Friday morning, Manchester airport, drinking an Americano (formerly known as ‘a coffee’) and listening to Wham. This is the life.

Sadly, the year isn’t 1984, George Michael isn’t alive, and the Americano isn’t very nice. Nevertheless, it’s good to be here. My career as an attempted explorer feels like a distant fever dream – it’s been 12 months since I last set foot on a plane, and my only recent expedition of any note was a family trip to Scarborough (assessment: underrated).

This is what happens when you directly follow a pandemic with your first (and probably only) foray into parenting. All of a sudden, your previous life seems barely visible in the rear view mirror. On our wall, Laura and I have a collage of shared travel photos assembled to remind us that we used to be more interesting. It’s just a matter of time before it’s taken down and replaced by pictures of the child. And rightly so – one shouldn’t live in the past.

That said, being ‘out of action’ for so long, at least as far as the wider world is concerned, carries a host of unintended and regrettable consequences. Today’s trip is designed to correct for one of these. I’m off to see my friends in Germany, to renew my acquaintance with their daughter, and to meet her younger sibling for the first time.

The regrettable bit is that her younger sibling is already five.

Time flies, and, of late, I don’t. This is my choice, and while I have no regrets, that doesn’t mean it isn’t painful to recognise what has been traded to make way for the life we’ve chosen. To be here invariably means that you cannot also be there, and vice versa.

Equally regrettable is that this trip has come about due to my admiration for Taylor Swift rather than the growing sense of guilt regarding the five-year delay in meeting my friend’s new baby. Had I not been offered a concert ticket, it’s entirely possible the Germany trip would still be sitting on my vast to-do list, which is starting to resemble more of a bucket list given the low likelihood that I’ll ever achieve any of it.

I’ve always been the proactive sort; the instigator of plans; the person who pops up out of the blue on your phone notifications with the “it’s been too long – how are you doing?’ message. I don’t think this has changed, per se. What’s different these days is the sense of being perpetually behind the curve.

It’s like I’m running to catch up with a bus that keeps pulling away as I approach the next bus stop. I’m spurred on by the conviction that it will get easier; that at some point I’ll be able to get back on board my life again. But I also fully understand why some people end up saying “to hell with it,” give up on the life that was and accept that they’ll simply have to wait for the next bus that comes along.