Hercules

“I want to stay on Earth.”

That’s the choice Hercules makes at the end of the Disney film. After a lifetime of chasing approval, he finally earns the reward he thought he wanted: immortality, recognition, a seat with his parents in Heaven. He had gone the distance.

But when the moment came, he turned it down. Because the joy was never in the destination. It was in the journey—the people he met, the love he felt, and the messiness of being human.

Watching Hercules in a theatre in my thirties, decades after first seeing it as a kid, hit me harder than expected. As a child, I just wanted to be liked. Approval was everything. Looking back, I see how much of my life has been shaped by that—by doing things I thought would impress other people.

Now I find myself asking a different question: why?

Why do I work? Why do I run? Why do I strive to achieve?

For me, the answer always circles back to one thing: connection.

I work because it allows me to share experiences with people I love, and to grow alongside colleagues and communities I respect. I run because it keeps me fit, yes, but also because it connects me to something bigger than myself—the rhythm, the energy, the flow. And when I’m honest, I achieve partly because I still think it will impress others.

Reflecting on this led me to my values. Health. Freedom. Adventure. All meaningful. But none of them matter without connection.

What’s health if there’s nobody to share it with? What’s freedom if it’s lived alone? What’s adventure if you can’t tell the story with someone by your side?

For me, the best way to connect is through stories. Sharing what makes us human—our fears, doubts, questions, small victories, and fragile hopes. It’s how we move past the surface and find something deeper.

That’s what I’m trying to do here. To connect. Even if, right now, it feels like writing into the void. I trust that one day these words will be a bridge.

Living with connection at the centre means loosening my grip. Flowing more. Forcing less. Letting myself be part of something bigger—family, friends, strangers, nature, even God.

To grow. To enjoy the abundance of life. To make my little corner of the world more beautiful. And to share the ride with others.

That’s enough.

Perfection doesn’t exist in an imperfect world. And that’s okay.

But maybe the better question is this:

If you stripped away the need to impress—what would you choose to stay on Earth for?