The Time That Will Not Return

Some victories are won on the battlefield. Others are won on a beach, under a cloudy Nordic sky, while children laugh and saltwater dries on sun-warmed skin.

A moment from yesterday’s visit to the Stockholm archipelago, just before we met up with the other families.

Yesterday, I sat on a rocky shore in the Stockholm archipelago with my family and two other like-minded families. We swam. The children played. We shared food, stories, and silence. It was one of those rare days that doesn’t scream its importance — but leaves something behind. A feeling. A memory. A piece of time that will not return.

I’ve been on the road for weeks now. First with my wife and children and their grandparents on the windy shores of Denmark’s North Sea coast. Then a visit to Germany, reconnecting with old comrades. Some days I traveled alone. Most were spent with family. All were filled with that uneasy feeling familiar to men who feel called to build something greater:

“Should I really be away right now?”

The answer — at least this time — turned out to be yes.

And that insight hit me harder than I expected.

We have a major gathering scheduled for next Saturday. It will be one of the most important events of the year for our organization. Almost everything is prepared. We have a solid team, years of experience, clear roles. But still, I felt guilty. I always do.

I love to work. I’ve spent many summers without a single day of rest. Not because I had to — but because the mission felt too important to pause. I couldn’t put it down. Not even for a day.

But this summer, something changed.

Maybe it was Udo Voigt’s death on July 17th. He was 73. A lifelong nationalist who joined the movement in 1968 and never really left it. I first met him in person in the early 2000s, and we stayed in contact through the years and worked tightly together during my time as the chairman of Europa Terra Nostra. His passing hit me harder than expected. It reminded me that even the most committed men will, one day, be gone. That every day we delay joy or presence might be one we never get back.

So I made a choice. I extended the trip. I returned to Stockholm instead of returning to my desk. I spent time not just with my own family, but with others like us — people building something parallel, something rooted in blood and belonging.

We like to say that family is the foundation of the nation. And yet many of us treat it like an afterthought. We sacrifice birthdays, dinners, summer days. We postpone connection — with our wives, our children, even our aging parents — because we believe we’re doing something more important.

But what if we’re not?

What if building something eternal requires being present in the temporal?

I’ve come to believe it does.

The world is collapsing. Our people are in retreat. Our culture is being dismantled. But none of that changes the fact that your son is only eleven once. That your daughter will only ask you to swim with her a few more summers. That your mother won’t always be there to quietly squeeze your hand and say she’s proud of you. That some conversations with your father-in-law can’t wait five more years.

Yes, the podcast has been silent these past few weeks. That’s why. And I won’t apologize for it.

Because this is the fight, too.

To stay grounded. To stay sane. To build relationships worth defending.

We are not just saving a people — we are saving our people. That starts at home. That starts with time. And time, once passed, does not return.

So no, I don’t regret stepping away.

The strength it gave me?

That comes with me into the next fight.

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