigorous and deeply human at the same time. Working with her was, genuinely, a gift. The panel brought the patient voice to the centre of a conversation that doesn’t always leave room for it. We talked about what lived experience actually means in the context of medical technology. We talked about timely access — because innovation that exists but can’t be reached isn’t innovation, it’s cruelty with better branding. And I talked about Alyce.

Alyce, who arrived in the world and immediately decided that easy wasn’t really her thing. Alyce, who spent her earliest months navigating medical complexity that no parent is ever prepared for. Alyce, who had a G-tube before she had words, and who, as of December 15th, 2025 — a date I will remember for the rest of my life — no longer does. She is two and a half years old. She is relentless and funny and obsessed with her markers and anything related to arts. And she is the reason I said yes to every uncomfortable, vulnerable, important moment this PCC has asked of me. I said it plainly in that room: including patients in co-creation is about meaningful action, not about ticking a box. It’s about designing systems that reflect the actual lives they’re meant to serve. Alyce’s life. Lives like hers.

None of this happens without Roche Canada, who extended this opportunity to me and who have consistently trusted that a mother’s story belongs in professional spaces. It does.

I came home to a quiet house, which anyone with a toddler and two French Bulldogs knows is either a gift or a warning sign. Boujee pressed against my legs the moment I walked through the door like she’d been holding vigil. Dapper raised one eyebrow from his spot on the couch and then went back to sleep. I sat down. I wrote my LinkedIn post. I hit publish. And then, quietly, the internet decided to show up. Over 2,000 views in less than two weeks. Reshares from people I’ve never met. Messages from leaders, from healthcare professionals, from advocates who said me too and thank you and this is why it matters. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t surprised. I’m also not going to pretend it didn’t mean everything.

Because here’s the thing about sharing a story like Alyce’s in a public space: you never quite know if it will land, or if it will just float out there into the void. And when it lands — when it actually reaches people — it confirms something you already believed but needed to hear reflected back: the patient voice belongs everywhere. Even on LinkedIn. Even at a Medtech conference in Oakville on a Wednesday morning. Even in the mouth of a mother who just wanted to do right by her kid.

We’re just getting started.

— Kat 💙