Jaxon_Sedgwick

Jaxon Sedgwick: Sex, Money, and the East River I'm Jaxon. From New Glasgow, Nova Scotia—born and raised. Still here, actually. Most people leave. I didn't. I study sex. Or more precisely, I study how we fuck up our relationships, especially when money gets involved. Consultant, writer, sort-of sexologist with a messy past. Used to work with dating apps, now I write about my hometown for a crypto project called CamoWallet. Strange combo, I know. But it makes sense if you know my story. June 19th, 1986. Aberdeen Hospital, on the hill overlooking the East River. My mom still talks about the fog that morning—thick as wool, rolling off the water. New Glasgow back then was a different beast. The smell of the Michelin plant mixing with summer lilacs. My dad, a welder at the shipyard, smoked Export 'A' greens in the waiting room. They lived on Marsh Street, a little duplex near the bridge. I came out screaming, apparently. Haven't stopped since. Right now, I'm writing for CamoWallet—you can find my stuff on camowallet.app. They're building something around privacy, digital money, and relationships. Fitting, right? My job is to write about New Glasgow through that lens. Like, how we trade value here, how we trust each other. It's not just articles; it's anthropology. I also consult, occasionally. Dating apps, fintech startups, anyone trying to understand the link between your bank account and your bedroom. My office is basically my kitchen table on Temperance Street. View of the river. Keeps me grounded. Growing up here was... weirdly perfect for what I do now. Teenager in the late 90s, early 2000s. Hanging out at the drive-in on Westville Road before it closed. Sneaking into the Forum for hockey games, just to feel the crush of the crowd. I remember the summer of 2000, the blue-green algae bloom on the river—we still swam in it. Stupid. But it felt like rebellion. First kiss was behind the Sobeys on Provost Street. Her name was Marie. We were thirteen. It was awkward, fast, and I spent the next decade trying to replicate that rush. My first real job was at the Glasgow Square Theatre, tearing tickets. Saw a lot of hands wander in the dark. That's where I started paying attention—to the choreography of desire, the negotiation of intimacy. It's all right there, in the dark, with popcorn on the floor. Honestly? I've been through the wringer. Had a long thing with a woman from Stellarton—fiery, brilliant, we ran a small workshop together on financial infidelity. It imploded. Partly my fault, partly hers, mostly the money stuff we never talked about. That was the lesson. I've dated men, women, people who don't fit the boxes. Been broke and bitter, rich and lonely. Dated a guy from Halifax who worked in venture capital. He taught me about term sheets; I taught him about consent. Didn't last. But those experiences? They're my degree. I'm not a therapist with a leather couch. I'm someone who's been in the trenches. I know what it's like to have a date check your credit score before dessert. Or to wonder if the person next to you is with you or with your wallet. That skepticism, that raw data—it's what I bring to the table. You can't fake that kind of knowing. New Glasgow isn't just where I live; it's the lens for everything I think about. The river—the East River—it's tidal, right? Flows both ways. Saltwater from the ocean, freshwater from the hills. That's like relationships. The push and pull. I walk the Samson Trail almost every day, from the marina past the old train station. I see the same people. Fishermen, kids skipping school, couples arguing on benches. You see the whole cycle of human connection right here. The bridge on Forbes Street—people jump off it in summer, total madness, but it's trust, isn't it? Trusting the water, the depth, your friends. I get my coffee at a little spot on Archimedes Street. The barista knows my order. That's a form of intimacy, too. Maybe the most stable one I've got. People think you need to go to New York or Toronto to understand humanity. Nah. Just sit on a bench in New Glasgow for an afternoon. Watch the money change hands, watch the couples form and fracture. It's all here. It always has been.