The Universe is my country, and the human family is my tribe. (Khalil Gibran)

I am finding mine.

I was born and raised in South Africa, privileged to grow up at the southernmost tip of Africa, in a quaint seaside village called L'Agulhas—Cape Agulhas on the maps. Summers were abuzz with holiday makers, but in the depths of winter, only nine families had soup simmering on their stoves.

My life unfolded in an ordinary way—falling in love (more than once), getting married (more than once), and falling out of love (more than once). In the end, I raised two girls and a boy on my own.

The believe the most important gifts I could give my children—beyond love and discipline—were roots and wings. I wanted them to always remember who they were and where they came from, but also to never be afraid to spread their wings and fly.

And my goodness, did they fly!

By the time I had five grandchildren, my eldest and her family left South Africa for Australia in 2016, seeking a better future for their three children. Of course, my heart shattered at the airport, but I had always told them, "Until or unless you try, you'll never know." And they made pretty damn sure they knew—about a lot of things.

Two years later, my boy, the youngest, left South Africa for Texas, following the woman who had stolen his heart.

In 2017, I lost my best friend. With one child in Sydney and another in Texas, I felt the need for a change too. I thought, ‘Why not move to a first-world country where, after five years, I could qualify for citizenship and never have to deal with visa struggles again?”

This decision meant my small family of four would be scattered across four continents. It also meant I wouldn’t be there to watch my grandkids grow into teenagers—something I had longed for since the day they were born. But I had to make a choice, one that would make visiting them easier in the long run.

I chose Ireland.

I spent four of the best years of my life in the Land of 40 Shades of Green. Then, the shit hit the fan. Love left the back door open, and a marriage—one not worth the paper it was written on—went down the drain.

I had to make a decision.

I returned to South Africa to apply for a Green Card and join my son in Texas. The process took two years. It wasn’t easy. At times, it had me ‘level wiffa grevel’ as the Capies would say back home. But I persevered. And today, I am writing to you from my beautiful and sacred space in Flower Mound, Texas.

Virginia Woolf once said:

"As a woman, I have no country. As a woman, I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world."

That is exactly how I feel after living in South Africa, Ireland, and now the USA.

A blank canvas stretches before me.

I am old enough to know exactly what I want to do with the rest of my precious life.

I am young enough to go for it.

I am wise enough to make it happen.

If someone had told me years ago that my journey through life would take me across three continents, would I have believed them? Hell, no.

Am I glad it did? Hell, yes.

Do I believe anything is possible for me here? Hell, yes!

The Universe is my home. My country. And you—the human family scattered across this world—you are my tribe.

I can’t wait to get to know you better.