A foreword to my triptych about the past two years

In the coming period, three blogs will appear in which I share a personal story that has been maturing for a long time. These three parts together describe a period in which almost everything in my life changed shape. Not because I chose to, but because life sometimes decides that the old no longer suits who you are becoming. I’m sharing these three blogs because they show what happens when a person is in the midst of such a shift: between breaking down and building up, between losing and finding, between holding on and letting go.

Many people are now familiar with my recent stories: Walking for Humanity, the Pieterpad, the movement that grew from it, and the creation of UW-TOPIA. But what lies behind them are years of searching, doubting, falling, getting up, and looking again. That part often remains invisible. Yet, precisely there lies the core of transformation. That’s why I’ll take you through these three parts, which together describe not only my path, but also the undercurrent that gave it direction.

Three parts, three phases

Part 1: “What Remains When Everything Shifts” describes the breakdown phase. The period in which my marriage of over twenty years ended and I was confronted with questions I had postponed for years. Who am I when the familiar form falls away? What remains when your certainties disappear? It is a raw, honest phase in which I had to learn that vulnerability is not a weakness, but an entry point. The pain that knew no one to blame, but did have consequences, demanded recognition. And slowly, that vulnerability became a compass—not always pleasant, but guiding.

Part 2, “Between Love and Emptiness,” is about the in-between space: the months in which I didn’t truly belong anywhere. Norway, the Philippines, Ruinen—geographically far apart, but emotionally even further. It was the phase in which I realized that emptiness is not the same as meaninglessness. There is often a silent purpose in periods when life reduces you to the essentials. In that silence, I discovered that humanity is not something you invent, but something you receive. In the form of complete strangers on the Pieterpad who gave me shelter, in a woman I didn’t know who offered me a place to live when I was stuck, in friends who stayed behind even though I didn’t leave a clear trail. It’s the phase in which the “I” shrank, so that the “we” could re-emerge.

Part 3, “Where Miracles Begin,” describes the shift. The moments when separate puzzle pieces began to connect. A course I almost skipped, a conversation that changed everything, a two-day event where dreams and plans converged—and suddenly something bigger than my own story emerged. UW-TOPIA came to life, not as a concept, but as a mission. A mission that extends beyond personal goals and touches on what I’ve always felt: that we are responsible not only for our own future, but also for that of the children who come after us. In this part, the perspective shifts from the inner world to the outer world, from personal healing to social responsibility.

The common thread that connects everything

What these three parts primarily show is that life never simply shifts. There is always an invisible movement, sometimes only recognizable in retrospect. As you read the parts later, you will discover several recurring themes:

Vulnerability as a compass – Not as a breaking point, but as an openness that made new direction possible. Precisely in the moments when I thought I was falling short, space arose for something else.

Humanity as a lifeline – Help, warmth, attention, trust: it wasn’t the large systems or certainties that supported me, but people. Complete strangers, friends, family, encounters that showed up at exactly the right moment.

From ‘I’ to ‘we’ – The story begins with my own pain, but ends with a collective ambition. A mission that is greater than my personal story, but precisely because of that, gives meaning to what came before.

Responsibility that grows from loss – Only when the old fell away did the space arise to see what my true work is: building something that reaches beyond my own horizon.

A gentle spiritual undercurrent – ​​Not vague, not dogmatic, but a recurring feeling that there was more coherence than I could comprehend. That what I called chaos, in retrospect, turned out to have direction. That the coincidences, in retrospect, were almost too logical to be coincidence.

What you can expect when you read along…

The triptych I’ll be sharing in the coming period isn’t a success story. Nor is it a lament. It’s a journey from the inside of change. A story that grates, relaxes, slows down, and accelerates—as true transformation often does. You’ll recognize moments when life feels too big, moments when it feels too small, and moments when it suddenly feels just right.

It’s a story without heroes, without perpetrators, without fixed answers. But it is a story with direction. The direction of someone who, halfway through, discovers that they weren’t looking for certainty, but for meaning. Not for going back, but for going forward. Not for control, but for connection.

If my story can do anything, I hope it makes you feel that shift doesn’t just mean loss, but also space. Space for something you don’t yet know, but that you might actually need.

The next three blog posts together form that journey. I invite you to read along with me—not to learn my story, but to see what becomes possible when everything shifts and you decide to keep walking after all.