The Geography of Landing
Hi Reader,
Five months ago I wrote The Geography of Missing. Can't believe how fast this year has gone.
I don't realize how fast I've been moving until I stop.
The year's done. The flights are over. The last private guided trip I hosted wrapped in the lowveld after Amsterdam and Turkey with a client who made the work feel less like work. I'm home in Johannesburg now, and the calendar says I should feel relief.
I do. Sort of.
But there's this other thing sitting in my chest. Not heavy, just flat. Like someone turned the volume down on everything and I'm waiting for it to come back up.
My nervous system spent months firing at 1000%. New cities, new clients, new moments that demanded I show up fully every single day. I did. And it was good. Really good. But now the pendulum's swung the other way, and I'm sitting in the low point wondering when equilibrium comes back.
If you guide, if you lead trips, if you spend months being "on" for other people, you know this feeling. The exhaustion that doesn't show up until you finally stop. The weird guilt of being tired when you "should" be grateful. The way your body presents the bill long after you thought you'd paid it.
It's okay to be flat. It's okay to slow down. It's okay to prioritize peace and gratitude without apologizing for needing rest.
Training started again. Strength sessions. Endurance work. Long rucks with weight, dragging tires across dirt. I've been researching peptides during my travels, and it feels good to finally execute. The body's responding in a big way. Some old nagging injuries are feeling great. I know it'll spill over because mental health is downstream from physical health.
The sessions feel good. But mentally? It's like everything's running on slow motion. A screensaver. I'm there, but not quite there yet.
And I know this is part of it. The zone-out phase before real rest kicks in. The system demanding its due, it's balance, after months of output. I've been here before. I know it passes. But knowing doesn't make it go faster.
There was a morning in Cappadocia a few weeks ago. Sun rising over misty valleys, the kind of light that stops you mid-breath. I stood there wishing I could share it with my person back home, feeling grateful and aware and present in a way that hurt a little. Beautiful things can be heavy. Everything has a cost, and in life it's about what regrets you're willing to live with.
I pushed through when life felt heavy this year. I saw things, did things, shared moments with people who made it matter. I'm grateful for that. All of it.
But gratitude doesn't erase tired.
Jackson's been following me more than usual since I got back. Always there. Without judgment or wanting. Just there. And it's amazing. He was there when I was gone and missing someone. Now he's here while I'm home and flat, just being present without demanding anything. He's happy to go through the tired with me.
The next few weeks are home time. Festive season. The world does its thing around me. Some people are ramping up, some are just as tired as I am. Either way, I'm comfortable with where I'm at. Maybe I'll do a road trip if it works out. Let my head sort through whatever needs sorting. Road trips do that for me.
Because change is coming.
I know what I want. I know what that looks like. But often it's a process of going with the flow, knowing where you want to get to but being flexible on how you get there.
Travel is still amazing, but with private clients or small groups now. Not the regular run of the mill stuff. More coaching and speaking because that's when I feel alive, when I'm good at what I do, when I feel like I'm affecting positive change to people and my world. Agency. A different rhythm. Maybe even acting my age and owning it. Peaceful. Knowing who I am. Being okay with change. All in a very good way.
I'm turning 50 in a few weeks. That's the kind of number that makes anyone stop and take stock. Who are you? Why does this matter? What do you actually want?
For me, the answer includes Greenland.
In May, I'm heading to the ice for a month-long crossing. 540 kilometers. My white whale. A personal test of everything I've built over decades of doing hard things. I wrote about my Arctic expedition to Svalbard as part of the training. Because wisdom and life are found at the extremes of human experience, and I want to live there. I want people to follow, be inspired, and live their own.
People close to me think I'm mad. They're anxious about Greenland. They support me, but they don't fully get it. And that's okay. Because part of peace is being okay with who you are and what you want, even when the people who love you think you're crazy for wanting it.
Greenland fills me and scares me and pulls me. It's mine. Not for clients, not for work. For me.
But right now, I'm not there yet. Physically, getting there. Mentally, working on it. I'm here. Flat. Resting from a year of giving energy outward. And that rest isn't wasted time. It's strategic. It's necessary. Because the next chapter isn't about giving more. It's about doing something that's entirely, unapologetically mine.
Over the last few months I've been cultivating something I never thought I'd prioritize: peace. And it's fucking amazing.
Peace is being okay with not being okay. It's being okay with yourself regardless of whether things go well or not. It's about not always feeling the need to have an opinion on everything. It's being present. It's being okay with who you are and what you want. It's about being less reactive and more aware of you as a person.
I used to be go go go. Fight for things. Push. Now the balance has been restored, whether through age or working on it or both.
I think peace is what everyone desperately wants. Especially men. We just don't know how to name it or claim it. We confuse it with weakness or complacency. But peace isn't stopping. It's knowing the difference between what drains you and what fills you. It's being comfortable with who you are while still moving toward what challenges you.
Right now, I'm flat. And I'm okay with that. The body knows what it needs before the mind does. The cadence will come back. The training will build. May will arrive whether I'm ready or not.
Geography doesn't care about your heart. But sometimes, being in one place long enough is how you get strong enough to face what's coming.
Even if that place is temporary.
Even if the ice is waiting.