A Curbside Encounter

Yesterday, walking up our street, I met Pearson. He is nineteen years old. He was walking alone, shoulders curled, showing the signs of hardship.

When our eyes met, he came toward me. It was clear he needed help, though he did not signal or ask for it.

I asked him where he lived. A group home, he said. When he shared the neighborhood, it became clear he was a long way from home. With the gentlest voice I could summon, I asked him:

“Do you have anyone you trust right now? Anyone who loves you?”

He looked at me calmly and said no. The conviction in his eyes and voice felt real to me, and in that moment, I was relieved of all my own personal problems and was compelled to help Pearson.

So I asked him to close his eyes and open his heart. I rubbed his back for about five minutes and told him I loved him, that I would take care of him, and that we could talk about what was bothering him.

The Thirst

We sat on the curb for an hour together in front of my house. I asked how I could help. No answer. I prodded again. Nothing.

Finally, I asked if I was being nosey. He smiled faintly and said yes. So I let the silence sit.

Ten minutes later, I tried again (I know, but I had to). Would a glass of water help? He nodded. He drank it instantly.

Then he asked for another. Then another. Five glasses, drained as fast as I could fill them. He asked if I had minerals, so I gave him electrolytes in his water. Ten glasses gone in less than twenty minutes.

Then food. Gone in moments.

Finally he admitted: he was broke. He was struggling to make decisions. He couldn’t think, talk, or sleep properly and he knew it. His body was failing, and with it, his mind.

Pearson, the Clinician

Despite his exhaustion, Pearson is sharp. Brilliant, even. He spoke with clinical insight about his hallucinations and his illnesses. He knew he was fighting addiction, starvation, dehydration, disease, and beatings from the street. He even showed me his self-diagnosed broken rib — as casually as one might reveal a paper cut, though it was anything but minor.

I asked how he knew so much about the body without a doctor. He told me:

“My mom taught me. She taught me emotions, hormones, chemicals in the brain.”

It was matter-of-fact, without bitterness. I wish his mother could know this: he seemed proud of what she gave him. I tried to tell Pearson several times that he seemed really smart, but each time he responded with a scripted insistence that he could make his own decisions and take care of himself. I understood him — but I also wanted him to know: Pearson, I see you. You are brilliant, not broken.

By the Numbers

Pearson is not a statistic. But his real life is a signal.

40,000 youth in Canada are homeless each year. Many first lost their housing before turning sixteen.
1 in 6 adolescents go hungry — disproportionately low-income youth.
1 in 5 Canadians are diagnosed with a mental illness by age 25.
ER mental-health visits by youth have dropped 31% since 2019, while prescriptions for anxiety and depression have spiked 18%.

Zooming in on British Columbia, the disparities grow sharper. Youth mental health has deteriorated more quickly here than in other provinces, particularly during the pandemic years, when positive self-reported mental health dropped by more than twenty percentage points. Incomes remain a key driver of instability, and housing costs stretch far beyond the capacity of low-income youth to meet. These are not isolated failures, but systemic cracks running through the province.

On Vancouver Island, the data is equally stark:

In Victoria alone, 1,523 people were counted homeless in 2020, with Indigenous youth making up 35% — far above their share of the population.
Youth in Greater Victoria face one of the steepest gaps between social assistance and the actual cost of living, producing cycles of hunger, inadequate shelter, and reliance on acute care.

In the Lower Mainland, homelessness has become inseparable from housing economics. Vancouver’s rents and costs force young people into impossible trade-offs: food or shelter, safety or survival, medication or rent. Even employed youth on assistance are structurally locked out of stable housing.

The Kids Are Not Alright

Vancouver Island’s youth face higher rates of homelessness, hunger, and mental health struggles than the national average, each bar a reminder that behind the statistics are thousands of young lives as fragile as Pearson’s.

The Contradiction

And yet — employers in BC cry “labour shortage.”

How is it that Pearson can walk the length of a city, hungry, dehydrated, ribs broken, and still be invisible to a country importing workers because it claims its own young people are “not available”?

This is not a shortage of labour. This is a shortage of vision. It is not a deficit of bodies; it is a deficit of competence, where an economy pretends to efficiency while ignoring its own children.

The Call

The question for Canada is not whether we can build a better system. The question is whether we have the will to see Pearson as a person — and the courage to admit that our youth are the frontline victims of economic incompetence in Canada and British Columbia.

Pearson’s story is not a footnote in the margins of a dataset. It is the living proof that the fractures we map are lived in bodies, in empty stomachs, in parched throats, in sleepless nights. When I helped him, it was water and food and presence that mattered. But today, and the day after, and for thousands like him, it will take more than one neighbour on one curb.

Policy-makers must lift their gaze from labour market spreadsheets and see the young people walking the streets without homes or hope. Communities must claim youth as their own — to feed, to shelter, to care — so no one answers no when asked if they are loved. And for those who read this, who follow my work: you have a role too. By staying informed, amplifying these truths, and demanding competence and compassion from those in power, you keep Pearson and countless others in our minds and hearts.

The Solution

This year I have been working on a new organization called Blue Wave, and flagship new project called No One Left Behind — created to help people like Pearson get the care and support they need. It is guided by a simple message: No One Left Behind: Ensuring Healthcare Access for All.

This means advancing private‑sector and partnership solutions in healthcare while reducing government inefficiencies. It means tying healthcare to public safety by focusing on mental health, addiction treatment, and crime prevention through community integration. It means empowering impact donors who care about healthcare innovation, philanthropy, and private investment to build models that last beyond an election cycle. And it means supporting legislation that enables public‑private partnerships in healthcare, creating systems that are both compassionate and competent.

For readers, for communities, and for leaders alike, the invitation is to become involved in shaping a future where youth like Pearson do not fall through the cracks, but are met where they are at, cared for, and given a chance to thrive. If that resonates with your mission, I am here to help you make your impact.

For those curious about my intentions, training and preparation for person-centered care, I have worked in community, long term, mental health and primary care for over 10 years and have a personal network of hundreds of physicians and clinicians in Canada and beyond.

What Really Happened After

After the better part of the afternoon on the curb, I knew my family was hungry and waiting for me to come inside for dinner. I don’t like this part of the story. I had to stand up and kindly say to Pearson — while he was still struggling — that I needed to go. I told him: “Pearson, I am not abandoning you, and I’m not running back to my real life. I care about you and I love you. I will give you anything you need, just ask.” He didn’t ask.

I said “Godspeed,” and told him, “You’ve taught me everything I need to know, thank you and I love you.”

In the end, all I was able to give him was an unaccepted offer of a ride home, some electrolyte powder, water, meatballs, salmon, and dried apricots (we didn't have much in the cupboards). It felt so inadequate, to offer so little with so much need. Following goodbyes I looked out my window a moment later, he was gone. I felt human and inhuman at the exact same time - a nice gesture Matthew, but not enough to live on.

Pearson's Story: Canada’s Youth Are Thirsty for More Than Water