I still wrestle with how much of the real world I should expose my kids to and how much of it they’ll figure out on their own. It’s one of those eternal parenting dilemmas—like deciding when they’re old enough to watch a PG-13 movie, or whether “letting them figure it out” builds resilience or just a talent for selective hearing.

Given everything happening in the world today, our dinner table has become a hub of spirited discussion—not just about how their day went, but about the ever-unfolding state of the world. Some nights, it’s lighthearted banter about their favourite teachers or the latest school drama. Other nights, it’s deeper: fairness, injustice, and the complex reality they’re growing up in.

The challenge? We tend to keep the radio on in the background, and, well… let’s just say, it’s hard to tune out the noise—especially when the discourse feels less like news and more like a reality show with plot twists no one saw coming. I am an eternal optimist—sometimes to a fault—but every now and then, reality sneaks in, taps me on the shoulder, and whispers, "Are you seeing this?"

So how do I explain all of this to my kids? How do I encourage them to stay open-minded without subtly (or not-so-subtly) pushing my own views? I want them to develop opinions that are theirs—shaped by the information they absorb, the questions they ask, and the perspectives they engage with. Not just an echo of my beliefs.

Fortunately, with two pre-teen girls in the house, this hasn’t been an issue. They are fiercely opinionated and take genuine delight in challenging any stance I take. If you think government debates are tough, I invite you to a casual Tuesday night dinner at my house. The art of debate is alive and well under this roof, and trust me, my kids don’t need me to tell them what to think—they are more than happy to arrive at their own conclusions. And they will defend them to the death.

Our family sabbatical around the world played a role in this. Part of it is them growing into themselves, but there’s no doubt that seeing different cultures, perspectives, and ways of life broadened their worldviews. They learned that truth isn’t always universal, that people’s experiences shape what they believe, and that asking good questions is far more valuable than having all the answers.

Sometimes, I join a podcast or media interview, and I’ll hear the host describe my story—it takes a moment before I realize they’re talking about me.

I hope that feeling never goes away.

I hope I never get so caught up in saying the “right” thing that I forget to be present.

I hope I never take for granted the privilege of sharing my story.

I don’t measure success by how many of these opportunities come my way. It’s something less tangible—like when someone tells me that my story made them pause, if only for a moment, to really think about their own life. Maybe they take the auto-pilot off for a second and realize: Wow. There’s a whole world out there, and I’ve just been letting it float by. It’s those moments that give me goosebumps.

Recently, a podcast host gave me a beautiful gift—a book designed for capturing daily moments of joy, gratitude, or awe over a five year period. Each night before bed, I jot down one moment from the day that stood out in this book.

At first, I thought this would be a challenge. How many awe-inspiring moments does one person have in a day? But now, I see them everywhere. Small things I might have overlooked suddenly feel significant—the way the morning light spills across the kitchen table, an unexpectedly kind conversation, even the animated debates between my kids over who gets the last pancake (a battle as heated as any global summit).