Jordan B. Peterson is on a journey into the unknown.But at this moment, as he ambles into his sun-drenched living room, he first needs to get through the next agenda item in a daily schedule that is snapped together like a jigsaw puzzle by a team of handlers.“How long are we going to talk?” he asks, as solicitously as Mister Rogers.When I tell him I booked two hours with the gatekeepers, horror dances in his eyes, as if I just casually asked for one of his kidneys. But he nods gamely and rubs the back of his neck. His slender body folds up like an origami crane as he settles into a leather recliner and swivels into gabbing position.Get comfy, Professor. There is much to discuss.Driving in that morning, I find myself thinking about Peterson’s neighbours in Seaton Village. What must they make of this epic transformation? A few years ago, Peterson was a household name in the same way Jell-O is nutritious. Maybe they’d see the University of Toronto psychologist in the summer, sitting outside, doing a little light reading — The Brothers Karamazov, say, or The Great Mother — in the company of Sikko, his now departed American Eskimo dog.Then about 18 months ago, holy hell, their neighbour is in the news more than Justin Bieber. Peterson takes a fierce stand against Bill C-16, the Canadian Human Rights Act amendment. The man in the modest semi ignites a global debate that is absurdly reductionist: is he a hero or a villain?Fast-forward to 2018. When neighbours see him these days, Peterson is likely to be wheeling a suitcase, scrambling to the airport, en route to another sold-out event somewhere in the world where his name is emblazoned on the marquee.Indeed, the first thing I see upon entering his home is a carry-on bag.So based on media archetypes, in about six seasons, their neighbour has gone from “obscure psychologist” to “controversial professor” to “YouTube celebrity” to “father figure ...
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