- Published on
So, you move half-way across the world
To be in theatre
And drama school is over and
You find yourself... temping.
Answering phones, writing emails
Being part of the corporate cog
“Good morning, [insert company name]. One moment please-”
Transferring the call to persons unknown somewhere else in the building
And, for a bit, it was kind of fun.
Seeing the insides of buildings across London
Meeting new people
A new job every day,
But it was also exhausting
And a little depressing
So many people are just so unhappy
This daily slog.
And one day you find yourself back in the theatre,
In front of house
And it was a job you did for seven years
Once upon a time ago.
And walking into your first shift
Even though it’s a whole lifetime/a world away/10,000 miles apart
It’s like coming home
The instant familiarity of it,
The rows of seats
(A to H, no Row I so as not to confuse people, though this theatre has a Row O)
The smell of hazer
The smell of theatre dust.
The instant friendship and family that theatre people become
The not insignificant army of people that make a show happen
Consider before you’ve even sat in your seat
The book writer and composer and orchestrator and director and casting director and agents and actors and choreographer and musical director and musicians and designers and ops and builders and painters and dressers and stage managers and stage door persons and ushers and bar staff and theatre manager and a myriad of people have
Played their part
For the 7.30pm show start
And the lights go dim
And you watch the audience watching the show
And, like Amelie who turns around in the movie theatre
To see the peoples faces,
You find a joy in watching their expressions
Observing their collective laughs and moments of surprise
And although you still want,
More than anything,
To be up on that stage,
For now, this is lovely.
Being paid to be part of it all
And knowing, at least you’re in your house
And this world
With its strange hours
And lack of sunlight
And legion of folk all trying to
Make It
And the insistent dedication required to
Make It Happen
Is the exact world you want to be in.
The end.
To be in theatre
And drama school is over and
You find yourself... temping.
Answering phones, writing emails
Being part of the corporate cog
“Good morning, [insert company name]. One moment please-”
Transferring the call to persons unknown somewhere else in the building
And, for a bit, it was kind of fun.
Seeing the insides of buildings across London
Meeting new people
A new job every day,
But it was also exhausting
And a little depressing
So many people are just so unhappy
This daily slog.
And one day you find yourself back in the theatre,
In front of house
And it was a job you did for seven years
Once upon a time ago.
And walking into your first shift
Even though it’s a whole lifetime/a world away/10,000 miles apart
It’s like coming home
The instant familiarity of it,
The rows of seats
(A to H, no Row I so as not to confuse people, though this theatre has a Row O)
The smell of hazer
The smell of theatre dust.
The instant friendship and family that theatre people become
The not insignificant army of people that make a show happen
Consider before you’ve even sat in your seat
The book writer and composer and orchestrator and director and casting director and agents and actors and choreographer and musical director and musicians and designers and ops and builders and painters and dressers and stage managers and stage door persons and ushers and bar staff and theatre manager and a myriad of people have
Played their part
For the 7.30pm show start
And the lights go dim
And you watch the audience watching the show
And, like Amelie who turns around in the movie theatre
To see the peoples faces,
You find a joy in watching their expressions
Observing their collective laughs and moments of surprise
And although you still want,
More than anything,
To be up on that stage,
For now, this is lovely.
Being paid to be part of it all
And knowing, at least you’re in your house
And this world
With its strange hours
And lack of sunlight
And legion of folk all trying to
Make It
And the insistent dedication required to
Make It Happen
Is the exact world you want to be in.
The end.
- Published on
I’ve been back in London just over a month
And I’ve been feeling depressed and frustrated
And my energy levels are like a yo-yo.
One day I’m raring to go
And the next I can barely get out of bed
And I’m like
What’s the deal?!
I’m eating well, I’m exercising, I’m meditating...
Why does it still not feel right?!
And I realized,
After coffee with a lovely friend,
Who inspires me because she is down to earth
And talented
And successful
And still a wonderful person,
That the reason I have been feeling so
Bleurgh
Is because I haven’t been following my heart
I’ve been slogging away
Working long hours and only just covering my bills,
Barely,
And submitting myself for agents
And getting endlessly rejected
And feeling like I’m not the
Right Type
Because I am female and I have short hair and any other myriad of reasons of why
I am Not Suitable
And at the same time
Reading about women in the media
And becoming more and more aware
That the media has no idea how to portray women
Or anyone who isn’t a white male
And I’m trying so hard to be in this system
And understanding that
The System is All Wrong
Because women, and anyone who isn’t a white male,
Are not represented adequately in politics or on television or in the press or anywhere that has a say in how the world is run
And I had this epiphany!
WHAT AM I DOING?!?!
I came to London to follow my heart and my dreams and to be happy dammit!
And here I am
Struggling and feeling miserable and frustrated
And THIS WILL NOT DO.
So. As of right this minute! I am saying
I am DONE with The System.
I’m writing my own words. I’m following my own path.
And I CARE NOT! if it’s not “the right way” or “the way it’s supposed to be done” or "not what women in their late twenties are supposed to be doing”
It’s my life
And it’s now or never.
I ain’t gonna live forever!
So I’m taking a deep breath
And taking the path less traveled (by me)
And I’m going to
Trust my instincts
And fly confidently in the direction of my dreams.
The end.
And I’ve been feeling depressed and frustrated
And my energy levels are like a yo-yo.
One day I’m raring to go
And the next I can barely get out of bed
And I’m like
What’s the deal?!
I’m eating well, I’m exercising, I’m meditating...
Why does it still not feel right?!
And I realized,
After coffee with a lovely friend,
Who inspires me because she is down to earth
And talented
And successful
And still a wonderful person,
That the reason I have been feeling so
Bleurgh
Is because I haven’t been following my heart
I’ve been slogging away
Working long hours and only just covering my bills,
Barely,
And submitting myself for agents
And getting endlessly rejected
And feeling like I’m not the
Right Type
Because I am female and I have short hair and any other myriad of reasons of why
I am Not Suitable
And at the same time
Reading about women in the media
And becoming more and more aware
That the media has no idea how to portray women
Or anyone who isn’t a white male
And I’m trying so hard to be in this system
And understanding that
The System is All Wrong
Because women, and anyone who isn’t a white male,
Are not represented adequately in politics or on television or in the press or anywhere that has a say in how the world is run
And I had this epiphany!
WHAT AM I DOING?!?!
I came to London to follow my heart and my dreams and to be happy dammit!
And here I am
Struggling and feeling miserable and frustrated
And THIS WILL NOT DO.
So. As of right this minute! I am saying
I am DONE with The System.
I’m writing my own words. I’m following my own path.
And I CARE NOT! if it’s not “the right way” or “the way it’s supposed to be done” or "not what women in their late twenties are supposed to be doing”
It’s my life
And it’s now or never.
I ain’t gonna live forever!
So I’m taking a deep breath
And taking the path less traveled (by me)
And I’m going to
Trust my instincts
And fly confidently in the direction of my dreams.
The end.
- Published on
The first twenty-three years of my life
Were spent entirely
In Australia.
I didn’t even own a passport until I was twenty-three.
And all I wanted
More than anything in the world
Was to see it.
To be in the world and meeting people and traveling to far off lands.
And at twenty-three years, plus nine months,
I finally left the land girt by sea
And ventured to the
Land of Overseas
It’s funny to imagine that twenty-three year old
Walking through the Departure Gate
Hoping and trusting that wonderful adventures lay ahead.
That year she turned twenty-four in Paris
And spent the day cycling through Parisian streets
And eating lunch in the gardens of a French palace.
The following year she turned twenty-five in San Francisco,
Ate nachos and got engaged,
And the next day, cycled across the Golden Gate Bridge
Apprehensive that the any-moment-now Quake would send her plunging to her death.
The following year she turned twenty-six in Sydney
And sang on stage
In a band with parents and teachers from her sister’s school.
She was no longer engaged,
But knew she was going back to places far away.
And the following year she turned twenty-seven in London
And her aunt spoilt her rotten
With a day-long adventure of food and sights and a play and cupcakes
That ended after midnight,
And she felt free and in the right place.
And the following year she turned twenty-eight in Fort Collins, Colorado
And walked around a Buddhist temple in the mountains
And ate a picnic at sunset by the river
With a boy who was wise and loving and strong.
And she reflected on the four years since the overseas adventure had begun.
And she realized she had done many of the things she had first set out to do,
Go overseas. Live. Work. Play. Fall in love.
And she wondered,
What is Next?
Where will she be at twenty-nine?
And she whispered a prayer to her heart, and said
Hold on.
It all comes true, I promise.
The end.
Were spent entirely
In Australia.
I didn’t even own a passport until I was twenty-three.
And all I wanted
More than anything in the world
Was to see it.
To be in the world and meeting people and traveling to far off lands.
And at twenty-three years, plus nine months,
I finally left the land girt by sea
And ventured to the
Land of Overseas
It’s funny to imagine that twenty-three year old
Walking through the Departure Gate
Hoping and trusting that wonderful adventures lay ahead.
That year she turned twenty-four in Paris
And spent the day cycling through Parisian streets
And eating lunch in the gardens of a French palace.
The following year she turned twenty-five in San Francisco,
Ate nachos and got engaged,
And the next day, cycled across the Golden Gate Bridge
Apprehensive that the any-moment-now Quake would send her plunging to her death.
The following year she turned twenty-six in Sydney
And sang on stage
In a band with parents and teachers from her sister’s school.
She was no longer engaged,
But knew she was going back to places far away.
And the following year she turned twenty-seven in London
And her aunt spoilt her rotten
With a day-long adventure of food and sights and a play and cupcakes
That ended after midnight,
And she felt free and in the right place.
And the following year she turned twenty-eight in Fort Collins, Colorado
And walked around a Buddhist temple in the mountains
And ate a picnic at sunset by the river
With a boy who was wise and loving and strong.
And she reflected on the four years since the overseas adventure had begun.
And she realized she had done many of the things she had first set out to do,
Go overseas. Live. Work. Play. Fall in love.
And she wondered,
What is Next?
Where will she be at twenty-nine?
And she whispered a prayer to her heart, and said
Hold on.
It all comes true, I promise.
The end.
- Published on
Imagine Two-years-ago-me
Sitting in her room
In suburban Sydney
Wishing hoping for something different
And following Amy Krouse Rosenthal
And being inspired by what she had to say
Her interactive works of art
And flashmobs and acts of kindness and moments centered around
The Bean, Chicago.
And finding
Today Me
Sitting on the grass opposite
The Bean, Chicago
And feeling like
Oh. My. Goodness. Look where we have come!
And sitting in the public park
On a glorious late summer's day
And people watching
There's a family on a picnic blanket
Mom and two sons
All reading books,
There's a grown-up mother and daughter
Just lounging on the grass
Looking up at the sky, the clouds, the shimmer of trees
The mother has white hair and permanent wrinkles around her mouth
The daughter has brown hair and similar, though less pronounced wrinkles,
And every so often the daughter turns her head to her mother.
There's a mother and baby,
The baby is old enough to sit up on her own, but not yet old enough to be forming words
She can hear the band in the distance, but can't quite figure out where the sound is coming from.
The music excites her and she points to the sky and smiles and exclaims,
"Oh!"
She toddles around on the grass, smiles shyly at strangers who smile at her, and occasionally stops to bop along to the distant music-
She is distracted by another baby, a boy a few months older than her,
He is oblivious to her existence but she smiles and waves at him anyway,
"Look at us! We. Are. So. Clever!"
And then finding
Today-Me
Sitting in a car
With a patient, loving boy
Driving across the vastness that is America
And seeing all the corn and soybeans and giant billboards
And literally driving into the most glorious of sunsets
Where the sun is an impossible giant orange ball
And suddenly you are in
Colorado
And there are mountains in the west
And the streets are wide
And the sky is so incredibly blue
And bands are playing in the small parks
And the lady who sells chocolate honey at the farmer's market is an actual witch
Who knows how to brew concoctions that taste like heaven
And the man from the winery is willing with his samples
And the fruit tastes so good you can't believe you ever lived without it
And you breathe in the warm dry air
And you wonder
What is next on the adventure?
The end.
Sitting in her room
In suburban Sydney
Wishing hoping for something different
And following Amy Krouse Rosenthal
And being inspired by what she had to say
Her interactive works of art
And flashmobs and acts of kindness and moments centered around
The Bean, Chicago.
And finding
Today Me
Sitting on the grass opposite
The Bean, Chicago
And feeling like
Oh. My. Goodness. Look where we have come!
And sitting in the public park
On a glorious late summer's day
And people watching
There's a family on a picnic blanket
Mom and two sons
All reading books,
There's a grown-up mother and daughter
Just lounging on the grass
Looking up at the sky, the clouds, the shimmer of trees
The mother has white hair and permanent wrinkles around her mouth
The daughter has brown hair and similar, though less pronounced wrinkles,
And every so often the daughter turns her head to her mother.
There's a mother and baby,
The baby is old enough to sit up on her own, but not yet old enough to be forming words
She can hear the band in the distance, but can't quite figure out where the sound is coming from.
The music excites her and she points to the sky and smiles and exclaims,
"Oh!"
She toddles around on the grass, smiles shyly at strangers who smile at her, and occasionally stops to bop along to the distant music-
She is distracted by another baby, a boy a few months older than her,
He is oblivious to her existence but she smiles and waves at him anyway,
"Look at us! We. Are. So. Clever!"
And then finding
Today-Me
Sitting in a car
With a patient, loving boy
Driving across the vastness that is America
And seeing all the corn and soybeans and giant billboards
And literally driving into the most glorious of sunsets
Where the sun is an impossible giant orange ball
And suddenly you are in
Colorado
And there are mountains in the west
And the streets are wide
And the sky is so incredibly blue
And bands are playing in the small parks
And the lady who sells chocolate honey at the farmer's market is an actual witch
Who knows how to brew concoctions that taste like heaven
And the man from the winery is willing with his samples
And the fruit tastes so good you can't believe you ever lived without it
And you breathe in the warm dry air
And you wonder
What is next on the adventure?
The end.
- Published on
This summer
I ran rehearsals and taught singing lessons
And led a meditation session in the Igloo overlooking the forest.
I worked and played and hung out with the most wonderful people.
We sang Persichetti and Handel and Traditional and Anonymous.
We read sheet music and improvised and played by ear.
We ate cookies and mac and cheese and pizza and toasted sandwiches
And gobbled up the fresh fruit like we would never see it again.
We stargazed and ran through cooling rain and shivered through raging storms.
I did office duty
And counseled homesick kids
And had long d&m's with campers
I sat in on the Philosophy Club and discussed the existence of god and morality and ego.
I stayed up for late night techs
And got up early to make sure the keyboard was ready for rehearsals.
I helped to stage
6 music concerts
2 musicals
And 1 peace night
And I managed to write my thesis.
I discovered I have more skills than I thought
I relished in what I still have to learn.
I had a tough summer. I had a wonderful summer.
It was emotional and inspiring and exhausting and blissful all at once.
And at the end, I packed up the car with my boy
And drove off, literally into the sunset,
Heading west for the next adventure,
Having no idea what is next.
The end.
I ran rehearsals and taught singing lessons
And led a meditation session in the Igloo overlooking the forest.
I worked and played and hung out with the most wonderful people.
We sang Persichetti and Handel and Traditional and Anonymous.
We read sheet music and improvised and played by ear.
We ate cookies and mac and cheese and pizza and toasted sandwiches
And gobbled up the fresh fruit like we would never see it again.
We stargazed and ran through cooling rain and shivered through raging storms.
I did office duty
And counseled homesick kids
And had long d&m's with campers
I sat in on the Philosophy Club and discussed the existence of god and morality and ego.
I stayed up for late night techs
And got up early to make sure the keyboard was ready for rehearsals.
I helped to stage
6 music concerts
2 musicals
And 1 peace night
And I managed to write my thesis.
I discovered I have more skills than I thought
I relished in what I still have to learn.
I had a tough summer. I had a wonderful summer.
It was emotional and inspiring and exhausting and blissful all at once.
And at the end, I packed up the car with my boy
And drove off, literally into the sunset,
Heading west for the next adventure,
Having no idea what is next.
The end.
- Published on
from http://www.wfsb.com/
I love storms.
The smell,
The fizzle crackle in the air,
And the sound of rain.
But tonight I was nervous.
Warnings of flash floods and tornadoes across the state,
And being a grown-up in a place of children,
I felt a responsibility.
A couple of the campers I work with
Are afraid of storms,
And I came across one of my theatre babies
In the theatre,
Huddled over
Tense and barely breathing.
I sat with her,
Offered my hand
And she clasped it tight.
And every time the thunder roared
She held her breath and shivered.
We sat together,
And chatted through the storm.
I joked about singing My Favorite Things
It seemed appropriate.
And we giggled at the thought of becoming the cliche.
And to help her breathe
I told her breathing deeply would be like practicing diaphragm exercises.
If she wanted to play Elphaba, she’d better get practicing.
It made her laugh. She breathed, and trembled a little less with every thunder clap.
The storm passed.
I ended up sitting in the Music Shed with a couple of campers
And my friend with a beautiful wooden flute.
Occasional patters of rain danced across the roof.
My friend played his flute.
And I felt calm.
And I felt that this is what being a grown-up must be like.
To be put your own fears aside
And help the smaller ones around you.
The end.
The smell,
The fizzle crackle in the air,
And the sound of rain.
But tonight I was nervous.
Warnings of flash floods and tornadoes across the state,
And being a grown-up in a place of children,
I felt a responsibility.
A couple of the campers I work with
Are afraid of storms,
And I came across one of my theatre babies
In the theatre,
Huddled over
Tense and barely breathing.
I sat with her,
Offered my hand
And she clasped it tight.
And every time the thunder roared
She held her breath and shivered.
We sat together,
And chatted through the storm.
I joked about singing My Favorite Things
It seemed appropriate.
And we giggled at the thought of becoming the cliche.
And to help her breathe
I told her breathing deeply would be like practicing diaphragm exercises.
If she wanted to play Elphaba, she’d better get practicing.
It made her laugh. She breathed, and trembled a little less with every thunder clap.
The storm passed.
I ended up sitting in the Music Shed with a couple of campers
And my friend with a beautiful wooden flute.
Occasional patters of rain danced across the roof.
My friend played his flute.
And I felt calm.
And I felt that this is what being a grown-up must be like.
To be put your own fears aside
And help the smaller ones around you.
The end.
- Published on
I’m so proud of my kids tonight
For the past three weeks:
“Project! Articulate! Every word is important!”
Daily drills.
Feel your feet. Activate the breathe. Let go.
I’ve felt a bit like Mama Rose
“Sing out, Louise!”
Hoping I’m not nearly as crazy as she was.
But I get why she does it.
You can see the potential.
Hear the voice that’s dying to come out
And it’s just hidden by inhibition
Or from lack of ever trying.
And you sit in on the rehearsals.
And you work through the score.
And you stay up late
And you wake up early
And you hope that all the hard work will be worth it
And you get to show night
And suddenly there’s that extra element
That is simply not available in rehearsal,
The audience.
And your children lift their game,
And you sit watching their show
(It’s theirs now, they own it.)
And you feel like you’re in one of those TV shows
And you’re watching the show like a montage
Except you know every word
Every bit of blocking
And the director is sitting to your left
And every now and then you look to each other and laugh
Or worry about a delayed cue
Or a missed line
And you hear the audience go wild at the end
Cheering your kids
And you feel an immense sense of pride
In your work.
And you thank each and every actor
For all the lessons they have taught you.
The end.
For the past three weeks:
“Project! Articulate! Every word is important!”
Daily drills.
Feel your feet. Activate the breathe. Let go.
I’ve felt a bit like Mama Rose
“Sing out, Louise!”
Hoping I’m not nearly as crazy as she was.
But I get why she does it.
You can see the potential.
Hear the voice that’s dying to come out
And it’s just hidden by inhibition
Or from lack of ever trying.
And you sit in on the rehearsals.
And you work through the score.
And you stay up late
And you wake up early
And you hope that all the hard work will be worth it
And you get to show night
And suddenly there’s that extra element
That is simply not available in rehearsal,
The audience.
And your children lift their game,
And you sit watching their show
(It’s theirs now, they own it.)
And you feel like you’re in one of those TV shows
And you’re watching the show like a montage
Except you know every word
Every bit of blocking
And the director is sitting to your left
And every now and then you look to each other and laugh
Or worry about a delayed cue
Or a missed line
And you hear the audience go wild at the end
Cheering your kids
And you feel an immense sense of pride
In your work.
And you thank each and every actor
For all the lessons they have taught you.
The end.
- Published on
A little while ago
Gandhi said
Be the change
More recently
Annie Leonard said
We are living in an economy
That is toxic at every level
And she actively worked to make change
And made a movie called
The Story of Stuff
And uploaded it to YouTube
And it was very inspiring
And immensely popular
But she, and her team, didn't stop there
They kept investigating
"How do we make this place better?"
And now, in her new movie
The Story of Change
Annie Leonard talks about how to make the world less toxic
It's not just about changing our shopping habits
That's a start, yes. But action needs to be bigger.
It's about
An Idea + We + Action =
Change
It's about
We Can Make a Difference
We Can Make the World
More Livable
At the end of the film there is a quiz
What kind of
Change-maker are you?
And I took the quiz
And it said,
I am a
Resister
Which ironically, I resisted.
I'm not a resister...
I do want the world to be a better place
I want to live in a world that is not toxic
I want to be part of an economy that is not destructive
But aside from my own personal habits
Recycling, eating organic produce where possible, using natural products where possible,
I haven't spoken to any corporations
I haven't protested out loud
I haven't named names
I haven't stood in front of a CEO and said
Please stop what you're doing.
But perhaps now is the time for me to change
So that I may be the change
I want to see
The end. Or not.
Gandhi said
Be the change
More recently
Annie Leonard said
We are living in an economy
That is toxic at every level
And she actively worked to make change
And made a movie called
The Story of Stuff
And uploaded it to YouTube
And it was very inspiring
And immensely popular
But she, and her team, didn't stop there
They kept investigating
"How do we make this place better?"
And now, in her new movie
The Story of Change
Annie Leonard talks about how to make the world less toxic
It's not just about changing our shopping habits
That's a start, yes. But action needs to be bigger.
It's about
An Idea + We + Action =
Change
It's about
We Can Make a Difference
We Can Make the World
More Livable
At the end of the film there is a quiz
What kind of
Change-maker are you?
And I took the quiz
And it said,
I am a
Resister
Which ironically, I resisted.
I'm not a resister...
I do want the world to be a better place
I want to live in a world that is not toxic
I want to be part of an economy that is not destructive
But aside from my own personal habits
Recycling, eating organic produce where possible, using natural products where possible,
I haven't spoken to any corporations
I haven't protested out loud
I haven't named names
I haven't stood in front of a CEO and said
Please stop what you're doing.
But perhaps now is the time for me to change
So that I may be the change
I want to see
The end. Or not.
- Published on
Helene and I performing the Swedish frog song. Photo by Rene Macione
The camp where I work was founded by pacifists, people who had endured the horrors of Nazi Germany. Today our place of work is staffed by people from all over the world Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Canada, Poland, Czech Republic, Sweden... As a
result, we don't celebrate Independence Day, we celebrate Diversity Day. In the evening the international staff and international campers share their cultures, their music and stories and tidbits of information that make their cultures different to the American one. But even Diversity Day makes me uncomfortable. I feel anxious around displays of nationalism. And so, I wrote and shared the following.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. Allow me to explain. I am Australian. I am Spanish. I am descendent from Filipinos, Dutch, and Polish. I have blood relatives in Spain, Switzerland, England, America, Canada, the Philippines, and Australia. I speak un pocito Español. I grew up in Sydney, approximately 10,000 miles from this place. Where I come from we wear thongs instead of flip flops, the forest is called the bush. We eat lollies and not candy, and wear singlets instead of tank tops. We say it is hot outside, and not it is hot out. I call my friends on a mobile not a cell, We don’t walk upside down. Nor do our toilet bowls flush in the opposite direction... I don’t think. I never rode a kangaroo to school. I never owned a pet koala. I never met Steve Irwin.
I’m rather uncomfortable with declarations of nationalistic pride. I grew up in a country whose national day of pride is Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of Australian and New Zealander troops on the shores of Galipoli, Turkey, and were subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. Now we’re friends with the Turkish, and we eat their delicious foods and every year thousands more Australians congregate at Galipoli to remember the fallen from nearly a hundred years before.
I’m a raging pacifist. I don’t get war. I really don’t. Once upon a time the British fought the Americans. Then they decided to stop. Now they are allies. Now they laugh at each other from across the pond. Seventy years ago my country was shooting Turks, and Germans, and Italians. Seventy years later I grew up eating pita bread, pretzels, and pizza. When my grandparents were teenagers they were sheltering from Japanese bombs and fearing death. My grandmother now drives a Japanese car, we all eat sushi, and my class at school almost had more Japanese students than Australian.
I don’t get displays of nationalistic pride. They make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent the
last five years traveling the world. I’ve been to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Wales, and the US of A. Now I may have only begun to scrape the surface of the metaphorical travel iceberg but here’s what I’ve discovered in my travels. No one place is better or worse than any other. America is no more the land of the free than Australia is the land of sunshine. In all those places I’ve seen people going about their daily lives. They wake up, they eat food, they go to the toilet, they spend the day making ends meet, if they’re lucky they’ll have time to play. At the end of the day they gather with their families and then they go to sleep. There are variations on this theme. Yes, many people have less other people. Yes, you have the occasional people that spend their days plotting the demise of other people who aren’t their people. But you know what? Most people just happened upon this here crazy planet, and they’re doing the best that they can.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. I care that you treat me decently just because. I care that I can be open to cultures and traditions and foods and that aren’t my own. It may be naive. It may be simplistic. But we’ve got to start somewhere. I hope you’ll care less where I come from. At the end of the day, let’s just exist on this planet together. Let’s draw on several thousand years of human history and share the foods that our ancestors ate. Let’s find a way to share life, liberty, and the pursuit of happyness in all its rich diversity.
The end.
result, we don't celebrate Independence Day, we celebrate Diversity Day. In the evening the international staff and international campers share their cultures, their music and stories and tidbits of information that make their cultures different to the American one. But even Diversity Day makes me uncomfortable. I feel anxious around displays of nationalism. And so, I wrote and shared the following.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. Allow me to explain. I am Australian. I am Spanish. I am descendent from Filipinos, Dutch, and Polish. I have blood relatives in Spain, Switzerland, England, America, Canada, the Philippines, and Australia. I speak un pocito Español. I grew up in Sydney, approximately 10,000 miles from this place. Where I come from we wear thongs instead of flip flops, the forest is called the bush. We eat lollies and not candy, and wear singlets instead of tank tops. We say it is hot outside, and not it is hot out. I call my friends on a mobile not a cell, We don’t walk upside down. Nor do our toilet bowls flush in the opposite direction... I don’t think. I never rode a kangaroo to school. I never owned a pet koala. I never met Steve Irwin.
I’m rather uncomfortable with declarations of nationalistic pride. I grew up in a country whose national day of pride is Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of Australian and New Zealander troops on the shores of Galipoli, Turkey, and were subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. Now we’re friends with the Turkish, and we eat their delicious foods and every year thousands more Australians congregate at Galipoli to remember the fallen from nearly a hundred years before.
I’m a raging pacifist. I don’t get war. I really don’t. Once upon a time the British fought the Americans. Then they decided to stop. Now they are allies. Now they laugh at each other from across the pond. Seventy years ago my country was shooting Turks, and Germans, and Italians. Seventy years later I grew up eating pita bread, pretzels, and pizza. When my grandparents were teenagers they were sheltering from Japanese bombs and fearing death. My grandmother now drives a Japanese car, we all eat sushi, and my class at school almost had more Japanese students than Australian.
I don’t get displays of nationalistic pride. They make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent the
last five years traveling the world. I’ve been to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Wales, and the US of A. Now I may have only begun to scrape the surface of the metaphorical travel iceberg but here’s what I’ve discovered in my travels. No one place is better or worse than any other. America is no more the land of the free than Australia is the land of sunshine. In all those places I’ve seen people going about their daily lives. They wake up, they eat food, they go to the toilet, they spend the day making ends meet, if they’re lucky they’ll have time to play. At the end of the day they gather with their families and then they go to sleep. There are variations on this theme. Yes, many people have less other people. Yes, you have the occasional people that spend their days plotting the demise of other people who aren’t their people. But you know what? Most people just happened upon this here crazy planet, and they’re doing the best that they can.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. I care that you treat me decently just because. I care that I can be open to cultures and traditions and foods and that aren’t my own. It may be naive. It may be simplistic. But we’ve got to start somewhere. I hope you’ll care less where I come from. At the end of the day, let’s just exist on this planet together. Let’s draw on several thousand years of human history and share the foods that our ancestors ate. Let’s find a way to share life, liberty, and the pursuit of happyness in all its rich diversity.
The end.
- Published on
It's a very ancient saying
But a true and honest thought
That if you become a teacher
By your pupils you'll be taught
I've learnt that in spades these past few weeks
Every moment of jaw tension
Every freak out at "not being able to"
Every moment of self-imposed fear
I see myself in my students
Understand what they're going through
It's exciting to watch them make progress
It's frustrating when they repeat the same mistakes over and over
It's wonderful when they have their own "ah ha!" moments
They lead me to my own
Getting to know you
I'm learning
Me
Realizing everything my own teachers were drilling into me over the past year
The only thing holding me back is myself
How many times do I have to discover that?!
Again, and again, and again it seems
The strange relief of it.
It's not something I'm not getting
It's not something impossible and out of my reach
It's the voice in my own head that keeps saying
You can't, you can't, you can't because.
Because of X.
Because of Y. Because of Z.
It's all the same.
Tell the voice it's not serving you right now.
Focus on the work.
Do the exercises.
And trust, trust, trust that you'll get there
Eventually.
The end.
But a true and honest thought
That if you become a teacher
By your pupils you'll be taught
I've learnt that in spades these past few weeks
Every moment of jaw tension
Every freak out at "not being able to"
Every moment of self-imposed fear
I see myself in my students
Understand what they're going through
It's exciting to watch them make progress
It's frustrating when they repeat the same mistakes over and over
It's wonderful when they have their own "ah ha!" moments
They lead me to my own
Getting to know you
I'm learning
Me
Realizing everything my own teachers were drilling into me over the past year
The only thing holding me back is myself
How many times do I have to discover that?!
Again, and again, and again it seems
The strange relief of it.
It's not something I'm not getting
It's not something impossible and out of my reach
It's the voice in my own head that keeps saying
You can't, you can't, you can't because.
Because of X.
Because of Y. Because of Z.
It's all the same.
Tell the voice it's not serving you right now.
Focus on the work.
Do the exercises.
And trust, trust, trust that you'll get there
Eventually.
The end.