Father of three

Dani is nineteen. The oldest. The one who watched her father change the most and never lost faith that the changes were worth it.

Yuli is seventeen. The middle. The one who teaches me, again and again, that listening is harder than speaking and worth more.

Zoe is twelve. The youngest. The one who reminds me that wonder is not a phase you grow out of, but a muscle you can choose to keep using.

The hardest and most important work I have ever done is just being there. Actually there, when I am in the room.

I moved them from Jerusalem to the Costa del Sol when they were younger, and I meant it. Spain was not a sabbatical or a tax strategy. It was a decision that we would grow up, all four of us, somewhere the sea was close and the days were long enough to actually be in.

Every chapter on this page, the real estate and the running and the music and the inner work, runs on the same fuel. Three girls. One question I try to keep asking. Am I the kind of father they will want to call when they are forty?