Let me start with the obvious: I wouldn’t trade my son for a Eurail Pass and a backpack.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t secretly long to see the world in my twenties - when my friends were jetting off on their OE and I was learning how to change nappies and mixing baby formula on zero sleep.

Luckily, social media wasn’t a thing back then. I wasn’t being bombarded with curated sunsets from Santorini or Bali beach clubs at golden hour. Out of sight, out of FOMO.

Fast forward a couple of decades (and a lot of life), and now? Travel is a dream fulfilled. It’s the chapter I always imagined, just with better luggage, deeper purpose, and a damn good travel partner (Rik, you legend).

There’s a moment that lives in the back of my mind, quiet, but defining.

It came not during a board meeting or big decision, but in the stillness that followed something much harder. My brother had just passed away suddenly at the age of 46. Not long after, I lost two dear friends. Life as I knew it cracked wide open.

I had climbed the ladder. I had led teams, mentored hundreds, managed multi-million-dollar businesses. On paper, I had it all. But in that moment, heartbroken, questioning, raw, one quiet question echoed through me louder than any corporate achievement ever had:

“Is this all there is?”