Everything has its time. Even a life's work.

We're currently staying overnight on a farm in Namibia. About 1,000 hectares of bushveld, roughly 160 kilometers from Etosha National Park. From the terrace, you look out over a waterhole and into the distance.

The farm is run by a couple in its fifth generation. Both are now in their seventies.

After checking in, we sit together for a while. They tell us about the farm. And about the fact that they want to sell. One million euros. Buildings, vehicles, and equipment included. Later, in the guest book, we read that hardly any guests have been here in recent weeks.

You can tell how much care once went into building this place. At the same time, time has left its mark.

Something built over generations eventually also needs the right moment for handing it on.

As we drive on, another question stays with me. Not the one about the price.

But the one about how you know the time has come to pass on a life's work.

Not because you no longer can. But because you still want time yourself to experience the next chapter.