Ordinary Growth in Narrow Tunnels

Ordinary Growth in Narrow Tunnels

This is my first post of the year. I’ve never been fond of New Year’s resolutions, and that hasn’t changed. Instead of resolutions, I tend to choose a theme. My theme for 2025 was Rebirth. My theme for 2026 is Growth. In practice, they may look very similar. In 2025, I started my life over in a very real way. That process isn’t finished, and it may not be for some time. Growth, I’m learning, doesn’t arrive cleanly or all at once. It looks ordinary, disciplined, and emotionally messy.

Last year, I focused heavily on who I am, rather than who I was. That remains important. This year, I also want to be more mindful of whose I am. Scripture reminds me that “to all who did receive Him, who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). I try hard not to be shaped by who others want me to be, or who they expect me to remain. Growth, for me, means continuing to take responsibility for my life while staying grounded in an identity that isn’t something I have to earn or defend.

My support system is still limited. I’m aware of that, and I hope to change it over time. Most of the people around me right now are connected to recovery, mentorship, or discipleship contexts. Those relationships matter, and I’m grateful for them—but they can’t be everything. I want to add genuine peer relationships to my life. Coworkers are an obvious place to start. I’d also like to balance the perspectives I receive. Much of my current influence comes from people older than me, which has been valuable, but I think balance matters. The same is true when it comes to gender. Nearly everyone in my support system is male. That isn’t a complaint, but I do think broader perspective—especially as it relates to parenting—would serve me well.

Rather than resolutions, I’m committing to a few simple, repeatable practices. I want to be more consistent in reading Scripture, and I’ve started a Bible-in-a-year plan through YouVersion by The BibleProject. I’m returning to basic discipline: making my bed daily, keeping my room cleaner, and being more intentional with my words and actions. These aren’t grand gestures. They’re small acts of order in a life that still needs structure.

My longer-term goals are straightforward. I want to complete my HVAC schooling and find meaningful work in that field that pays a living wage. I want to work toward buying a modest vehicle without financing. I want to improve my co-parenting relationship if that’s possible. And I want to eventually have my own apartment—nothing extravagant, just a place where my kids could stay overnight from time to time. Growth, for me, looks like building toward stability without pretending I’m already there.

This weekend reflected that kind of growth. On Saturday, I cleaned my room, washed my bedding, and put up a spare set of hooks so things like my backpack actually have a place to go. One of my ongoing frustrations has been not having space for certain things—especially items I buy for my kids that tend to accumulate because I don’t see them as often as I’d like. It’s a small problem, but one that adds up emotionally if I ignore it.

Sunday morning, I woke up on time for church. Money is tight, but time is usually tighter, so I grabbed a quick breakfast on the way. I’ve learned the bus and train timing well enough that getting to church is almost routine now. I had a few minutes to spare, so I moved through the tunnels at Place de Ville, avoiding the cold, refilling my coffee, and catching the next bus. There’s something strangely comforting about those tunnels—movement without exposure, motion without spectacle. The tunnels at Place de Ville always feel like a small mercy to me. Bright in some places, narrow and utilitarian in others, they let you keep moving without having to step fully into the cold. Escalators beside stairwells. Skylight above concrete. Old passages feeding into newer ones. It’s all connected, even when it doesn’t look graceful. Lately, that’s what growth has felt like—forward motion through imperfect, mismatched spaces, choosing progress over exposure.

At church, before anything else, I had to confront myself. I’ve been less intentional lately in areas where I know better—food choices, distractions, guarding my heart. The sermon touched on removing idols and cutting out the things that quietly pull us away from God. That landed close to home. I don’t say that as someone who has figured it out, but as someone who knows when he’s drifting and needs to course-correct.

I’ve also been sitting with some complicated, unfinished feelings. Not about anything concrete, but about perception—how easy it is to project meaning, depth, or intent onto people we don’t actually know. We see what others present, and we fill in the gaps ourselves. I’m aware that I do this, and that others likely do the same with me, especially given my past. This isn’t something I’ve figured out yet. I’m naming it now so it doesn’t name me later.

On the way home, I detoured through the Rideau Centre and briefly stopped at Bath & Body Works. The store was crowded, and I didn’t really need anything. Crowds still trigger anxiety in me, and I could feel my sense of peace slipping, so I left empty-handed and headed home. On the bus, someone walked the aisle asking for money. I felt irritation rise—not because of her, but because I noticed how easily my calm can be disrupted when I’m tired or stretched thin. That reaction told me more about myself than about anyone else.

I work at 8:00 p.m. tonight. I skipped lunch after a large breakfast, and I’ll have a small meal at work, which helps both financially and practically. Aside from writing this and possibly taking a short nap, the rest of the day is quiet. This coming week won’t be. I’m working several shifts, plus an extra lunch shift. Whitestone resumes Tuesday evening. Men’s Bible study is back Friday, along with my individual counselling appointment at CFS. It will be a full week.

Growth, as it turns out, doesn’t announce itself. It shows up in clean rooms, packed lunches, guarded thoughts, unfinished reflections, and full calendars. Ordinary. Disciplined. Emotionally messy. For now, that’s enough.

Note about today's image.  If any of my readers have ever been in the tunnels/mall under Place de Ville, you will notice that this doesn't look quite right.  This is a deliberately AI generated composite image rather than an exact sketch of a photograph.