Louise Southerden
Aaron and Kaitlin Tait, both 42, met on a beach in Spain in 2004. He was a young naval officer, she a free-spirited Californian college student, but they both dreamed of changing the world.
Aaron: I first saw Kaitlin on September 11, 2004, three years after I was deployed to the Persian Gulf as an 18-year-old officer with the Australian Navy. It had been a rough three years … I’d taken some leave and was trying to outrun my PTSD by managing a nightclub in Alicante, getting wasted and sleeping with a different girl every night. But I was lost and lonely.
That afternoon, I went for a long swim across the bay. Staggering up the beach, I saw this gorgeous girl lying on her towel, reading Love in the Time of Cholera. She was surrounded by a bunch of American students, but all I could see was her. I invited them to my club, hoping she’d come, too, but she stayed on the beach. Her independence intrigued me.
Three nights later, she came in with a tall American. While he was high-fiving his buddies, I leaned over the bar and told her, “You’re incredible.” As soon as I could take a break, I jumped over the bar and led her into a storeroom where we kissed. After my shift, we went to a wine bar and talked until sunrise.
We had an amazing two months together. Then I had to leave to hitchhike around Scotland, where I was totally lovesick. A few weeks later, Kaitlin met me in Ireland on her way home and we said we loved each other. But she had another year of college and I had to do three more years in the Navy, so we made a pact: “If you think of me tomorrow, call me tomorrow.”
In Spain, we’d talked about changing the world. We both studied international politics, development and education – me as part of my officer training, Kaitlin in California, then in Sydney after she relocated in 2006 – and once I left the Navy in 2007, we flew to Nairobi. In Kenya, we ran a community project caring for 50 orphans and set up farming, microfinance and women’s projects; in Tanzania, we managed a high school for at-risk kids. Kaitlin comes from a wealthy family, but seeing her live as humbly as we did in those villages, eating beans and rice for every meal, sweating through malaria, I fell in love with her in a new way.
In early 2009, we flew to Europe for a short break and, in Paris, I got down on one knee in the sculpture garden at the Rodin Museum. She said yes, we kissed, then someone shouted, “Get off the grass!” We married in Nairobi a few weeks later. We still laugh about the fact that Edith, one of our witnesses, was named as the bride on our marriage certificate!
Kaitlin’s an exceptional mum to Finn and Atlas [aged 8 and 5, respectively], and was incredibly patient while I found myself as a father after we moved to Byron Bay in 2018. I was absent a lot, flying around the world for our non-profit, Spark [which backed community-based entrepreneurs in Africa and the Pacific], and a global, online teacher-training start-up. Now, being a better partner and father is my highest priority. We have a date night every Saturday. The boys know if we light a candle on the dining table, they have to be on their best behaviour.
This is it for me. I adore our boys and I love our life. I’m a full-time author [his first book is a memoir, Far Horizons: A Journey from War to Peace], Kaitlin advises the UN and other agencies on gender policies. But my favourite times are still when it’s just the two of us.
Kaitlin: My first impression of Aaron that day on the beach – barefoot, shirtless, with long, curly hair – was that he looked bohemian and very attractive. I had no idea he was in the military.
When I went to his club a few nights later and he leaned across the bar and said, “You’re incredible,” I thought, “Who does that?” None of the guys I’d dated in America had any romantic flair. But he was sweet and gentlemanly, too.
I can be indecisive, a bit of a chameleon – I moved around a lot with my family growing up – but Aaron always knows what he wants. He’s more driven than anyone I know, which can be annoying because I’m often a few steps behind, but in Spain, I felt a real sense of home with him. Even at 20, I knew I wanted more than a job, a marriage and a mortgage, and I loved that Aaron had the same passion for a bigger life. As soon as we said goodbye to each other in Spain, I just felt heartbroken.
Our two years in Kenya and Tanzania from 2007 to 2009 were hard, but it was a happy time. There were problems to solve every day – a lack of firewood, our head boy going to prison, students threatening to kill Aaron – but they bonded us as a couple. Aaron is always smart and capable in a crisis; in Africa, I saw him become a man who could learn, listen and be patient. I realised I’d always feel safe with him.
His proposal in Paris, in 2009, was a surprise. I was just happy to be wearing nice clothes and eating something that wasn’t rice or beans. When he stepped onto the grass behind The Thinker, I was so shocked I forgot to say yes, but I never doubted I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
Our most stressful time came in Byron Bay. Finn was a year old, we were going through multiple rounds of IVF and we’d started building a house while Aaron was selling his start-up. I’d never seen him so stressed. I thought, “Is he enjoying being a dad?” And I was worried about us.
Then, in 2022, he did an ayahuasca retreat. The night he came home, he went straight into the boys’ room and put them to bed. I could hear them all chatting and laughing. There really was an Aaron before and after ayahuasca. I love that when he sees his flaws, he takes action; he wants to grow as a person.