In a world where extremes pull ever harder, standing in the centre can feel like walking a tightrope, an understated act of resistance. Working in public service is like walking that line. My job is to stay neutral, to be fair to everyone, even though my own beliefs and dreams inevitably shape how I see things. I lean towards the centre, not because it’s safe, but because I believe in balance, in fixing what we already have rather than starting from scratch. In a world that’s increasingly divided, holding this ground feels like a small but steady act of courage. It’s a commitment to dialogue over division, to patience over knee-jerk reactions, and the belief that we can strengthen the wonderful world we have that already exists… rather than tearing it all down.

Staying neutral doesn’t mean being indifferent. It means listening to people from every walk of life, finding common ground even when the gap seems unbridgeable. I know my own beliefs and dreams colour how I see the world, but I hold them lightly, making room for others’ stories. This middle ground isn’t safe; it’s exposed on all sides, pulled in different directions by those who want faster, bolder change. But in an age of extremes, staying here feels like a defiance of sorts, a stance that says balance is still possible.

Political shifts, especially towards the extremes, have created an undercurrent of anxiety. These shifts are complex, fuelled by economic, social, and cultural forces that leave many feeling uncertain or even threatened. I see the “big” forces at work, reshaping all that we have ever known… while so much still feels exactly the same.
Globalisation and technology have transformed industries, causing some traditional jobs to disappear, and with them, a sense of stability. When politicians promise to restore these jobs or protect struggling industries, it can feel like a lifeline, even if those promises don’t always hold up. In times of economic fear, even a vague reassurance can feel like something to cling to.

I see this struggle up close. I understand why people turn to those promises, even when they’re half-aware they might not come true. The frustration, the sense that progress has left some behind, is real. But a part of me hopes for a different kind of answer, one that finds ways to support everyone rather than favouring only those who are easiest to reach. I believe in solutions that build on what we have, that strengthen the systems already in place, rather than starting from zero.

These days, cultural and identity-driven divides feel sharper than ever. Some politicians, especially those championing “traditional values”, suggest that the push for change is a threat. For people who feel their way of life is under siege, these messages may even feel comforting and protective. I understand the pull of that comfort, but I also believe that real strength lies in finding balance, in carving out a middle path that respects diverse identities without framing them as threats to each other.

But staying neutral isn’t easy when the issues hit so close to home. I often wonder if there’s really any middle ground left, or if the centre is only a line waiting to be erased. I do my best to listen to everyone’s story, even when their visions for the future clash with my own hope for a society rooted in empathy and fairness. My commitment to the centre isn’t about avoiding discomfort; it’s about choosing to face it head-on, knowing that understanding can only come when we make space for perspectives that challenge our own.

Distrust in institutions is growing, and as someone working within a public institution, this knowledge can feel disheartening. I believe in the potential of public service to do good, even when it’s slow, bureaucratic, or limited by compromises. It’s tough to keep faith when so many people see the work as out of touch or corrupt, but I try to rebuild trust in small ways, hoping each honest effort might add up. I remind myself that change, at its core, is often incremental, brick by brick, rather than a bulldozer. The work may be slow, but steady progress is still progress.

Social media has of course only added to the sense of division. Algorithms push content that provokes strong emotions, nudging people into echo chambers where extreme views become amplified. This makes genuine conversation and compromise harder to come by. In my work, I try to create spaces where people can talk without those digital walls between them, believing that progress comes from real conversations, from listening to each other rather than shouting across divides. In a world where polarisation feeds off attention, staying in the middle can feel like a subtle act of defiance.

Underneath it all, I think there’s a deep-seated fear of change driving much of the anxiety. Immigration, evolving demographics, shifting norms – all of it can feel overwhelming, especially to those who grew up in a different world. The idea of going back to something simpler has a strong pull, even if that past was never quite as simple as we remember.

As a parent, I understand that urge to protect what feels familiar, especially when I think about my children’s future. But I also want a world that embraces diversity, where my kids can feel comfortable amid change. Balancing that hope with an empathy for the fears of others is something I wrestle with every day. Still, I believe it’s worth the struggle. I want my children to grow up in a world where balance and resilience are seen as strengths, not weaknesses.

Sometimes, watching these shifts, I worry about the world my kids will inherit. It’s natural to want better for the next generation, and it’s easy to feel disheartened when progress seems so slow, so scattered. It often feels like we’re fighting the same battles again and again. But maybe that’s just the nature of change. It rarely arrives as fast or as sweeping as we’d like. Over the years, I’ve watched my own idealism soften under the weight of compromise, of bureaucracy, of steps taken one at a time instead of in leaps. The wheels that turn as they mark the progress of change are slow, but I still believe each generation makes its mark, no matter how subtle.

This work may not bring about the big transformations I once dreamed of, but the small shifts, the values we uphold, the conversations we insist on continuing to have – they all matter. We’re laying the foundation for the next wave of change, even if we won’t see its full impact ourselves. The fairer, kinder world I hope for may not arrive in my lifetime, but I find comfort in passing down values of patience, resilience, and justice to my children, hoping they’ll carry them forward.

For now, I keep going, holding onto hope, even if it’s just a glimmer. In a divided world, choosing to stay in the centre feels like a measured rebellion, a belief that dialogue, balance, and steady effort can still make a difference. It’s not glamorous, and it doesn’t always feel bold. But I like to think that these small, steady choices contribute to a legacy of patience, empathy, and quiet strength – qualities I hope will guide the generations to come.