Written from a quiet hotel in Copenhagen, this letter looks back on four years of love, growth, adventure and what it really means to grow up together.

This weekend, you turn four.

I’m writing to you from a quiet hotel in Copenhagen. I’m here for a few days of work with a brand that’s quietly been part of almost every adventure we’ve ever shared, you just don’t know it yet.
Every run with you tucked into the buggy, every bike ride when you sat behind me, every camping trip in the roof tent, every beach escape with the boards on top and our bags strapped down, that’s all Thule. And somehow, your dad has become one of their global ambassadors.

Tomorrow, I’ll be surrounded by people who live at the edge - big-wave surfers, heli-skiers, mountain bikers. I’m not sure what I’ll say when I meet them, but I’ll try to remember that looking vaguely Scandinavian might help me blend in. Maybe one day we’ll do a DNA test, trace our trail, and see where we really come from.

I only said goodbye to you this morning, but I already miss you. You gave me a kiss on each cheek, then each eye, and finally one on the lips. That little sequence has been looping in my head all day. I thought I’d enjoy a few quiet days away, but truthfully, I’d rather be home with you and Mum.

I fly back Friday, just in time for your birthday. I think this will be the first one you truly see, the first you’ll remember.

How to summarise four years of your life… almost impossible, as so much has happened. But I’ll give you some headlines.

Year 1 - The year everything changed. The sleepless blur. The crash course in love. The quiet moments that rewired everything I thought I knew about myself. The spike in cortisol that took time to settle. The juggle of nappy changes and bottle feeds. The fear of not knowing when your mumma would get better.

Year 2 - The year you found your feet. Wobbly steps that quickly turned to sprints, laughter that filled every room, and the first time I realised I’d never stop chasing after you.

Year 3 - The year of questions. “Why?” on repeat. The year you discovered wonder, and I rediscovered it through your eyes.

Year 4 - The year you began to truly see the world. You started to make observations, to notice things in a room that others simply wouldn’t. You began to draw, to build, to imagine. You found your voice, and sometimes, your will (you get that tenacity from your mumma). At this point, you’ve become my best friend, and there’s no one I’d rather hang out with.

Four years of us, of growing up together.

It’s funny, you think parenting is about teaching your child how to live. But really, it’s about them teaching you a thing or two. You’ve slowed me down and sped me up all at once. You’ve made me softer, in the best possible way. Because of you, I’ve become a man I can look at in the mirror and feel proud of.

When I look at you now, on the cusp of four, I see the little boy you’re becoming - curious, kind, playful, and brave. I also see flashes of the man you might one day be, someone who can light up a room, entertain, protect, love. I have a feeling you’ll grow into a really good man, the kind others will appreciate. I say that with confidence because you are already ready doing it!

When you look back on your childhood, I hope you’ll see two parents who did their best to fill it with love, laughter, and a sense of adventure. There are days where your mum and I feel like we’re not quite getting the balance right. But then we look at you, how innocent, joyful, animated and happy you are, it fills us up with love and a little glow that says we might just be doing alright here. 

So here’s to four.
To the stories we’ve already lived, and the ones still waiting.
To bruised knees, deep belly laughs, and sleepy car rides home.
To every “one more time, Daddy” before bed.

Happy birthday, my boy.
I’ll see you very soon.

Love you always,
Daddy

A few moments from last week.

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P.S.

Thank you for taking time out to read these letters. I really hope in some small way, it helped you pause, reflect and feel a little more connected.