I Am: What 38 Years Have Taught Me

Thirty-eight years of becoming, remembering, losing, loving, creating, falling, rising and coming home. This is what life has taught me, and the biggest lesson of all is that home was never a place.

A personal reflection.

In 2026, I created space and came back home to a beautiful home where the jungle meets the sea. I'd experienced the dark triad, navigated betrayal in business and life, I had the ability to harm and drop to a frequency that was never me. I chose, to never be like those that made choices that harmed and impacted others. This moment was the arrival of the man I was born to be,

I am 38 years of becoming, remembering, losing, loving, creating, falling, rising and coming home.

And this is what life has taught me.

The question this piece answers

What does 38 years of living teach a person?

The quick answer. For me: that devotion needs discernment, that love doesn't need pursuit, and that strength includes being held. That triggers are teachers. That I can lose a kingdom without losing myself. And most of all, that home was never a place. It's the relationship I have with myself.

Why this matters now

Most of what we're taught about a good life is about building. More, higher, next.

Almost nothing prepares us for what happens when some of what we built falls down. That's where most of these lessons came from. Not from the building. From the ground after.

What life has taught me

I am devoted.

Devotion is one of my greatest gifts. But devotion without discernment becomes self-abandonment. So I love fully, but I no longer lose myself inside what I love.

I am loyal.

Loyalty begins with being loyal to my own heart, values and truth. I do not betray myself to keep another person.

I am courageous.

Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's feeling fear and still choosing what is true. Sometimes courage is building. Sometimes it's walking away. Sometimes it's staying. Sometimes it's saying:

I don't know.

I am a creator.

I have built kingdoms. And I have watched kingdoms disappear.

I was told to build the kingdom, build the garden and I will attract the butterflies and the bees. What I missed was the business partnership in who I built it with. I was people before profits, once we opened, my business partner made a choice that made me choose alignment and character over money.

I quickly saw who was attracted to the man with status, that had built safety and security and an opportunity that others could benefit from. Not many stayed with the man who walked away to choose his character and alignment. Clarity and truth is shown in the depths and the heights. I thank the universe for this.

I have the blueprint, I will build it again, authentically and in real partnership thats aligned.

That taught me something I could never have learned while everything was working.

The kingdom was never outside me. I can lose the castle without losing the King.

I am resilient.

I have walked through grief, heartbreak, betrayal, uncertainty and endings. Pain doesn't have to make me bitter.

I can be rejected without rejecting myself. Abandoned without abandoning myself. Betrayed without betraying my character. Heartbroken without closing my heart.

I am loving.

My heart can stay open while my eyes stay clear.

Love without possession. Compassion without rescuing. Forgiveness without unlimited access. Boundaries without walls.

I am generous.

I give from love, not for love. No invisible invoices. What I give freely belongs to the world once it leaves my hands. But generosity doesn't require endless investment where there is no reciprocity.

My love doesn't need an off switch. My investment needs discernment.

I am discerning.

Reality over potential. Character over chemistry. Consistency over intensity. Reciprocity over pursuit. Peace over chaos. Truth over comfort. Discernment before devotion.

I am responsible.

Understanding why someone behaves a certain way doesn't mean I have to accept the behaviour. And understanding my own wounds doesn't excuse mine either.

I can say:

I got that wrong. I'm sorry. I understand how that affected you. I'll do differently.

An apology without changed behaviour is only language.

I am truthful.

Nothing sustainable is built through hiding. Nothing to hide. Nothing to protect. Nothing to prove. Truth starts with me.

I am aware.

My triggers aren't enemies. They are teachers. When I want to chase, scroll, vape, drink, numb, prove, explain, withdraw or escape, I can ask:

What am I feeling? What am I protecting? What am I avoiding? What do I value?

Survival wants immediate relief. Character chooses what remains true when the emotion passes.

I am growing.

Growth often feels uncomfortable because the unfamiliar can feel unsafe at first. Peace can feel unfamiliar. Receiving can feel unfamiliar. Healthy love, rest, abundance, being deeply seen. All of it can feel unfamiliar.

So I don't automatically return to the old room simply because I know where the furniture is.

I can thank survival without letting it choose my future.

I am sovereign.

Nobody else can choose me enough to make up for me abandoning myself. So I choose myself. Not instead of another.

Before another.

I have me. You have you. And if we choose each other, we create the we together.

I am reciprocal.

I cannot play a we game alone. I don't build both sides of bridges anymore. I don't water entire gardens by myself. I give. I notice. I receive. I let another person show me who they are through their actions.

I am a Lover.

I don't need to understand another person's entire internal world. I can stop analysing. Stop interpreting. Stop searching for the hidden meaning. Sometimes the truth is simply:

I loved you. I wanted you. That hurt. I wish it had been different. And I can still let you go.

I am a Warrior.

Not every battle deserves me. Strength isn't always fighting. Sometimes strength is putting the sword down. Sometimes the victory is peace.

I am a Bridge Builder.

I can carry a light into someone's cave. But I don't drag anyone into the sunlight.

They walk themselves out.

I am not here to save people. I am here to live so fully that people remember they can save themselves.

I am masculine.

Masculinity isn't armour. It is presence. Direction. Integrity. Responsibility. Discipline. Truth. Protection. Purpose. An open heart with a strong spine.

I don't become grounded so someone else chooses me. I become grounded because this is how I choose to live.

I am also tender.

I feel. I cry. I grieve. I receive. I surrender. I create. I love. Becoming a man never required amputating the softer parts of myself.

All of me belongs.

I am learning to receive.

For a long time, I knew how to hold everyone else. Life taught me that strength also means letting myself be held. I can say:

I need you. I'm hurting. Can you sit with me?

I don't always need to be the teacher, healer, founder, leader or strong one. Sometimes I can simply be Rory.

I am enough there too.

I am purposeful.

Success without aliveness isn't success. I don't want a life that merely looks extraordinary. I want a life that feels true.

Ocean. Nature. A strong body. Slow mornings. Meaningful creation. Beautiful food. Deep friendship. Adventure. Stillness. Laughter. Financial freedom. A peaceful home. A woman I deeply love who freely chooses me. Children running around us. People gathered around the table. God somewhere inside all of it.

A life I don't need to escape from.

I am preparing to be a husband.

Not by finding the perfect woman. By becoming increasingly capable of healthy partnership. To lead without controlling. Protect without possessing. Listen without fixing. Tell the truth without cruelty. Remain myself inside love. Receive as deeply as I give. And choose a woman who has herself too.

I am preparing to be a father.

A father whose children know:

Dad is here.

He keeps his word. He listens. He plays. He protects. He apologises. He laughs. He lets us become ourselves. And he loves our mother beautifully.

I am playful.

Thirty-eight years have taught me not to become so enlightened that I forget to be a fucking idiot sometimes.

Surf. Dance. Travel. Make love. Tell terrible jokes. Get dirty. Eat something ridiculous. Laugh until my stomach hurts.

Life is sacred. And life is also absurd.

The one idea worth keeping

Home was never a place.

Perhaps that's the biggest thing 38 years have taught me.

I spent years building homes outside myself. Businesses. Relationships. Communities. Dreams. Kingdoms.

And life lovingly dismantled enough of them for me to discover that home is the relationship I have with myself.

So when someone arrives, I stay home. When someone leaves, I stay home. When money comes, I stay home. When money goes, I stay home. When the room applauds, I stay home. When nobody notices, I stay home. When I'm powerful, I stay home. When I'm scared, I stay home.

I don't need another achievement to prove I've arrived. I don't need another person to recognise my value. I don't need another initiation to earn my wisdom.

I have nothing to prove.

At 38, I know what matters

Tell the truth. Keep your word. Look after your body. Love your people. Choose your people carefully. Create more than you consume. Give generously. Receive openly. Apologise when you're wrong.

Leave when staying requires betraying yourself. Stay when leaving is only fear.

Don't confuse chemistry with character. Don't confuse compassion with responsibility. Don't confuse love with possession. Don't confuse being needed with being loved. Don't confuse survival with living.

Play. Rest. Forgive. Have boundaries. Go outside. Get in the ocean. Call your mum. Tell people you love them. Build beautiful things.

And when life refuses to tell you what happens next:

Let God have the mystery.

Where this does not reach

These are my lessons, not rules. Some of them took me years and a few losses to learn. Nobody else's timing has to match mine.

"Leave when staying requires betraying yourself" is not advice for a crisis. If a relationship involves fear or harm, leaving is a safety question, and it wants people trained to help.

Staying home in yourself doesn't mean not needing anyone. The whole piece argues the opposite. Home in myself is what lets me let people in.

The evidence, named and dated

• Deliberately personal. This is a life reflection. The lessons are mine, and I'd rather label them honestly than borrow authority for them.
• One supporting finding: on "I am learning to receive," Wong and colleagues, Journal of Counseling Psychology (2017), found conformity to masculine self-reliance norms among the factors most linked to poorer mental health and less help-seeking in men. Verified, correlational.
• Personal, and labelled: everything else. Held, lived, not established.

The shift

I used to think I was becoming someone.

Now I think I'm remembering someone.

One thing, for the next day

Pick one line from the list above that you already know is true for you, and one you're still learning.

Write both down. Say the second one out loud once.

The spine of it

Devotion needs discernment. Loyalty starts with yourself. Triggers are teachers. The unfamiliar isn't always unsafe. You can lose the castle without losing the King. Receiving is strength. Home was never a place. It's the relationship you have with yourself.

Questions people ask

What's the difference between devotion and self-abandonment? Discernment. Devotion becomes self-abandonment when we keep giving to people or situations that don't give back, or lose our own values inside what we love.

How do you stop reacting to triggers? Pause before reaching for relief and ask: What am I feeling? What am I protecting? What am I avoiding? What do I value? Then choose.

Why does healthy love sometimes feel uncomfortable? Because unfamiliar can feel unsafe at first. Peace, rest and being truly seen can feel strange if we're used to chaos. That discomfort isn't proof something is wrong.

What does it mean that home is a relationship with yourself? Your sense of belonging stays steady whether people arrive or leave, or money comes or goes. It depends on your relationship with yourself, not on circumstances.

Open heart. Clear eyes. Grounded feet. Loose hands. Deep roots. Wild branches.

I am not becoming. I am remembering.

I am not searching for home. I am home.

And at 38, perhaps the greatest lesson of all is this:

I am here to love deeply, live fully, create courageously, serve generously, hold loosely, and leave life more alive because I was here.