I am in between.
London and Wellington.
The home I grew up in, now being unpacked out of boxes as my parents transition to a new chapter.
And the home I have built, with my wife and children, waiting for my return.
I am suspended, both physically and metaphorically, in the space between the past and the present.
And from here, the view is clear.
I am reflecting on how profoundly lucky I am. To be a child of refugees who became immigrants. To have become an immigrant myself. This journey, with all its challenges, has been the greatest gift of perspective a person could ask for
It has given me the opportunity to love, and to be loved by, a wonderful woman. To build a life with children whose laughter is the soundtrack to my days.
It has given me a deep appreciation for how far my family has come.
Travelling through Asia recently brought this into sharp focus. The speed of change is breathtaking for those who can catch the wave. But if you scratch just beneath the surface, you see the sobering reality of an inequality that is becoming more entrenched for those who cannot.
Travel can do this. It shows you the glamour, and then it forces you to confront who is served by that glamour, and who is left behind. I try to eat local, to stay away from the multinationals. But sometimes, I succumb to the lure of the familiar. I am only human.
So I try to be grateful. To spread what buying power I have where it might make a small difference.
It is a small thing.
But maybe the small things, done consistently, add up. And maybe they are what we do while we also work to influence the big levers of change.
It is not either/or. It is both/and.
And tomorrow, I am heading home.
How wonderful to be able to be between two homes. My fragility means I can do much travel now.