I was so sure that I’d be blazing into my 40s on a winning trajectory. I would have aged gracefully, the sum of my life’s learning, ready to move forwards with fortitude and purpose. But the slide from 39 into 40 was long and slow — its metamorphosis barely recognisable in the dark, so many of my choices unfathomable, so many consequences unbearable.

All of it happening in the fullness of time.

There is finally light seeping through the crack in the chrysalis. I can no longer – in good conscience – care about words that carry no meaning. I have no time for grandstanding or false prophets, the clamour of egos, competing for scraps of recognition.

I am only interested in honesty, humility and humanity.

Stories and the courage it takes to tell them.

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