Life. Seasoned with perspective
“After a long stretch of pressure and routine, a peaceful getaway becomes the reset button you didn’t even realise you needed. It is about choosing stillness so the mind and soul can breathe.”
Well. Well. Well.
As soon as I landed from China, real life came calling and I had to switch straight into Baba and Mama mode.
The holidays are officially here and honestly, I love this season. I get to hang out with my kids, listen to their endless stories, help with the mountain of homework and peculiar school projects, and most importantly, shape their character.
One of the highlights has been our Friday movie nights. We don’t go anywhere. We transform the living room into a mini cinema with dimmed lights, popcorn and sodas, and the kids get to stay up way past their normal bedtime. For them, it’s the perfect rebellion. For me, it’s priceless bonding.
But let me be honest. Even though this is the longest school holiday in recent memory, it somehow feels like the shortest. I’ve been busy. Extremely busy. Firefighting at work, chasing deadlines, pushing long overdue personal projects across the finish line. I’ll admit it, I haven’t been as present as I should have been. Luckily, this week I intend to make up for lost time.
I’ll share the Naila, Naini and Nia chronicles very soon. Trust me, those stories deserve their own chapter. For now, let’s talk about this past weekend.
Anyone who has lived long enough understands this truth: a lot rests on the shoulders of a man. Once you have children, your entire mind shifts to one mission: provide, protect, prepare them for life. You want to give them the best and guide them towards the right path. But somewhere along the way, you can easily lose yourself.
This is why I often speak about a man’s third place. A man needs three ecosystems: a place for spiritual nourishment, a place for his family, and a place that feeds his soul. A space that’s just his. A place where he exhales.
This weekend, straight after a movie night that ended prematurely because all of us fell asleep halfway through, I packed my small bag and dashed to my own sanctuary, the farm.
I was heading there to supervise a project and finish some pending work, but more importantly, I needed time alone. I needed to breathe. I needed to reorganise my thoughts before the holiday season kicked in with its noise, joy and chaos.
To be honest, this year has tested me to the core. But that’s a story for another day.
I told the kids I “might not be coming back” that day. Naila understood immediately. I packed light, grabbed my keys and hit the road.
A few errands in Kitengela. A quick stop in Kisaju. Then I drove completely off the grid for my weekend therapy. If you know that kind of road, you know the independence that comes with it, the rough terrain, the open skies, the sound of tyres crunching gravel. Bliss. Pure bliss.
Then comes the soundtrack of the countryside: bleating goats, distant laughter of children herding livestock, the clinking of cow bells. There’s something pure about it, something nostalgic, something that takes me back to my own childhood in the village.
By the time I got to my small farmhouse, I had already shed the weight I was carrying. The air felt different. The silence felt intentional. And my two best friends were already waiting, Bandit and Judo. Loyal as ever. The only problem is they still think they are tiny puppies, so their excited jump can send a man flying if he’s not steady. But the love they show is unmatched.
One of my favourite things at the farm is sitting on the veranda at night. There’s a peace you simply cannot buy. The gentle night breeze brushing against the whistling thorns. Trees swaying slowly. The steady hum of crickets. Then the occasional solo bark from a neighbour’s dog that quickly becomes a choir across the valley. It’s nature reminding you that you’re not alone.
That night, I sat there and allowed myself to think about me, really think. My health. My dreams. My relationships. My family. My work. Everything. For once, I wasn’t firefighting. I was feeling. I was listening to myself.
By the time I left the bush and returned to the city, I was a different man. Clear-minded, reset, recharged. I felt ready for whatever comes next. Ready for the holidays. Ready for the noise and laughter. Ready to be fully present. Ready to lead with intention.
Sometimes all you need is distance.
Sometimes all you need is stillness.
Sometimes all you need is your third place.
This weekend reminded me of that. And I hope you find your own place of peace too.
About the author
Kibisu Mulanda is a media executive and strategic communicator with over 20 years of experience in television, NGO storytelling and youth-focused content. He is the Acting Head of Switch Media Ltd and teaches media at the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC). A Certified SIYB Trainer, he blends storytelling with strategy to drive social impact.
About the Author
