The Year So Far *newsletter*
There are years that seem to arrive quietly.
And then there are years that arrive full of contrast.
2026 has already felt like one of those years.
A family turtle adventure released into the world.
Humans travelling around the Moon for the first time in more than 50 years.
Meditation becoming part of my daily life.
A school in Cape Panwa supporting young people whose lives have been disrupted by conflict.
A memoir moving closer to print.
A new granddaughter.
My mother entering a new stage of life.
Tandem miles, sobriety, giving back, and the continued question of how we live well in complex times.
When I look at the year so far, what strikes me most is not one single event.
It is the range.
The intimate and the global.
The joyful and the difficult.
The deeply personal and the historically significant.
And perhaps that is life at this stage.
Everything happening at once.
One of the strongest feelings I have this year is that I want to live fully and consciously.
None of us knows how much we have left in our time account.
Is it another 20 summers for me?
Or five?
Whatever the answer, I want my days to count.
For me, yes.
But also for others.
That has become one of the threads running through 2026 so far.
Living life.
Breathing positivity into experiences.
Choosing to notice what matters.
And asking, again and again, how I can use my time, skills and energy well.
One of the strongest feelings I have this year is that I want to live fully and consciously.
None of us knows how much we have left in our time account.
Is it another 20 summers for me?
Or five?
Whatever the answer, I want my days to count. For me, yes. But also for others.
That has become one of the threads running through 2026 so far.
Living life.
Breathing positivity into experience.
Choosing to notice what matters.
And asking, again and again, how I can use my time, skills and energy well.
So I wanted to pause and reflect on the 10 most impactful events of 2026 so far.
Not in any particular order.
But as a way of making sense of what this year is already teaching me.
Releasing Bengee: Our Family Turtle Adventure
One of the most joyful moments of the year so far has been releasing Bengee: Our Family Turtle Adventure.
This one feels particularly special because it is rooted in family, nature and shared wonder.
The power of this story on the children, the four-year-old, the three-year-old, the two-year-old, and on the whole family, has been extraordinary to witness.
At its heart, Bengee is about more than a turtle.
It is about community.
A community raising funds so that turtles can become strong enough to be released into the ocean a little older. The idea that care, patience and collective effort can give something fragile a better chance.
When Bengee entered the ocean, they swam around and around, checking their surroundings.
That image has stayed with me.
A small turtle entering a vast world.
Not rushing.
Not disappearing immediately.
But orienting.
Sensing.
Learning the environment.
And then there is the extraordinary fact that the sex of a turtle becomes clear at around nine years old.
If Bengee is female, she may return to that exact spot on the beach in around 20 years’ time to lay her own eggs.
How extraordinary is that?
A moment that looks small becomes part of a much longer story.
The release was not just an ending.
It was the beginning of a possible return.
When Bengee entered the ocean, they swam around and around, checking their surroundings.
That image has stayed with me.
A small turtle entering a vast world. Not rushing. Not disappearing immediately. But orienting. Sensing. Learning the environment.
And then there is the extraordinary fact that the sex of a turtle becomes clear at around nine years old. If Bengee is female, she may return to that exact spot on the beach in around 20 years’ time to lay her own eggs.
How extraordinary is that?
A moment that looks small becomes part of a much longer story.
The release was not just an ending. It was the beginning of a possible return.
That feels like such a beautiful lesson for children.
And perhaps for adults too.
Because so much of life is about helping things grow strong enough before they are released into the world.
A child.
A project.
A book.
A community idea.
A new chapter.
There is something very moving about watching young children understand that their actions can help something living.
That the natural world is not abstract.
That care is practical.
That release only comes after preparation.
In many ways, Bengee has reminded me why family stories matter so much. They carry meaning in a way that children can feel before they can fully explain.
Adventure.
Responsibility.
Tenderness.
Nature.
Hope.
Sometimes a turtle can teach all of that beautifully.
And perhaps that is why this little book feels bigger to me than it may first appear.
It is the start of a family story.
A book series.
And a reminder that storytelling remains one of the most powerful ways we pass values from one generation to the next.
Artemis II and Looking Back at Earth
When I was 13, I was enthralled by humans travelling beyond Earth.
The Moon missions were not just scientific achievements. They were moments of collective imagination.
The idea that human beings could leave Earth, travel through darkness and look back at our planet from another place felt almost impossible to comprehend.
And now, in 2026, Artemis II has brought that feeling back.
NASA describes Artemis II as the first crewed flight of its Space Launch System rocket and Orion spacecraft, carrying Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch and Canadian Space Agency astronaut Jeremy Hansen on a lunar flyby mission. NASA also describes it as the first crewed mission to the lunar vicinity in more than 50 years. (NASA)
That matters historically.
But it also matters emotionally.
The technology is extraordinary.
The photographs are astonishing.
The ambition is immense.
But what moves me most is the perspective.
The view of Earth.
Our planet, seen not through borders, divisions or arguments, but as one shared home.
When I watched humans in space as a teenager, I was filled with awe.
Now I feel awe again, but with something more.
A deeper understanding of fragility.
A stronger sense that exploration should not only take us outward, but also make us look back more carefully at what we already have.
And the representation matters too.
This crew reflects a different world from the one I watched as a teenager. Artemis II includes Christina Koch, Victor Glover and Jeremy Hansen alongside Reid Wiseman, bringing more visible diversity to one of humanity’s great exploration stories. (YouTube)
That feels important.
Because when children look at those images now, more of them can see themselves reflected in that possibility.
Science.
Exploration.
Technology.
Courage.
Not belonging to one type of person, but to humanity.
At a time when so much on Earth feels divided, Artemis II feels like a reminder of what human ambition can look like when directed towards discovery, science and shared progress.
There is something very powerful in that.
Living Between Two Places
Another defining part of my year so far has been living between two very distinct places.
Norfolk in the UK.
And Cape Panwa in Thailand.
Two countries.
Two cultures.
Two rhythms of life.
I love what each place gives me.
In Norfolk, I feel rooted. Connected to community, family, history, and the landscape of home.
In Cape Panwa, I feel stretched in different ways. I learn more, see more, give back more, and feel an enormous repertoire of emotions.
Together, these two places have shaped the year profoundly.
They remind me that belonging is not always singular.
It can be layered.
And perhaps one of the greatest gifts of this stage of life is being able to live with that richness.
The role of friends in both places has been immense too.
The family we choose matters enormously.
To those friends, in both worlds, thank you.
You have made the year deeper, warmer and more meaningful.
Meditation and the Quiet Rewiring of My Year
One of the most important changes in my life this year has not been loud at all.
It has been meditation.
The power of meditation in my daily life now feels incredible.
It is not dramatic from the outside.
But it is deeply significant from the inside.
I still find myself sliding things down.
Slowing the internal pace.
Creating more space between thought and response.
Feeling clearer, calmer and more able to remember.
Meditation has also helped me detach from painful thoughts and feelings.
Not deny them.
Not suppress them.
But see them with a little more space around them.
That has helped me with patience.
Patience with others.
Patience with difficult moments.
Patience with myself.
And I think that is one of the most powerful things meditation has given me this year.
It has not removed emotion.
It has changed my relationship with it.
It is extraordinary how much of life is shaped by the state of the mind.
When the mind is overstimulated, everything feels louder.
When the mind has space, everything becomes more navigable.
Meditation has not removed complexity from my life.
It has changed how I meet it.
After years of pace, responsibility and constant decision-making, stillness does not always come naturally. It has to be practised.
And perhaps that is why it matters.
We live in a culture that rewards acceleration.
More output.
More response.
More visibility.
More noise.
But I am learning that not everything improves when it gets faster.
Some things only improve when they become quieter.
Meditation has given me more space between what happens and how I respond to it.
That space is where clarity lives.
It is also where kindness lives.
Because when we are constantly reacting, we are rarely at our best.
We are quicker, perhaps.
But not always wiser.
This year, meditation has helped me feel more grounded. More able to observe my own mind. More able to choose what I give energy to.
That may be one of the most important shifts of my year so far.
Not because it has changed everything around me.
But because it has changed something within me.
Myanmar, Education and the Power of Language
Another thread of this year has been my school in Cape Panwa, which continues to go from strength to strength.
Last year, we saw many young people arriving from Myanmar. Teenagers escaping the junta and civil war, coming to Cape Panwa to find work and safety.
Our role became more than teaching English.
It became helping young people regain confidence.
Helping them process trauma.
Helping them build the language skills that could open doors to better work, better education and greater stability.
That flow has abated a little this year.
Not because the situation in Myanmar has improved.
But because the patterns of movement and survival shift under pressure.
The situation for children in Myanmar remains deeply serious. UNICEF says children are bearing the burden of escalating conflict, insecurity, displacement, poverty and disruption of essential services, including education and health. It also reports that millions of children are in need of assistance. (UNICEF)
Thailand continues to host refugees from Myanmar, as well as urban asylum seekers and stateless people, with UNHCR supporting protection needs, education access, emergency healthcare, psychosocial support and other services. (UNHCR)
For me, the most powerful lens is education.
Because when conflict disrupts a young person’s life, education can become more than learning.
It becomes stability.
It becomes confidence.
It becomes language.
And language is access.
Access to work.
Access to further study.
Access to being understood.
Access to self-advocacy.
Access to a future that does not feel entirely dictated by trauma.
Our school continues to propel English students towards tertiary education, better learning opportunities and jobs.
This year, two more girls whose English language skills surpassed the national average gained access to new schools and greater opportunity.
That is exactly why this work matters.
Because language can become a bridge.
A bridge to confidence.
A bridge to education.
A bridge to better work.
A bridge to a future that feels more open.
For young people whose lives have been shaped by instability, that kind of progress is incredibly powerful.
And I find that incredibly powerful.
Because English, in that context, is not simply a subject.
It is a bridge.
A bridge from fear to confidence.
From survival to possibility.
From displacement to agency.
In a world where so much displacement is caused by forces young people did not choose, education becomes one of the most practical forms of hope.
And practical hope matters.
Writing a Memoir and Preparing to Put So Much of Myself Into the World
Writing a memoir is very different from writing a business book.
It asks something else of you.
Not just clarity.
Exposure.
There is a particular vulnerability in putting so much of yourself onto the page.
Your choices.
Your mistakes.
Your ambitions.
Your losses.
Your relationships.
Your private turning points.
The final processes towards the book being printed in October 2026 have made that feel very real.
I am being published by Unicorn Publishing Group, and working with my editor Eva has reminded me how rigorous and intimate the publishing process can be.
People often see only the finished product.
The cover.
The title.
The launch.
The neat stack of books.
But behind that is an enormous amount of shaping.
Editing.
Questioning.
Rewriting.
Clarifying.
Deciding what belongs and what does not.
And in a memoir, those decisions are not only literary.
They are emotional.
What do you reveal?
What do you protect?
What do you owe the reader?
What do you owe the people whose lives intersect with yours?
It is very, very big putting this much of yourself out there.
But perhaps that is also why it matters.
Because the books that stay with us are often not the ones that present a perfect life.
They are the ones that tell the truth with enough courage and generosity to help someone else feel less alone.
On Book and Copyright Day this year, I found myself reflecting on the extraordinary craft behind publishing.
A book is not simply written.
It is made.
And as we work to make this one a bestseller, I am holding onto a deeper ambition too.
That it is useful.
That it is honest.
That it gives something back.
War, Markets and the Question of Trust
One of the most unsettling tensions of the year so far has been the contrast between global instability and market confidence.
War continues.
Energy systems remain exposed to geopolitical shocks.
And yet markets can sometimes appear almost detached from human suffering.
That tension has made me think deeply about leadership.
About trust.
And about the macho running of parts of the world.
I keep returning to the framework from Professor Frances Frei that has stayed with me for years:
Trust = Empathy + Authenticity + Logic
If one of those is missing, trust begins to wobble.
And when I look at the world now, I find myself asking:
Where is the empathy?
Where is the authenticity?
Where is the logic?
We are living in an age of science.
An age of extraordinary data, technology and capability.
We can send human beings around the Moon again.
We can map climate signals from space.
We can connect instantly across continents.
And yet we still return, again and again, to war.
To dominance.
To energy insecurity.
To systems where some profit while others suffer.
That is astounding to me.
Because leadership cannot be reduced to power.
Leadership without empathy becomes dangerous.
Leadership without authenticity becomes performative.
Leadership without logic becomes chaos.
And trust requires all three.
This is true in organisations.
It is true in communities.
And it is true in the running of the world.
Perhaps one of the great questions of our time is not simply whether leaders are strong.
It is whether they are trustworthy.
And whether they have the humility to understand that strength without humanity is not leadership.
It is force.
Three Thousand Miles of Tandem Cycling and the State of My Marriage
This year, we have already covered around 3,000 miles on the tandem.
That sentence alone makes me smile.
Because tandem cycling is not simply exercise.
It is a relationship test.
You cannot fake partnership on a tandem.
You have to communicate.
You have to trust.
You have to find rhythm.
You have to accept that one person’s movement affects the other immediately.
There is something wonderfully revealing about that.
After so many miles, you learn a great deal about yourself and each other.
How you handle fatigue.
How you respond to hills.
How you recover after frustration.
How you encourage.
How you share the load.
Perhaps every marriage has its own version of the tandem.
A shared vehicle.
A rhythm.
A place where the metaphor becomes physical.
For us, the tandem has become one of those places.
It has brought adventure, strength, laughter, impatience, endurance and connection.
And it has reminded me that long relationships, like long rides, are built through repetition.
Not grand declarations.
Small adjustments.
Shared direction.
Patience.
And the willingness to keep pedalling.
There is also something deeply humbling about covering distance this way.
You cannot pretend not to be connected.
You cannot surge ahead alone.
You are literally joined.
That is both the challenge and the beauty of it.
And perhaps that is why I continue to love it.
Because every mile asks the same question:
Are we still moving together?
And so far, thankfully, yes.
Esmé Harri and Life in the Sandwich Generation
One of the most joyful events of this year has been the arrival of Esmé Harri.
A new granddaughter.
A new life.
A new beginning.
And the fact that my name appears in hers makes me proud as punch.
There is something deeply moving about that.
To see a name travel forward.
To feel, in one tiny person, the continuity of family, love and time.
And yet this joy sits alongside another reality.
My mother is 90.
She is entering a new stage of life, and the challenges around family, care and responsibility continue.
So here I am, once again, deeply aware of what it means to be part of the sandwich generation.
Looking forward and looking back.
Caring across ages.
Holding the needs of the very young and the very old in one emotional frame.
We have two of our grandchildren, aged two and four, for May half-term and all of August.
That brings joy, energy, noise, curiosity and complete immersion in the world of small children.
At the same time, there are the tender and difficult responsibilities that come with an ageing parent.
It is a lot to hold.
The very young and the very old ask different things of us.
One asks for play, patience and presence.
The other often asks for advocacy, tenderness and steadiness.
And those of us in the middle are trying to hold both ends of life with love.
This is why I write so often about intergenerational life.
It is not theory for me.
It is daily reality.
And it is teaching me, again and again, that leadership is not confined to organisations.
It is practised in families.
In care.
In patience.
In decision-making.
In how we show up when things are joyful, difficult, inconvenient or tender.
When you sit between a newborn and a 90-year-old, you understand time differently.
You understand what matters.
And you understand that no stage of life should be invisible.
Dereham Meeting Point, Norwich High School for Girls and Circular Giving Back
On giving back, two things stand out this year.
The first is Dereham Meeting Point.
The second is education.
Both, in very different ways, are about using what I have learned and built to create opportunity for others.
That is increasingly how I think about this chapter of life.
Skills.
Learning.
Youth.
Technology.
Mentoring.
These are the areas where I feel I can be most useful.
I am absolutely thrilled that in just over a year we have raised more than £100,000, enough to help keep the centre going for the next three years.
That matters.
Because Dereham Meeting Point is rooted in local care and practical community support.
And the fundraising itself has been wonderfully creative.
Special art raffles.
Racing days.
Community energy.
And a particularly lovely corporate trend.
Organisations such as Compass have paid me to do what I used to do as a senior executive, helping motivate and strengthen teams.
Those funds are then paid and matched into Dereham Meeting Point.
I love the circularity of that.
Skills developed over a lifetime being used to support community.
Corporate work becoming local impact.
Experience becoming funding.
Funding becoming continuity.
That feels like giving back at its best.
The second is education.
With the new headmistress, we are reinvigorating the five scholarships at Norwich High School for Girls.
Five full bursaries.
Five opportunities.
Five doors opened.
That makes me incredibly excited.
Because investing in young women’s education remains one of the most powerful ways we can shape the future.
This connects to so much of what matters to me now.
Skills.
Learning.
Youth.
Technology.
Mentoring.
These are not side projects.
They are central to how I think about purpose in this chapter of life.
The Third Age has given me the opportunity to be even more intentional about contribution.
Where can I be useful?
Where can experience open doors?
Where can networks, time and energy create opportunity for others?
That is the question I keep returning to.
And increasingly, I think it is one of the most important questions any leader can ask in later life.
Not simply:
What have I achieved?
But:
What can what I have achieved now make possible for someone else?
Less Alcohol, Less Caffeine, More Clarity
Finally, one of the most personal changes of the year.
Sobriety.
As I was preparing for meditation, I stopped drinking alcohol and reduced how much coffee I was drinking.
I wanted a cleaner, less stimulated environment for my brain.
Over the past six or seven months, I have had a couple of glasses of wine and a glass of champagne at New Year.
But most days and weeks now pass without alcohol, and certainly with less caffeine.
I would not say my sleep is dramatically better.
But something else has shifted.
I feel more stripped back to who I am.
Less stimulated.
Less buffered.
More present.
And alongside meditation, that has become very powerful.
This is not about purity.
It is not about preaching.
It is simply a personal observation.
Sometimes removing something creates space.
Sometimes less stimulation allows clearer attention.
And sometimes we discover that the thing we thought helped us relax was also adding noise.
This year has been, in many ways, about sliding things down.
Removing some of the noise.
Creating more room for what matters.
Listening more carefully to my own mind and body.
And finding that, sometimes, less really does give you more.
More steadiness.
More clarity.
More presence.
More access to yourself.
That has been a quiet revelation.
A Final Thought
When I look across the year so far, these 10 moments seem, at first, very different.
A children’s book.
A Moon mission.
Meditation.
Myanmar.
A memoir.
War and markets.
Tandem cycling.
A granddaughter.
A community fundraiser.
Sobriety.
But the thread, I think, is clear.
They are all about what we choose to notice.
Wonder.
Fragility.
Responsibility.
Health.
Family.
Truth.
Contribution.
Adventure.
Trust.
Hope.
And perhaps they are also about what we strengthen before release.
A turtle into the ocean.
A child into the world.
A young person into education or work.
A book into readers’ hands.
A community centre into its next chapter.
A self into a clearer and calmer way of being.
2026 has already reminded me that life does not arrive neatly.
It arrives all at once.
The personal and the global.
The joyful and the frightening.
The intimate and the historic.
And our task is to stay awake to all of it.
To keep reflecting.
To keep contributing.
To keep learning.
To keep loving.
To keep asking better questions.
Because the year so far has not been simple.
But it has been rich.
And perhaps that is the point.
Not to wait for life to become simpler before we find meaning.
But to find meaning inside the complexity.
And perhaps more than anything, 2026 has reminded me that our time account is not infinite.
We do not know how many summers we have left.
But we do know how we can choose to meet the one we are in.
With attention.
With gratitude.
With courage.
With contribution.
With positivity.
For me, that is the work.
To live fully.
To keep learning.
To give back where I can.
And to make the day count, for myself and for others.
Warmest,
Harriet