A Pause Before What Comes Next

Published by Ryan Gollan / 26 December 2025

People who love the same thing will find each other.

I meant to write sooner.

In fact, I realised recently that the last thing I shared here was back in July. Somewhere between then and now, words stayed unwritten - not for lack of meaning, but because life was unfolding faster than I could pause to name it.

Before I noticed, the year was already bending toward its end.

So I’m taking this moment now, late on a quiet Boxing Day night. Not just as an update of late, but as a marker: a pause before we step into what comes next.

Back in August, The Sapphire Project reached one of its most meaningful milestones - its fifth anniversary. The dinner, the people, the shared intention in the room carried a quiet kind of power. The kind that doesn’t need immediate amplification, because it’s already felt by those who were there.

I did write about it at the time. A long piece, nearly two thousand words, trying to capture what that evening stirred in me. But I never quite pressed “publish.” Partly because it felt vulnerable. Partly because I wasn’t yet sure how much of my inner landscape needed to be shared publicly.

The line that stayed with me from that unpublished piece was simple: people who love the same thing will find each other.

In hindsight, not posting it feels appropriate.

What we’ve been building - through Sapphire and beyond, has never really been about display. It has always been about depth: creating spaces where people feel something real - connection, responsibility, care. That same spirit seemed to carry me through the months that followed.

The past stretch of time took me from Sydney to New York, Abu Dhabi, Singapore, Shanghai, Jingdezhen, Beijing and Hong Kong. On paper, it looks like momentum. Movement. Expansion. And in many ways, it was.

But this isn’t a travel diary, and it isn’t a highlight reel.

New York, in particular, held special weight. Spending time there with my mentors Susan and David Rockefeller was a reminder of a kind of leadership that doesn’t seek attention, yet shapes the long arc of things. Their continued support in Sapphire and in me personally, and their generosity with time, perspective and trust reflect a decade of guidance.

Looking back, it’s impossible not to see how much I’ve changed - not just in what I do, but in how I think, how I listen, how I choose.

What they embody is something I’ve been thinking about a lot the last few years: legacy not as inheritance, but as stewardship. A way of moving through the world anchored in values, patience and responsibility across generations.

From there, the journey continued east…

Travelling through Jingdezhen and Shanghai with Susan added another layer of perspective to the journey. We were in Shanghai in connection with the Kering Generation Award, but what stayed with me most was watching how she engages with history, craft and people - with genuine curiosity and reverence. It reinforced something I’ve always felt but am learning to articulate more clearly: real influence doesn’t rush. It listens. It honours the process. It understands time as an ally, not an obstacle.

Jingdezhen 景德镇 stayed with me deeply. Seeing hands work patiently with clay, repeating gestures refined over centuries, felt like a meditation on continuity - a reminder that some of the most enduring things are built slowly, without noise or performance. Spending time with artist Caroline Cheng, and witnessing her devotion to preserving and revitalising this heritage, brought that lesson into sharp focus.

Shanghai, though familiar to me after countless visits, felt entirely different this time. Hayley Baillie (My fearless Sapphire Co-Chair) joined me there (with two other dear friends Sarah and Jordan) for the final days, and experiencing the city through her eyes made it new again. She had been in China as early as 1986 (as a teenager) with her father Dick Smith - a journey that later became a documentary aired in Australia, and seeing Shanghai through the lens of her memories, her history and her deep connection to the city was unexpectedly moving. (and I now understand why she loves xiaolongbao so much)

In the midst of pace and intensity, there was partnership. Reflection. An internal recalibration - not just of projects, but of how we want to move forward, together.

Beijing brought me back to something even more fundamental: family.

Time spent with my grandmother (88) has a way of collapsing everything else into perspective. Sitting with her, we looked through our old photographs - moments of youth, laughter, stories half-remembered. At one point, the background music was 落了白 by 蒋雪儿 - a song about time falling gently, about love that remains even as years pass.

There were smiles, and there were also tears - not from sadness alone, but from love layered with time.

Watching the people we love gradually age has a way of rearranging our priorities. It made me reflect on the past couple of decades - the journeys taken, the lessons learned, the mistakes made, the values that stayed and the ones that quietly evolved.

Time, I realised, doesn’t ask us to rush. It asks us to pay attention.

Those moments sharpened a simple truth: time is fleeting, precious and easily traded for things that feel urgent but don’t endure. Love, in contrast, asks for nothing dramatic. Just presence. Just care.

Somewhere between these places and these people, something in me changed…...

I think the real change didn’t happen in meetings or milestones, but in recognising how much noise we’ve all grown accustomed to carrying. How easy it is to confuse movement with alignment. How often we mistake being needed everywhere for being grounded anywhere.

There were moments of deep connection and gratitude - and also moments of fatigue, solitude and emotional overload. Both are true. And both deserve to be acknowledged.

I realised that certain ambitions I once chased no longer hold the same grip. Not because they were wrong, but because they belonged to an earlier version of me.

At this stage, I’m choosing fewer paths, but walking them with greater care, alongside people who value discretion, depth and long-term thinking.

What matters more now is the integrity of pace. Depth over accumulation. Fewer things done properly, rather than many things held together by momentum alone.

This philosophy isn’t tied to one project or one chapter. It’s a way of being: a belief in quiet power, in collective care, in doing things with intention rather than urgency.

As the year comes to a close, I don’t feel the need to summarise it neatly or declare grand resolutions. Instead, I feel a sense of landing.

Landing into clearer boundaries. Into more deliberate choices. Into a deeper trust in what unfolds when things are built with patience and purpose.

Looking toward 2026, I’m not thinking in terms of scale or speed. I’m thinking in terms of alignment - of how I want to live, work and contribute. Of what deserves protection: time, trust, love. And what no longer does.

If this year taught me anything, it’s that not all progress is visible. Some of the most important shifts happen internally, long before they show up in outcomes.

So this is a moment to acknowledge what has shifted - personally and collectively - and to step forward with a little more care, clarity and restraint.

And perhaps, in a world that feels increasingly loud and divided, it’s also a quiet wish for the year ahead: that we listen more, rush less, and remember what really matters.

I’m grateful for the clarity this year deepened.

Here’s to moving forward - with intention, and with the right people.

Ryan :)