I've always been a big fan of honey. Ever since I was a kid, I thought honeycomb and all the different flavours of honey were something truly magical. Fast forward nearly 30 years, and it's now getting me in trouble.
I have a six-month-old son with chronic reflux, a sleepless wife who's at her wit's end, and I'm on my 30th attempt at growing a business through offshoring. It's 10 PM, I'm staring at a screen, scrolling through endless freelancer profiles, while my wife is behind me trying to run a house and being confronted by a truly ridiculous amount of honey in our cupboards.
She's yelling at me about the honey collection. I'm about to close the computer in defeat. Then something makes me click on tab seven – it was my lucky number. I look at the very top of that page, and there's a candidate with the highly unusual name of Honey.
I am definitely somebody who is not afraid to act upon signals and serendipity. Feeling as if I've just been given a clear indicator that this might be the one, I opened the profile and proceeded to reach out. Sometimes something incredibly simple like that can see you meeting somebody across the world and starting a new chapter together.