I’ve always been a learner—curious, studious, and passionate by temperament. At times, it has felt more like an obsession than a strength. The rhythm of learning, the unravelling of new ideas, the delight in fresh perspectives—it energises me. But looking back, I realise that one particular decision set in motion a pattern that has shaped my life far more than I ever anticipated.
The decision was simple, really. After four years working in IT, I realised God and people were my passion, not technology. So I enrolled in a Theology degree—not with any career in mind, just because I wanted to understand the Bible more deeply. I thought I was pursuing knowledge. Instead, I walked into a vocation. That degree led to twenty years as a parish minister—work I loved and would have gladly continued indefinitely.
But the hunger didn’t stop. I didn’t know what I was looking for; I just knew I needed something more practical, more attuned to the relational and organisational dynamics of leadership. That exploratory impulse led me through different programs and institutions, each one helping me refine my focus.
One degree led to another. A doctoral thesis on Preaching after Christendom unlocked the unexpected opportunity to lecture in Theology, a role I took up for twelve years. But with it came the discomfort of knowing I had no formal education training. So—true to form—I went back to study again, this time in professional and tertiary education.
What surprises me most is that I never chased outcomes. I studied to learn, not to leverage. Yet, every time, new opportunities emerged—unanticipated doors swinging open simply because I had walked through another one first. I didn’t set out to build a career. I set out to learn—and the ladder assembled itself underneath my feet.
Through it all, I’ve learned that the desire to learn is not something to be managed or suppressed. It is a compass. It doesn’t always tell me the destination, but it does point me toward growth. It fuels my role as an explorer and a continuous improver. It makes space for newness. It pushes back against stagnation.
I don’t know if or when I’ll study again. But the restlessness remains. The delight in discovery remains. The willingness to be surprised by the path remains.
And that one decision—to study, just because I wanted to—was the spark that lit it all.
I studied theology
just to learn—
not to lead,
not to change direction,
only to understand
what stirred my heart.
But the path unfolded:
ministry,
teaching,
degrees I never expected
in places I hadn’t planned.
I chased no ladder—
only questions.
Yet with each step,
a door opened.
Now I know:
the hunger to learn
isn’t a detour.
It is the road.
The Afterword 
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