Wandering Wolf And Cub: An Essay Pondering the Trade-Offs of Parenthood

THE FIRST TIME YOU set eyes on your child is a profound thing. It’s a primal moment that can unleash a rush of strong emotions. In my case, I admit that not all these feelings were selfless. 

As such, a string of questions formulated in my mind as I pondered Alexander’s tiny face as  he rested in his mother’s arms.

Would we connect? How long might it take for that to happen? And, more shamefully, what would be an acceptable period to let pass before resuming a career as a travel writer whose preferred schedule had tended towards the manic? 

In 2016, the year before Alexander was born, I took 18 trips to 15 countries, including Bhutan, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Canada, Japan, Spain and Portugal. 

By the end of the year—mindful of the cute human bomb about to explode in the middle of my life—I had ditched my usual planning process by declining a calendar of potential trips and putting my yearly wish list to one side. 

My wings had been clipped for the moment, but I was sure I’d be digging out my passport again as soon as he transitioned from mother’s milk to the relative hard stuff of stewed apples and mashed bananas. 

And so, it proved to be the case. After a few months of administering airplanes, changing diapers, and wiping up puke, I resumed my travels, taking off for Japan, Australia and Indonesia in rapid-fire succession. As it turned out, these three trips were especially memorable. The stories I produced on Kobe’s retro-soul scene, the 2,000-kilometre-long Nullarbor Links golf course stretching across 18 towns in Western Australia, and Jakarta’s heady dining landscape are among my writing highlights to this day. 

Yet somewhere in the middle of this came a video sent by my partner of the little guy making his first few hesitant steps. As I watched him tottering triumphantly around his playpen, then proceeding to fall flat on his face, it struck me that I had confused my priorities. The FOMO I had been worried about from curtailing my activities as a travel writer was nothing compared to the aching regret I was feeling from voluntarily removing myself from these milestones in my son’s development. 

Much as I’d love to be taking on long-distance hikes or embarking upon epic expeditions, being present and hanging out with my son felt, and still feels, like a better use of my time. Let’s face it: there’s always going to be another golden sunset or Michelin-starred tasting menu. A kid’s formative years can never be replicated. 

IT WOULDN’T BE TRUE to say that I’ve become a complete homebody: as a long-term travel addict, I still crave the occasional fix. And luckily, in Alex, I’ve got a willing journey companion for father-son trips. 

My son’s passport is already generously stamped. These travels may be less focused—and more restrained than some of my more debauched adventures—but they are equally rewarding. Indeed, each trip has been a marker in his development. Over the years, we’ve harbour-cruised in Sydney, hung with the hippies on Koh Pha Ngan to ride out Thailand’s covid lockdowns, improvised games of hide-and-seek amidst the candy-striped sun-loungers and umbrellas at The Standard Hua Hin, and ridden bumper cars at a Scottish fairground. 

As he has grown, his tastes have evolved, adding extra depth to our shared travel experiences. He’s graduated from a tiny tot being grudgingly wheeled around the hillier parts of Naples—an extremely hilly city—to a kids’ club connoisseur and a vociferous questioner on subjects ranging from the banana-boat safety standards in Hua Hin to the history of Highland castles. 

Forthcoming father-son trips include a return to Scotland (it’s my mother country, after all) and a jaunt to Legoland Asia in Malaysia. He’s not quite ready for more strenuous adventures, although I plan to take him to Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park in Vietnam soon, to investigate some of the world’s most spectacular caves. But his rapidly improving iPhone-camera captures have identified him as a potentially enduring travel wingman, a forever requirement due to daddy’s rudimentary image-taking skills. 

Indeed, I’ve been sorely missing my long-term photographer-partner, who moved home to the States a few years back. A new collaborator would be perfect… and could there be a better outcome after these hard years of sacrifice than a father-and-son writer-and-lensman team? We’re working on it. I’m happy, for now, to maintain a low-key travel schedule and have him as my curious companion. 

Lede and hero illustration by Pattra Saelee.

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