Under Grumpa's Hat

I have moved enough times in recent years to make my belongings suspicious of cardboard boxes. Eastern Townships of Quebec to British Columbia. Decades later, Costa Rica, a place even I would have never considered until recently. Each move came with that familiar cocktail of excitement, uncertainty, and the awkward realization that I still do not know how I ended up owning three drawers full of random charging cables that fit absolutely nothing I currently own. Through every relocation, culling, and life curveball, one thought keeps sneaking back into my head like a raccoon that learned how to open the garage door. You cannot outsmart your destiny.

Now, before anyone pictures destiny as some mystical fortune teller wearing too many scarves and burning incense that smells like regret and the neighbour on 4-20, I am talking about the path life quietly nudges you toward. You can resist it. You can argue with it. You can even give it the silent treatment. But it tends to sit patiently, sipping coffee, waiting for you to catch up.

When I moved to Costa Rica, I was not chasing palm trees or retirement brochures featuring suspiciously happy couples jogging on beaches at sunrise. It felt more like an internal whisper that grew louder over time. Was it permanent? Was it temporary? Honestly, I still do not know. And that is the beauty and terror of destiny. It rarely hands you a printed itinerary with departure gates and snack options clearly listed.

People often believe they can outmaneuver fate through sheer cleverness. We celebrate athletes who fake their way past defenders, like wide receivers in the NFL who twist and spin until defensive ends look like they are trying to chase a mosquito in a phone booth. Yet even those perfectly executed fakes are part of a predetermined play that began long before the ball was snapped. The receiver might zig, zag, pirouette, or perform what looks like interpretive dance, but wherever he ends up standing when the whistle blows was exactly where he was always destined to go… even on a missed play.

Take Connor McDavid, arguably the most electrifying skater the NHL has ever seen. The man makes elite athletes look like they accidentally tied their skates together. He slices through defences like a hot knife through butter that owes him money. Yet every breathtaking rush, every goalie left questioning his career choices, is still part of a path unfolding exactly as it should. McDavid can fake left, dart right, spin back left again, and leave three grown professionals reaching for oxygen and dignity. But the final destination of that play, goal, assist, or spectacular wipeout into the boards, was always waiting for him.

Life operates the same way, just with fewer referees and more questionable decisions made after two glasses of our favourite alcoholic beverage.

Many of us spend years trying to dodge what feels uncomfortable or uncertain. We stick to safe routines, familiar places, and predictable choices. It is like standing at the buffet of life and repeatedly choosing the plain dinner roll because it feels safe, while destiny is standing beside the carving station waving a perfectly cooked prime rib and whispering, “You sure you do not want to try this?”

Sometimes destiny does not feel glamorous. It might come disguised as a difficult decision, a risky move, or the terrifying moment when you admit you want something different than what you have built. Moving countries was not just about geography for me. It was about listening to that quiet pull that had been tapping on my shoulder for years. It felt reckless at times, exciting at others, and occasionally made me question my sanity while wrestling with immigration paperwork that appeared to have been designed by someone who genuinely dislikes human joy.

Will I return to Canada one day? Possibly. That question remains open, and strangely, I am comfortable with that uncertainty. Destiny is not always about final destinations. Sometimes it is about the series of turns that shape who you become along the way. If I go back, that will be destiny. If I stay, that will also be destiny. If I decide to open a beachside stand selling poutine to confused surfers, well, that might be destiny mixed with questionable culinary diplomacy.

The greatest illusion we carry is the belief that standing still allows us to avoid destiny. My father, a very wise man by all accounts, has always told me that in life, you always have a choice, and doing nothing is also a choice. Refusing to turn the page does not stop the story. It simply means the next chapter begins with you exactly where you decided to remain. Even hesitation plays its role in the grand script of our lives.

The real trick is not outsmarting destiny. After all, if you’re anything like me, you believe that everything, good or bad, happens for a reason. The real wisdom lies in recognizing it when it taps you on the shoulder and asks if you are ready. Life becomes far less exhausting when you stop trying to outmaneuver what is meant for you and start walking alongside it. You may not control every twist or turn, but you can control whether you travel kicking and screaming or with curiosity and a slightly inappropriate sense of humour.

Destiny is not a trap. It is more like a river. You can swim against it until you are exhausted, or you can learn to float, steer when necessary, and enjoy the scenery. Either way, the current keeps moving. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we discover that destiny is not something to fear or outsmart. It is something to understand, respect, and occasionally laugh with when it takes us somewhere we never expected but somehow always needed to go.