Five years ago, I volunteered to be dropped off unaccompanied on an uninhabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for sixty-days as a survival experiment. I didn’t take any food. I had no water, no tools, no knife, no lighter or equipment to help me survive in any way. In fact, to prove that I had exactly nothing up my ‘sleeve’, I was dropped off as naked as the day I was born.

As the noise of the Fijian fishing boat’s motor faded into the sound of the waves crashing into the reef, I was left standing naked on the beach. Vulnerable and literally exposed, I was struck by one overriding and overwhelming emotion: panic.

At the time, I hadn’t a clue why I was panicking, and it could easily have been attributed to the somewhat daunting survival mission that I had set myself. However, with the benefit of hindsight and time to reflect, I now know exactly what I was terrified of: being on my own.

The sixty-day ordeal came and went. It was deemed to be a success and without wanting to spoil the surprise if you’ve not read my book, Naked and Marooned, I survived. Nonetheless I must be honest with you: I would never want to be alone for that long again.

Despite the island being bountiful in coconuts and seafood, and the beaches being picturesque clichés of golden sand, I simply wasn’t able to find happiness. I could survive, exist, eat, live, breath, build, cry, vomit, and poo. But I couldn’t say I was ever truly happy. The reason for that was utter loneliness.

All sixty sunsets were wasted on me and my restlessness. I just didn’t care. And the reason I didn’t was because there was no one there to share them with me. In fact, I couldn’t have cared less. I tried to be happy on my own but I came up short, day after day.

Fast forward two years and I was lucky enough to obtain my own survival show on Discovery Channel. But as much as it was my dream job, it meant less to me when I was coming home from my adventures to an empty London flat and a microwave meal for one in front of the telly.

The irony is that the island gave me the harshest personal test as a man, one that eventually led to me finding someone. Being isolated was like a cruel mirror that wouldn’t let me look away. I came back from the ordeal so much more self-aware. And as a result I now find myself less emotionally volatile and have a far deeper sense of balance and peace in myself than previously. To be shown the true version of yourself without clouding the issue with other people’s opinions, is one of the most valuable lessons I’ve ever been given. Nevertheless, once healed, the last thing I wanted was to spend more time alone.

I now live in the countryside, am married to someone called Laura, and we have our first son on the way. The shift in how meaningful my life is makes me tear up when I dwell on it. To have a home and family to care for and protect gives a core meaning to my life that is full of love. And that inner core radiates out to everything else. I still venture away and make mad TV shows, but the difference is that I now have a foundation, a home, a loving base to return to. And that gives me my meaning in life.