Malmö, just after 4 a.m. 18th of May. 2025. First coffee done. Girls still asleep.
I feel more content now than ever before.
I’ll turn 63 soon, and most mornings I sit down like this – early, coffee by my side, before the noise begins – and think: “It’s a good life.” A full life. With all the ups and downs that come with it. And I honestly don’t feel any need to prove much these days. The fire is still there, absolutely. I’m still training for Expeditions. But it’s a different kind of fire now. Less about being seen. More about being useful.
If you ask who I am, the short version goes something like this: Explorer, father, writer, occasional filmmaker, and someone who has always followed the compass of curiosity rather than convention.
But that’s just labels. Truth is, I’m mostly a guy who wakes up early, does my yoga and rehab, drags tires through the forests of Skåne, cycles my daughters to school, then works hard for a few hours before crashing into bed at night, hoping the brain will stay calm enough to let sleep in.
And maybe that’s also who I really am. A man with strong routines, but still easily sidetracked by wonder. Still learning how to live well.
I used to say: “Life is short. Take the chance.”
I still believe that.
But I’ve also added: “Take it slower.”
I’ve lived much of my life on the edge. Literally and metaphorically. Long expeditions by horse, by bicycle, on foot, on skis, in deserts and across icecaps. From Patagonia to Siberia. Yemen to the Congo. Many of those stories are in the archives, and they shaped who I am.
But the defining moment came in 2018, during a Greenland expedition, when our daughter Eva, then very young, was diagnosed with a rare and serious eye condition. We were stuck in Qasigiannguit. Weathered in. I remember standing outside the house, saying to Pam, Eva’s mum:
“They think it’s a tumor.”
That’s when life split open. That was the moment I truly became a father. That was when everything else took a backseat. The worry never quite leaves after that. But it shapes you. Sharpens you. Softens you too.
She’s doing much better now. Strong, bright, funny. Her sister Dana is too. They’ve slept over 300 nights in a tent, cycled across countries, climbed peaks. They keep me awake to what matters. I’ve got nothing more important than them in my life.
These days, I’m learning not to rush.
A couple of years ago, I got a bad concussion on the Greenland icecap. Then another health scare. Stroke symptoms. Suddenly the fast life wasn’t an option anymore. I had to cut down on big expeditions, lower the training intensity, work less. Learn how to pause.
Meditation helps. So do good books. A clear sleep routine. Cold baths. Long walks with the girls. And the love of a good woman who reminds me not to try and be perfect all the time.
Hannah is younger than me. Bright, ambitious, beautiful, fierce, and warm. She’s based in Vermont. I’m in Malmö with the girls. But we try to make it work. And when we do meet, we hike, we laugh, we deal with chaos – four kids between us – and we enjoy the small things. A walk. A proper hug. A shared moment. These days, those matter more than flags on summits.
Why am I writing here?
Because I’ve lived a life where things often go wrong. Where plans fall apart. Where dreams get delayed. But still, it has been a very good life. And I’ve learned that most people, deep down, are kind and generous. That nature helps us heal. That being a bit uncomfortable now and then is good for the soul.
So I want to keep telling those kinds of stories here. Small ones and big ones. From the tent. From the road. From the kitchen table. The goal is not to impress or convince. Just to share.
You’ll find expedition stories, yes. But also reflections about parenting, love, aging, and how to stay a little more awake to this strange and beautiful thing called life.
Final note
I’ve written a few versions of this post before.
If you’re curious, here they are:
This one…
…maybe it’s full of a bit more calm.
I’ve had to earn that. Through storms, through silence, and through mornings like this one.
So welcome. I’m glad you’re here.
We’ll see where this road goes.
— Mikael
Malmö, just after 5 a.m.
Coffee’s gone cold. Time to wake the girls.
This is the forth about me I have written the last fifteen years. For perspective, do read the three previous one´s here:
1st of February 2020 https://www.mikaelstrandberg.com/2025/05/18/about-me-on-the-train-to-stockholm-1st-of-february-2020/
16th of January, 2014 https://www.mikaelstrandberg.com/2020/02/01/about-me-philip-seymour-hoffman/
20th of June, 2011 https://www.mikaelstrandberg.com/2011/06/20/my-testament-of-life/
