For me, it’s the laughter that makes us cry. The curiosity in her eyes when she’s trying something new. The quiet comfort of just sitting next to each other. Those moments are the real wealth in my life. They come from being together—really together—and giving each other the space to explore what we love, to try things for the first time, and sometimes to push just a little past our comfort zones.

Travel is a big part of our lives. Yes, we travel to visit family in Denmark and Miami, but more than anything, it’s about discovering the world together and letting those discoveries shape us. Travel takes us out of the everyday and into the unfamiliar. It’s not just about seeing new places—it’s about seeing each other in new ways, too.

Our annual Copenhagen summer trip is one of my favorite traditions. It’s a chance to be with family and old friends, and for Coco, it’s a way to feel her roots in Denmark. She’s building a little “chosen family” here—friends her age who make her feel at home even though we live far away. Every year, her Danish gets better, and I see her confidence grow as she learns to navigate both cultures.

In recent years, we’ve added Italy to the mix—the culture, the beaches, the incredible food. And this year, we did something new: just Coco and I went to London for her first visit. I lived in London 15 years ago while studying at Central Saint Martins, then later working there, and I hadn’t been back in a long time. Watching her discover the city, with me sharing pieces of my past, is something special.

These trips aren’t just vacations. They’re building blocks for the relationship I want with her for the rest of our lives. Whether it’s something as small as ordering her own meal in a restaurant or as big as navigating a train station in a foreign country, each moment builds trust. In London, I had her lead us through busy Underground stations, figuring out connections and exits on her own. Those moments of responsibility are small now, but they lay the groundwork for the kind of trust I hope will matter years from now, when she knows she can talk to me about anything: fun, challenging, or uncomfortable.

It’s not always easy. Travel can be stressful. We get jet-lagged, tired, frustrated, and sometimes we want completely different things (like when she insisted on riding loop-the-loop roller coasters in Tivoli… more than once, but hey, I did it, got outside my comfort zone, and had a lot of fun). But we keep showing up for each other. She gets to choose some of our adventures, and I bring her into my world, letting her see life from an adult’s perspective. That balance of giving her independence while still guiding her, is where so much of our connection grows.

One of my favorite moments in London was something so simple: a Sunday roast in a busy pub. She ordered for herself and chatted with a few adults while I was ordering at the bar. Small things like that quietly shape her confidence and her ability to connect with people from all walks of life.

I grew up traveling with my family, trying new foods (my favorite at her age was escargot), hearing different languages (often ones I couldn’t speak but could still understand through human interaction), and figuring things out without always having the words. Those experiences taught me empathy, patience, and how to connect with people beyond what they say. I want her to have that same gift.

Because in the end, The Ride of Memories isn’t just about collecting stories from our travels. It’s about weaving a thread between us, made of trust, shared experience, and a deep knowing of each other, so that as she grows up, she’ll always feel she can come to me whether it’s to share her biggest dreams, her hardest struggles, or just a random thought over coffee one day.

With heart,

Kristian aka. papa

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Thank you for reading this. Your first question may be, what is this about? The title kind of says it all. This writing is about my experience being a very proud father to a daughter, but it is also about the larger shifts happening in how we parent, relate, and grow up alongside our kids.

My daughter Colette—Coco—is eight. She’s my absolute everything and greatest teacher. Yes, it sounds like a cliche, but it is because it’s true, not just in fatherhood but in life. She’s helped me unlearn things I didn’t know I was carrying and relearn what it means to be present, joyful, and true. Watching her move through the world with clarity and heart has cracked something open in me, and I want to write from that place. In this, I also make mistakes, anger, imperfections, and being able to live with that and acknowledge when I go wrong, continuously helps me be a better person. My life goal, more than anything, is to continuously build a relationship with her that will last forever, to be close to her as she grows, to be a trusted person to her, to be a role model for what a good partner can look like, and to be inspired by each other.

This is also part of a bigger picture—something I’ve felt in conversations with others over the last few months, and in my journey as a man and a parent today.

Our generation sits at the edge of two significant shifts. One is technological: We grew up analog—wandering through new cities without phones, learning to connect by being uncomfortable, curious, and human. Our kids are born into a mapped, translated, digitized world. There are no secret spots anymore; it’s all on Instagram. It’s convenient, but it also skips the kind of friction that builds human connection and empathy.

The other shift is emotional. I generally bring up “the end of the world in 2012”—not because the world actually ended, but it was the end of the Mayan calendar and an end to an old paradigm, and something new opened. It was the beginning of a new kind of collective consciousness. Our generation is raised by parents who didn’t always have access to emotional tools. Talking about feelings wasn’t normalized. You followed the rules. You didn’t ask many questions, if at all. Love was there in its own way, but the language and actions around it were often missing.

Now, our generation has been learning to name what we feel, to sit with it and be comfortable in the deep hurt and suffering, and to heal parts of ourselves that were never fully seen. We don’t always get it right—we stumble, we try, we grow—but we’re starting to do things differently.

And now, our children are growing up emotionally fluent. They are emotionally native, in the same way they are digitally native. We’re not handing them the tools—they already come with them. What we’re doing is making space for them to use them. They’re learning to speak truths we were never allowed to voice. And if we stay open, they end up showing us the way back to ourselves.

Artwork by Coco

I’ll be writing from my own experience and sharing what I’ve learned, what I’ve gotten wrong, and what I’m still figuring out. I’ll also be talking with other fathers raising daughters, especially about how fathering daughters reshapes our understanding of masculinity, power, tenderness, and presence. I want to talk with daughters, both young and grown, about how they experience this shift and what they need from us as fathers now.

This is an exploration, a conversation, a space for stories, insights, and questions about what fatherhood can be. There will be essays, interviews, some podcast-style conversations, and always a deep curiosity about how we can show up better. Your input and conversation will always be welcomed; we’re here to learn together, so chime in or make suggestions.

So this is the beginning. I’m deeply proud to be Coco’s father. I’m proud she chose me. And I’m ready to learn out loud.

Thank you for being here with me.

With heart and gratitude,
Kristian

PS. If any of this resonated with you, I would be very grateful if you shared this blog with someone who would like it. The more we share, the more we can learn from each other.

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