01/10/2026
On 8 November 2026, I turn 60.
As October begins, I reflect on a simple yet powerful symbol often seen on a tombstone: the dash between the year we are born and the year we leave this earth.
The image comes from the well-known poem The Dash by Linda Ellis, written in 1996. It has touched millions of people around the world and is often shared at funerals and in eulogies.
In the poem, the dash between the two dates represents all the time we spend alive—and, more importantly, how we choose to live it. Just a reminder: what matters most isn't the dates; it's what we do with our dash.
My dash so far — I was born in the small town of Uitenhage in the Eastern Cape, South Africa. When I was three, my parents relocated to what was then known as the Transvaal. We lived in Lynnwood, Pretoria, for a few years before later moving to the “big smoke” of Johannesburg. At first Bedfordview, later Edenvale, and then Randburg.
I chose to go to boarding school at the tender age of 10, attending Lord Milner Primary in Settlers near Warm Baths for my primary school years. I then moved on to Potchefstroom Girls High, where I made lifelong friends; however chose to go home from St 9 & 10, matriculating in 1984, completed a two-year hairdressing diploma, and then stepped into the corporate world.
I have had the privilege of working for major South African companies such as Avis (based at the then-known-as Jan Smuts, now O R Thambo Airport) and Vodacom (Midrand). APCO Worldwide (Sandton), an internationally recognised company that gave me the opportunity to travel to Belgium and Paris, and Siyakha Consulting in Bryanston before I spread my wings and left South Africa.
In 2009, I was headhunted for a role in Zambia as Executive PA and Office Manager to an entrepreneur who owned a private airline and fertiliser company. It was a leap of faith—far from home—but one that helped me grow in ways I could never have planned.
Through it all, I raised two children as a single mom on one income. I put them through private schools, watched them both matriculate, and supported them emotionally, medically, and financially. I was the good cop, the bad cop, the mom, and the dad. Today, my daughter holds a teaching degree, and my son has been living in Thailand since 2019.
I have had to start over more than once during my life—most recently when COVID cancelled contracts and closed government departments, making work permits and future planning impossible. Yet every restart has taught me resilience, resourcefulness, and gratitude.
I have climbed Kilimanjaro, swum the Midmar Mile, and completed the 94.7 Cycle Challenge. The Comrades Marathon and Argus are still on my bucket list—God willing, I will get to complete them.
Now, living in Jeffreys Bay, I have a new dream: to learn to surf at 60.
What my dash has taught me: -
Faith, grit, and a willingness to begin again are not weaknesses—they are superpowers.
Being a single parent on one income does not mean your children cannot thrive.
It means they learn early what strength looks like.
Life will sometimes pull the rug out from under you, but your dash is defined by how you stand up, reorient yourself, and keep moving forward.
The most important legacy is not what you own, but who you have loved, raised, encouraged, and inspired along the way.
Looking Forward As I Step Into 60,
I am not closing a chapter—I am deepening the story. I am grateful for every lesson, every detour, and every closed door that eventually led to a better one.
I am excited for what lies ahead: new skills, new places, new challenges, and the joy of watching my children, my grandson, and the grandchildren still to come build their own meaningful (dashes) lives.
If you are reading this while in the middle of your own restart, please know this: Your dash still has powerful pages left to write. Let’s make them count.
