My Minivan

When we think about our journey and the people we meet along the way, it can feel overwhelming, especially as we step into new chapters of life. You’re changing, the people around you are changing, the world keeps moving, and society has put such a harsh tone on the idea of “growing apart” or “cutting people off.” But the truth is, it’s not always so black and white. It needs context.

This is where the minivan theory comes in.

Imagine your life as a van, driving forward along winding roads. There’s a front seat, a middle seat, and a back seat. You don’t have to throw people out of the van altogether, but you also don’t need everyone sitting up front with you.

The person in the front seat is helping you navigate, setting the direction, choosing the music, shaping the mood and the energy of your journey. The middle seat is filled with the people you still share conversations with, who are part of the ride but not steering it. And the back seat? Those are the people still present, still along for the journey, but with less influence over your path.

It’s a freeing way to look at friendships and relationships. Just because your values no longer align with someone doesn’t mean you need to erase them from your life. It simply means they may not belong in the front seat anymore and that’s okay.

Now, nearly three years since I left, I’ll soon be heading back to Australia for the first time. Not to move back, at least that’s how I feel in this moment but because I know there’s a chapter that needs closing. A final conversation with the old me. A goodbye that feels overdue. A moment of closure.

As the days pass and my departure draws closer, I’m filled with waves of emotion. Some days I’m buzzing with excitement, imagining the sunshine, old friends, family, the familiar comfort of home. Other days, a deep sadness creeps in. What if my time here isn’t finished? What if I still have more to do, more to see, more to grow into? What if moving back, even temporarily, is the wrong decision?

And then there’s another feeling, one I can’t quite shake. That daunting sensation of returning to the place where it all began, where the chaos once lived. I’ve grown, I’ve changed, I’ve built a new version of myself in the years I’ve been away. I’ve travelled the world, found new homes in foreign streets, built friendships with people who see life through lenses different to my own. My perspective has stretched and shifted in ways I never thought possible.

But what if I step off the plane and find that nothing has changed back home? What if it looks, feels, and moves exactly the same as when I left? What if I’m the only one who’s different?

That thought both excites me and unsettles me. Because home carries a strange kind of magic, it can feel comforting and grounding, yet also suffocating in its sameness. To walk familiar streets in a body that feels unfamiliar, to laugh with friends who once knew me but maybe no longer know me, to revisit places that hold memories of who I was, not who I am. That’s the part I’m both bracing for and leaning into.

I think that’s why this trip feels less like a holiday and more like a pilgrimage, a return, not to stay, but to acknowledge. To look my past in the eye, to thank it, to release it. To see whether the people who once filled the front seats of my van still fit there, or whether they’ve naturally shifted to the middle, the back, or maybe even stepped off along the way.

And maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. That home doesn’t always stay the same. That friendships, no matter how strong they once felt, may not carry the same weight after years apart. And that’s not loss, that’s just life moving, shifting, rebalancing.

So I remind myself: nothing is permanent. Plans change, paths evolve, people move seats. I don’t need to approach this chapter with fear. Instead, I want to walk back into it with openness. To let myself feel the nostalgia, the discomfort, the joy, the grief. To honor them all as reminders that I’ve lived, I’ve grown, and I’m still unfolding.

Because maybe the point of going home after so long isn’t to find everything the same. Maybe it’s to see how much I’ve changed and to realize that wherever my van is headed next, I get to choose who comes along for the ride.

This trip isn’t about going backwards. It’s about moving forward with clarity, with grace, with trust in the process. It’s about knowing my van has space for exactly who and what belongs, no more and no less.

Much love,

K xx