Learning to Live

The years that followed were not always straightforward.

There were hospital appointments, medication changes, awkward conversations and moments when HIV felt far larger than it deserved to be. There were times when it occupied far too much space in my head and moments when it seemed to colour every decision I made.

But there were also careers, friendships, adventures, bad haircuts, good days, terrible decisions, successes, failures, and all the other ordinary things that make up a life.

Gradually, HIV became part of my story rather than the whole story.

I built a career in governance and public service. I travelled. I studied for a law degree. I became involved with charities and volunteering, eventually finding myself as a trustee, a charity chair and a mentor to others. The life I thought might have been taken away from me turned out to be busier, fuller and far more interesting than I had imagined sitting in that clinic room twenty years ago.

"None of us gets through life entirely on our own."

And I didn't do any of it alone.

When I think about the last twenty years, I don't just think about medication or medical appointments. I think about family, friends, colleagues, healthcare professionals, mentors and complete strangers whose kindness arrived at exactly the right moment.

Whatever I have achieved since that diagnosis has only been possible because of the support, encouragement and generosity of countless people along the way.

I have never forgotten that.

South Africa 2016

Ten years after my diagnosis, I wanted to mark the milestone in a way that felt meaningful.

That decision took me to rural South Africa, where I volunteered on HIV education and community healthcare projects.

I worked alongside local healthcare workers, visited people in their homes, helped with HIV education projects and spent time listening to stories that have stayed with me ever since.

If I'm honest, I think I arrived hoping to make a difference.

What I didn't expect was how profoundly the experience would affect me.

I met people facing challenges that would have overwhelmed many of us, yet doing so with remarkable resilience, humour and dignity. I visited homes where money was scarce but generosity was abundant. I saw first-hand the difference that dedicated local organisations, volunteers and community groups could make to people's lives.

Most of all, I was reminded of something I'd spent the previous decade learning myself: illness can shape a life, but it does not define a person.

The experience stayed with me long after I returned home.

In many ways, Positive Impact 20 began there.

Twenty Years Later

In 2026, I reach another milestone.

Not just turning forty, but twenty years since that diagnosis.

The twenty-year-old sitting in that clinic room in 2006 could never have imagined the life that followed. He certainly wouldn't have predicted that two decades later he would be preparing to return to southern Africa as a volunteer once again.

Yet here we are.

I've often thought that anniversaries are less about celebrating survival and more about taking stock. Looking back at where you've been, who's helped you along the way, and what you want to do with the time you've been given.

For me, Positive Impact 20 is an expression of gratitude.

Twenty years ago, a great many people helped me when I needed it most.

This is simply my way of paying a little of that kindness forward, turning some of that gratitude into action, and contributing, in however small a way, to improving the lives of others.

We don't have to change the whole world.

We only have to leave our small corner of it a little better than we found it.