Neil Logik Donaldson

Transcript

In West African traditions, when someone has something important to say, they shout a go. And then the community responds with a meaning, I see you. You have our attention. You may begin. A go. Presence is the promise. No deflection, no disguise. Showing up is holy. Love don't need an alibi. But I didn't always know that. Thought that love came with terms and conditions. And that if I did the right thing, I'd earn the right to stay. We're taught that presence has its location, meaning the same house and same routines.

But life doesn't always operate in straight lines. Distance happens. Relationships they shift. And when proximity breaks, we assume that presence dissolves as well. So what happens when everything is telling you to leave, but you decide that you're going to stay? I'm 26. Just got paid. Friday night incoming text message. Water broke. You need to get to Montreal now. I'm about to be a father and I'm 500 kilometers away. I panic. My chest tightens because my father wasn't at my birth and I was terrified of repeating a cycle that I didn't choose.

So, I book a one-way flight above the clouds, hands twitching, everything goes quiet. It's when I felt it in my body. The absence doesn't always begin with neglect. Sometimes it begins with feeling overwhelmed. And what we do next determines everything else. Plane lands. I arrive in Montreal. Two days later, my daughter is born. I was enjoyed to see and witness her birth. The room enters with strangers and joy. My daughter is passed from arm to arm before she finally reaches mine.

Moments later, the room empties. And in that quiet, I've wanted to talk about us. Not about getting back together, but the future for our daughter. But timing matters. And though my words were well intended, they landed pretty heavy. A nurse called in. Excuse me. Uh, you got to leave. I was kicked out of the hospital on the day my daughter was born. And standing there in the cool Montreal air, I understood how men disappear. Not because they don't care, but because staying is more painful than leaving in the moment.

And while I was looking for a father to guide me, I realized that my father never stopped being a son to a man who never showed up for him. Now, I'm not making excuses for distance. I'm just saying that it changes how I carry it. I see the easy route and I choose a harder one. Not loudly, not heroically, just deliberately. My parenting isn't measured through bedtime routines. My parenting is measured through transit time. It's the 5:00 a. m. alarm clocks driving 5 hours to Montreal just to earn two days with my daughter that most parents take for granted.

And then comes the drop off. Every drop off is like a breakup. The same heartache, the same isolation. Then I turn that key and drive five hours back in Mont into Toronto. The silence after the drop off is the loudest sound in the world. It's the echoes of a laughter in the back seat. Is the juice box that's in the empty cup holder that I can't bake to throw away just yet. I've watched my daughter grow through rectangles. First steps, toothless smiles, low battery.

Where's my charger? I've learned how to read emotions by the way the camera tilts towards the ceiling, leaving me looking at light fixtures. I know I've lost her for the evening. She's a teenager now and she's old enough to know the difference between someone who's close by versus someone who shows up. Because authority isn't aggression, isn't control. Authority is being the calmst nervous system in the room. Today, regulation looks like this. I slow my breath before I speak so that my daughter never inherits my urgency for fear.

I stopped trying to be the perfect father and became the consistent one. I know a lot of us love across distances, across schedules. And some of us stay without applause. Not because it's easy, but because putting in the effort still matters even without recognition. Now, this isn't a call out, man. This is a call in. Because presence is the promise. No deflection, no disguise. Showing up is holy love. Don't need an alibi. So when I used to think that love was under terms and conditions, recognize that love is something that you embody.

It's something that you practice. It's something that you live, especially when no one's watching.

Transcript generated from the recording and lightly cleaned. Some names and wording may differ from the spoken speech.