I love being introduced to new music by friends. It feels like a gift—especially when it becomes something you can share, unpack, and return to together. Not just the sound, but the lyrics, the intent, the meaning behind it all.

My friend Arthur recently introduced me to VNV Nation—“Victory Not Vengeance.” That ethos isn’t just a name; it’s embedded in Ronan Harris’s lyrics and perspective in a way that feels grounded, intentional, and deeply human. Ronan is the frontman and founder of VNV Nation.

I’m honestly surprised I hadn’t come across them before. Given my leanings toward techno and adjacent genres, you’d think our paths would have crossed sooner, but I haven’t spent as much time in industrial or EBM spaces, and somehow they passed me by.

What I do know is this – I’m glad I’ve been introduced and that they didn’t pass me by.

I’ve put together a playlist of tracks that have really landed with me—not just because of the production, which is absolutely outstanding, but also because of the emotional weight carried in the lyrics.

Listening to VNV Nation—and to Ronan speak about his work—has made me reflect on my own music as Polyatomic.

There’s a parallel there: the idea of creating from a place of honesty, of putting emotion into the music first, writing from the heart and letting everything else follow. If it resonates, it resonates. Exploring different styles and inspirations for our albums.

I’m going to be heading into production on my fifth full-length studio album and I admit, I’d can feel a pull to go in a Futurepop direction and while I don’t have the hardware list that VNV Nation has, I have more than enough to carve out my own interpretation of that sound.

In some respects, I’ve already brushed up against it. Take a listen to my Techknow album, there are hints of that direction—ideas that could be further refined. I wrote that album as a thank you to time I’ve spent in Berlin, and also a chance to decompress with something looser, more exploratory and less concerned with polish after releasing Icebergs which was an intense and emotional production and body of work.

Incidentally, Techknow was heavily hardware-based too.

I’ve always gravitated toward strings, pads, and piano—layering in an acid line here and there, building something cinematic, sometimes trance-like. I say I’ve never really identified with harder-edged electronic styles in my body of work, but honestly, you can hear there’s something that’s been waiting to be released and I’m ready to go there, to really explore.

And I think VNV Nation has shown me you can take an album like Strength, add harder elements and create thoughful and joyous music that takes a listener on a journey.

This feels like a natural evolution rather than a departure and it’s something I want to explore more intentionally.

I know I’m on the right path with Polyatomic and what I want it to represent, the emotion that project conveys.

I’ve always said my next album was likely to be called Hardware and feature more of my hardware as I’ve been heavily soft-synth oriented. I really do want to explore analogue synthesis more, which I think will take me more in an experimental direction. I’ve been mulling other titles as well given recent events in my life that I know will greatly impact the sound of my next album.

Arthur and I are going to see VNV Nation live in Toronto, in May. I’m really looking forward to sharing that experience—with him, with the crowd, and with music that, in a short time, has already become something quite personal to me.

My first music video drops tomorrow for Terra Nova which was released on Icebergs, finally getting a video treatment it was supposed to receive years ago.

In 2019, I started creating content on YouTube documenting my year of living in the UK and spending time in mainland Europe.

The pandemic hit and I’ve not been travelling as much, so I decided to start some tech content.

While I’m not travelling as much, I think it’s going to be important to split my content into three different channels:

• Polyatomic – My music project – Iain The Travel Tech Bear will be renamed to Polyatomic as all my music content goes automatically to this profile page,
• Iain The Travel Bear – All travel-related content,
• Iain The Tech Bear – All tech-related content

That way you get to see and subscribe to the content you want to follow, and that will also likely help “the algorithm” direct people to the correct content.

For the next few months, I’ll be transitioning content to their respective channels posting videos weekly

As I reflect back on the 33-year search for my biological parents which now draws to a close, it opens a different door entirely – What is my history?

Adopted kids lead interesting parallel lives of sorts – We inherit the life story of those who adopted and raised us – their history becomes our history.  Their traditions, their stories, their sense of where they come from all shape who we become.

Depending on the age at which we were adopted, that’s the only history we’ve known or it takes a fork in the road.  

In my case, I was adopted at three and a half months old, so I only knew one history until twenty-two years ago and then six months ago at the time of this writing.

For others who were adopted later, there can be memories of a life before adoption. Their histories may feel even more parallel — two lived experiences running side by side.

I can only write from the perspective of someone that was adopted as a baby.  For me, the question has never been about replacing one history with another.

The truth is simpler and more complex at the same time – both are mine.

I grew up with the stories of my adoptive family — their struggles, their humour, their values. Those stories shaped me. I was inspired by my adoptive parents, guided by them, and molded by the life we shared.

That was real history, and it was foundational for who I’ve become.

At the same time, learning the limited history of my maternal side — and especially the deeper, wider history of my paternal side — has opened another dimension of understanding. There is a long line of people whose lives, choices, resilience, and circumstances also lead directly to me.

I didn’t grow up in that world, and I didn’t inherit its traditions in the same way.

But discovering it has brought a sense of recognition — a deeper appreciation for where some of the threads of my life began long before I was here to see them.

There is pride in that history, even if parts of it are still unfamiliar.

And maybe that’s the point.

History, for someone adopted, isn’t a single straight line. It’s more like a braid — different strands woven together over time.

One strand is the life you were given. Another is the life you came from.

And somewhere in the weaving of those strands is the place where you finally begin to understand your own story.

As an adult, I’ve always been comfortable moving between different environments — from boardrooms to kitchen tables and communities. I’ve always been curious about people, cultures, and different ways of living, often trying to see the world from someone else’s perspective. In hindsight, I wouldn’t be surprised if that instinct was shaped by being adopted. Now, as I begin integrating this newly discovered part of my life, that instinct takes on a whole new depth.

Integration, for me, isn’t about choosing between worlds or rewriting the past. It’s about allowing these histories to sit beside each other and recognizing that both have shaped who I am. The family who raised me gave me my foundation — the values, lessons, and stability that shaped my life. The family I have come to know more recently adds something different – context, connection, and a deeper understanding of where some of those threads began long before I was aware of them.

Identity isn’t a replacement process. 
It’s an expansion. 

Each new story, each shared memory, each moment of recognition simply adds another layer to the life that was already there.

Neither history stands alone. Together they form the fuller picture of who I am.

This past weekend I flew to Gander, Newfoundland and Labrador to spend time with my sister and her family. My brother flew out to connect with us.

During the trip I also got to meet 4 aunts, a grand-aunt and 9 out of 28 cousins that I counted when going through the family tree with Karen. Talk about mind blown on just that point.

I don’t talk a lot about my spirituality, but I firmly believe that at times I’ve felt a guardian angel looking over me. For example, when living in Frankfurt, Germany in December 1995, I was feeling so disconnected from family and friends, and the emotions of that – it was like something was telling me to get back to London where I had family. I did get back to London to find on Christmas Day my father had passed away.

I’ve put in a lot of work on myself over the past 6 years, and even broader than that, the past 23 to 26 years between therapy, self help, courses, and mentors – it’s like the universe saying, “You’ve done good b’y, here’s your family and they’re awesome, now go and connect, enjoy and feel the love.”

I know it doesn’t work that way, or maybe it does. Who knows? Karen, Kevin, and the rest of our family have come into my life at the perfect time.

I could not have asked for a more perfect weekend of connection, getting to know each other, and bonding. The love everyone has shown me has been amazing and I hope everyone knows it’s returned in spades.

My heart is full and bursting about how the two of us have bonded. Having an older brother like Kevin who shares similarities to me – sensitive, pragmatic, humourous, smart – has me elated. Having an older sister who values connection and family, smart, straight up, who has taken the time to truly get to know me, who reaches out, who took me under her wing this weekend to introduce me to a bunch of stuff I hadn’t experienced before – I could not ask for a better older sister and that has been super healing for me.

I’ve never experienced that level of connection from siblings – ever. Maybe in our early days with Robyn. I said to my aunt (one of my aunts, now? LOL!) and two of my cousins – I have no idea where Robyn and I went wrong as I search within myself. The overwhelming response was, “It’s not on you at all. You both had a messed up childhood and the fact that you came out of that a great person is a testament to your strength.”

I feel it, and not only do I feel seen after years of being afraid to show my light, years of being afraid to speak up, ask, to be validated.

I wish Robyn and I had a much better connection than we do, I think the odds were stacked against us from the beginning for a number of factors I won’t go into. I will say this, I don’t think she had the space nor the permission to just be and to find herself and I hope, very much hope she is able to find herself and heal to the best of her abilities. She deserves light, love and happiness. I have always felt this despite the friction between us.

There are so many people who are no longer with us that I wish I could share in this moment.

• My adoptive dad who would have been super proud of all of us,
• Scott’s mum, Betty, who was so instrumental in showing me what family was and accepting me in to her family, her consistency and love,
• Our dad who, I don’t know if he’d be shocked or not, but I know he would be elated and proud of my accomplishments and I know, if he’s present spiritually in our world and if he were still living today, that he would be proud of Kevin and Karen for how they have embraced me.

I also wish my adoptive mum and sister could witness this moment with grace and appreciation, putting themselves in my shoes for once. Enough said there.

There is once person I do want to acknowledge and that is Kevin and Karen’s mum, Joyce. I appreciate her willingness to be present with all of us this past weekend. She is amazing.

Newfoundland is beautiful – the land, the people, the wildlife – all of it. We have some amazing unique traditions and way of life, some of which does parallel rural areas in other areas of Canada but it is still unique. For many, this is how Newfoundlanders survived the challenges of that environment.

I have always hated winter and cold weather. This weekend had me embracing winter in a way I haven’t in forever if ever. So much so, I’m ready to head to Bass Pro Shop next winter and get a pair of snow pants – it would be “weird” to see here in Toronto but it would help me embrace winter more.

I can’t wait to get back to Newfoundland this summer. I don’t have a date yet given Scott is headed into knee replacement surgery season with his first surgery taking place on April 21st and second one in July. I am hoping Scott could come with me but it may have to wait until next year.

I have a lot of Newfoundland content coming up on my YouTube channel. It’s part of me returning to own what was always mine. The first video is up, about the International Lounge at Gander International Airport.

This song, Where there is light by VNV Nation (VNV for Victory not Vengeance) speaks volumes about how I’m feeling right now and has been playing through my head. Ronan’s music, his lyrics and what he sings about hit home for me.

I’m writing this Monday evening, and I’ve been feeling raw today.  Not in a bad way, but in a “wow that was an amazing weekend”, that has left me fulfilled.

Specially Sunday, I spent some time with someone new.  We’ve been having some really deep conversations about gay men’s mental health (although the themes are not totally unique to the gay community), specifically about how we’ve both dealt with anxiety, baggage, emotions, the importance of expressing them and the divide between older men and us –  how that past generation on occasion dismisses mental health, how we realised that it needs to be dealt with, how we see and have experienced how it manifests and how we encourage that in others.

This is not an us against them post – there’s no value in that kind of division that you see in mainstream media all too often.  Instead, this is about our observations and experiences.

I really do believe men need positive reinforcement that it’s okay to feel and have emotions, and not just permission.

Times are changing. Many of us were never really taught how to sit with anxiety without calling it weakness. We weren’t shown how to talk about shame without deflecting it with humour, sex, anger, or achievement. A lot of us were handed a model that said: be strong, be desirable, be successful, don’t be complicated.

For gay men especially, there’s an added layer. We learned early how to code-switch, how to scan rooms, how to measure safety, how to make ourselves acceptable. That vigilance doesn’t just disappear because we come out. It buries itself in our nervous systems. It shows up as overthinking, perfectionism, sexual anxiety, as the need to be “at our best” all the time.

We talked about how some older folks were taught to push it down. “Don’t talk about it”, “Be grateful”, “Other people have it worse”, “Stop playing games”.

I don’t say that to criticize them — I say it because that was survival for them. Emotional restriction was a coping strategy in a generation that didn’t have language or containers for mental health.

I’ve lived and experienced some of those moments from older folks – men and women – whether directed at me or when talking about others “Turn off the water works”, “They’re playing games”, “Man up”, plus other statements.

In the discussion this weekend, we both feel we straddle something different. We got the emotional shutdown messaging, and then we also got access to therapy, self help culture, psychology books, online spaces, community dialogue, new research. We almost feel like a bridge generation that feels everything from both sides.

What struck me most on Sunday was this and I was re-reminded: when two men choose to speak plainly about anxiety, about fear of inadequacy, about breakdowns, about survival mode – there’s a real shift that happens and I find that candour really refreshing. There’s less performance, less bravado and more quiet honesty.

That is strength.

Positive reinforcement between men is radical. Saying:

• You handled that well
• That anxiety makes sense
• You don’t have to carry that alone
• You’re allowed to rest
• You’re worthy even when you’re not performing

This rewires things.

We cannot keep expecting men to magically be emotionally regulated while simultaneously shaming them for having emotions.

Yes, some men avoid this work, mocking it, hiding behind cynicism – dear $deity have I seen this in spades! That’s part of the story too. 

Growth isn’t universal or linear, and it’s not always tidy – I know this all too well.

Avoidance is often armour, cynicism is often protection, defensiveness is usually fear wearing a sharper jacket, projection is pain looking for somewhere else to land.

Regardless, every man is worthy and deserving of connection, love, and of a life that feels integrated and whole. Worthiness isn’t contingent on courage, curiosity, or timing.  Integration isn’t something you earn by getting it “right.” It’s something you grow into at your own pace.  No one is outside of that possibility.

Feeling deeply isn’t fragility – it’s integration, and integration is available to all of us, whenever we’re ready to turn toward it.

If we want healthier relationships, healthier sexuality, healthier leadership, healthier friendships — men have to do this work. Not perform it, not posture it, actually do it.

We have to look at our anxiety, our anger, our shutdown patterns, our shame around desire, our fear of aging, our fear of not being enough.

We have to stop pretending we’re above needing each other.

Sunday left me raw in the best way – connected, expanded.  It reminded me that vulnerability between men isn’t emasculating. It’s liberating.

If you’re a man reading this:
Your anxiety is not a character flaw.
Your past coping strategies were survival.
Your breakdowns don’t disqualify you.

And you don’t have to do this alone.

P.S: This entry has been at least 32 years in the making. I’ve been carrying these thoughts since first-year university. I’m grateful it’s finally out of my head — and that life has given me the experiences to understand what I was sensing and questioning back then.