I’m writing this from Eastern Europe.
On paper, it’s a dream trip—Athens, Sofia, Transylvania, winter hiking in the Dolomites.
In reality, I tried to talk myself out of it.
I didn’t want to leave my grandson, Remy.
Not because I’d be missed—but because I was quietly afraid I’d be forgotten.
This week taught me something unexpected about usefulness, role modelling, and when not being present is actually part of the job.
During a layover in Doha, I was wandering through the airport when I stumbled into something I didn’t expect to exist in the middle of a desert—a rainforest. Trees under a glass dome.
I love trees. So I slowed down.
And that’s when I saw it.
A statue. Six tonnes of bronze. Dozens of animals gathered around one long table—elephants, lions, seals, koalas. Cups of tea. Plates of food. A shared moment, frozen.
It took my breath away.
All I could think was: one day, I’d love to bring Remy here.
—
That’s when the light came on.
I would never have found that statue if I hadn’t come on this trip.
And I realised something quietly confronting.
My job isn’t to be there 24/7 for Remy.
My job is to be a role model.
If I want him to grow up curious, self-reliant and adventurous…
then I need to practise being those things myself.
—
We talk a lot about legacy as something we pass down.
But maybe it’s something we demonstrate.
Not mastery.
Practice.
Not certainty.
Curiosity.
Children don’t just learn from what we say.
They absorb who we are becoming.
—
If your dad feels like a closed book sometimes, you’re not imagining it.
Many men don’t lack care—they lack language.
They respond better to curiosity than confession. To practicality over poetry.
That’s what I’m exploring here.
Out loud. Imperfectly. In real time.
You’re welcome to pass this along if it feels useful.
—
Julian