Turning the Page: Family, Flight, and Fresh Beginnings

  The demands of Air New Zealand had reached a tipping point. Jumbo jets were now a regular part of the fleet, and the long-haul flights stretched across six time zones, leaving little room to recover between trips. I found myself rostered on a gruelling 19-day journey: Auckland – Honolulu – Los Angeles – Tahiti – Los Angeles – Honolulu – Auckland. The work was exhilarating but exhausting, and the brief periods of rest between flights offered only the barest respite. After completing consecutive trips on this roster, my body and mind protested. I visited the company doctor, who confirmed what I already knew: I needed time to recover. Granted three weeks’ leave, I returned home with a growing sense that this was a pivotal moment. The choice became clear — for my family, for Sheila, and for myself, it was time to step away. Writing my resignation letter was poignant. Eight years with Air New Zealand had shaped me, carried me across the world, and introduced me to colleagues and friends I would never forget. Yet, I knew the decision was right. Shortly after, a letter arrived from the airline expressing gratitude for my service, a gesture that eased the sting of leaving. The timing, however, was underscored by tragedy. News came of the Mount Erebus disaster in Antarctica, when Air New Zealand Flight 901 collided with the mountain, claiming the lives of 237 passengers and 20 crew. I had known many of those crew members personally, and the grief hit hard. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of life, and reinforced the sense that my family must always come first. Meanwhile, Magner Knitwear was entering a new phase of challenge and opportunity. Our agents were asking for more commercial styles — products beyond the scope of our current machines. A chance arose when a small knitwear company went on the market. The business included three commercial knitting machines and a set of sewing equipment, specialising in children’s jumpers and cardigans — exactly what our clients wanted. We acquired the business, learning quickly to operate the larger, more complex machines. The transition required relocating the business out of our home, and over several moves, we eventually settled into a fully equipped factory with ample space and a mezzanine floor. There, we assembled a small team of skilled people who became more than colleagues — they became friends. Sheila continued managing the home and the family, while contributing creatively to the business. But life was never without its hurdles. When New Zealand removed most import licensing, the market flooded with inexpensive products from overseas. Competing with such prices was difficult, especially after leaving the security of Air New Zealand’s salary. The strain took a toll on my mental health — periods of anxiety and depression crept in, and Sheila bore much of the weight alongside me. We weathered this storm through persistence, adaptation, and sheer determination. Over time, the business stabilised, allowing us to regain a sense of control and satisfaction. I also sought personal balance, taking up jogging, attending the gym, and joining philosophy classes, habits that continue to this day. Ultimately, a new opportunity arrived. A company approached us with an offer to buy Magner Knitwear. After careful consideration, we accepted. Selling the business was bittersweet — it marked the end of a chapter that had been both rewarding and exhausting. But it was also the start of a new stage in our lives, one where we could carry forward the lessons of resilience, family, and the courage to embrace change. Looking back, those years taught me that life is not only about holding on to what we create, but also knowing when to let go. Closing the chapter on Magner Knitwear was not the end, but a passage into a future where experience, wisdom, and family remained the guiding forces, regardless of what challenges lay ahead.
 When I think back on those years, I hear the hum of knitting machines, the laughter and cries of children, and the weight of choices that are both exciting and scary. Family was our steadfast support throughout the process of constructing, losing, adapting, and expanding.  Those years were a lifetime in miniature: long flights across oceans, the steady rhythm of knitting machines, the laughter, and cries of children, and the heavy weight of choices that shaped us. We had built and lost, adapted and endured, always anchored by family. Selling Magner Knitwear was not an end, but a quiet turning point — a reminder that life asks us to let go as often as it asks us to hold on. And as I looked ahead, I knew that whatever awaited, we carried forward the lessons of resilience, love, and the courage to step into the unknown.   Even as the doors of Magner Knitwear closed behind us, new possibilities quietly stirred on the horizon. The lessons we had learned — of patience, persistence, and trust in one another — were seeds waiting to grow. I didn’t yet know what form the next chapter would take, but for the first time in a long while, I felt ready to embrace it, confident that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together.