Mary Poppins came into my life
Because she floated daily
Into our loungeroom
The VHS watched and rewound and re-watched
So endlessly 
That the tape eventually died 
There has always been Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane
The toys have always flown into their cupboards with a click
Julie Andrews has always been Mary Poppins 
 
Years later 
On an excursion for Writing History
A pre-honours class in research and writing
The librarian at the State Library has pulled out a stack of papers 
Random examples of the items held there
The letters of P.L. Travers 
Did you know that the author of the Mary Poppins books,
Upon which the movie was based,
Was an Australian? 
That there were disagreements between the
original author and Disney
(Corporation betraying the
Writer) 
 
Graduation, a world trip, heart break, meditation, later
I was running in a park
And found a statue of Mary Poppins
(Unveiled by my aunt!) 
To commemorate that P.L. Travers had lived in Sydney
Just a few blocks from my house 
 
Another time
Listening to Mornings with Margaret
A fascinating interview with Valerie Lawson
About the biography she has written 
The thought, “I must read that”
Filed away and forgotten 
 
Later, in London 
Wandering through the library 
And Valerie Lawson’s Mary Poppins She Wrote 
Sitting there on the shelf
 
And from the woods of Virginia I read
P.L. Travers
Never identified as Australian
Had left and, but for one short visit, never returned
Felt New York was her spiritual home 
Hated the movie 
Never found love
Never found peace
Was eternally searching 
 
Knowing the postscript is delicious 
And heart-breaking
And joyous 
 
Where do I fit? 
I’m no P.L. Travers
I haven’t even been published yet
And yet something stirs
Identifies 
 
And today,
The sky is blue.
 
The end.

This is my third Christmas away from “home”
(I.e. the place where I spent the first 23 Christmases of my life)
With technology and an internet connection
No one seems so far away 
I can instantaneously see pictures of my family
Celebrating
It’s both a relief and heart breaking 
A relief to be away from the stress of family politics
Heart breaking to be away from the familiarity (ha!) of it all. 
 
Until I went traveling 
All my Christmases had been celebrated in summer
Seafood and outdoor lunches and cricket
And then my first white Christmas
Spent on Nantucket
Candles in the windows
A delicious chill in the air 
Suddenly the traditions all made sense
The lights, the roast, the warmth of it all
 
And I love being overseas
The thrill of being able to walk through Covent Garden 
And hearing a beautiful soprano voice
Laura Abella 
Filtering up through the rush
The smell of mulled wine and chilly air 
The rustle of people 
Laughing at the giant sparkling Rudolph outside the Royal Opera House
The massive Lego advent calendar opposite the
Actor’s Church
The sparkle of lights in London 
 
And arriving at my love’s house
After 16 hours of travel
And finding he has strung fairy lights across the entire front porch
Last year he came to London
And we had Christmas dinner in a pub
Friends from Turkey, Greece, America, and Australia
Combining and sharing and making our own traditions
We spent Christmas Day eating food and watching movies and the entirety of Firefly
It was lovely
This year we’re in America with his parents
And we’re going to see a movie
And eat Chinese 
And enjoy the quiet
 
And wonder what next year will bring
And hope to remember to be mindful
And bring peace and love and light and joy 
No matter the day of the year 
And thinking of all the people I know across the globe
And wondering how they are,
And, no matter what they’re doing
Or how they celebrate,
Wishing them a very merry Christmas, now. 

Sitting in my robes in Royal Festival Hall
Graduating with a Masters
I feel like I'm six years old playing make believe
The robe keeps slipping off my shoulders
The ridiculous hat keeps sliding down my forehead
It doesn't feel real
This past year. I still can't quite put it into words.

I thought that with my Masters
I would be amazing,
But I still don't feel like I am.
I still can't belt an E
I have worse stage fright now than when I started
I want to be brilliant yesterday
I want to be wonderful super fantastic coolness remarkable
Right now!
What does it mean exactly to "have potential"?
What do they see that I, still, after all this, can't access?

What do I want to be when I grow up?
I want to be Mary Poppins and Maureen Johnson and Miss Honey
I want to sing and dance and act and write
What I really want is to play roles I've written myself
Perform my own material
I want to travel
I want own my own house
I want to live in the same continent as my love
I want to sing and be able to write good music
I want the praise of my superiors and my cohort
I want to feel accepted
I want to be happy within myself and proud of my own achievements

What do you do with a BA in English (/History)?
You travel the world
You fall in love
You have visions of living in happily married bliss on the leafy north shore
And you have your heart broken
And you re-assess
And you say "fuck it".
And you leave everything you know and move to a whole other country
Where everything is the same but different
And you deny that you're experiencing culture shock because you are already
Widely Traveled and Older than the average student
And have Life Experience

But really, you're still young
You're still at the beginning
Even though actually you're already part of the way
And actually,
No one knows what is next
No idea.
It's what makes people scared, greedy, snide, arrogant
Everything
Because none of us knows what is next
Yes we can dream, we can plan,
VITAL!

But actually, we have no idea
It doesn't scare me
(actually it does,
but, in this moment, it's liberating)
I can do whatever I choose.
 
The Principal of the School at Graduation
Do something every day that
scares you
Today, again, I choose to blaze a trail of my own
To remember to stop looking around me and totally freaking out that the other peoples paths look better or different to mine
In the words of Elle Woods
I've got to find my way 
In the words of Sondheim
It's our time, breathe it in, worlds to change and worlds to win

What do you do with a BA in English (/History)?
You get an MA in Music Theatre,
You take a deep breath
And -

I grew up with Alanis 
Jagged Little Pill was one of the first albums I ever owned
And seeing her live
For the first time 
Was exhilarating and touching and strange 
It wasn’t just Present Me
Standing in the middle of the crowd
In this vast venue in London
 
It was thirteen year old me
Standing in the large school hall
Singing “Hand in my Pocket” 
And my classmates laughing because I couldn’t swear
And because it was so incredibly, painfully, obvious that I would never, ever, flick a cigarette 
I think it was one of the first times I had ever sung solo
And the lady who had asked me to sing was so encouraging
I went home and re-listened to Jagged Little Pill to see what else I could learn 
 
It was twenty-something year old me
Standing in the practise rooms above the Student Union
And channelling my anger at my ex
So I could sing “You Oughta Know” 
I knew the song well by then
But the lyrics meant more
 
It was twenty-something year old me 
Walking the Camino
And re-calling that Alanis had done some sort of pilgrimage to India 
And had then released Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie 
And listening to it again 
And as I walked 
“Thank u” resonated
And it changed the entire outlook on my life 
 
It was teenage me 
Watching Dogma and seeing Alanis play God
(Controversial because in Christianity, God is always a He) 
And realizing for the first time
God could be female 
 
And then present day me
With all these memories
From time and space almost forgotten 
Standing there surrounded by strangers
And Alanis
As gorgeous and talented as I’d hoped she’d be 
 
But with a twist
This feminine rock chick with biting lyrics and a fierce sound 
Had stage fright.
She barely looked at the audience for the first
two songs
She roamed around the stage
Her amazing hair swishing behind her 
She settled in though
And from the beginning her voice 
Was even more powerful than I thought
Her belt is phenomenal
She didn’t talk between songs
But she would bow to the band members
And call out thank you to the audience
 
She started out with Woman Down 
A call for an end to misogyny 
And throughout the night played 
guardian, receive, all I really want, you oughta know, hand in my pocket, you learn, head over feet, mary jane, ironic, and uninvited. 
The crowd knew every word
We laughed when she updated the lyrics - 
"It's like meeting the man of your
dreams
And meeting his husband". 
 
But the highlight
Was the acapella hidden track from Jagged Little Pill
It was almost divine it was so moving
Still as raw and gut wrenching as it was eighteen years ago
I’ve never been brave/stupid enough to walk into an ex’s house
And lie in his bed and cry all afternoon
But I have dreamt it 
In the dream I walked through his house 
Smelt his cologne 
And both in sleep and awake 
I have sobbed
 
And through it all 
Alanis. 
With her own highs and lows and journies and quests
For forgiveness 
For peace 
For love
For life.
 
The end. 

Careful the things you say,
Children will listen.
Grown-ups too.
Everytime you say something
Someone is listening
And whether you think it or not,
Someone is taking that thing you said
On board.
Even the most fleeting moment,
Like someone calling you a bitch
A little joke, something meant to be funny,
Can sting
Resonate for hours afterwards.
Make you question, wonder, feel small. 

Like the time, seventeen years ago,
When they were doing school photos,
And you sat down, and turned to the photographer
And smiled
And someone in your class yelled out, derisively,
“You’re such a goodie goodie!”.
And you chose to ignore it
Pretend you hadn’t heard
But it still hurt you.
All you had done was sat down.
Or the time, a year or so after the photo incident, 
That girl stole your lunchbox
For no reason, other than to take it
To make fun.
And it made you burn.
And you got up. And took back your lunchbox.
And ate your sandwich or whatever was for lunch that day, and 
Pretended like it never happened.
Because you didn’t want to make a fuss.
 
Or the time, at the height (depth?) of your depression
And you had finally, for the first time in years,
Gotten up and made yourself go for a run,
And you were running down the hill
And a random, perfect stranger said,
“Stop trying, you’re only running down-hill”
And you kept running
Pretended like you hadn’t heard
But you thought,
“F*** You!! Do you know what it took for me to be running?!”
 
Or the time, much later, 
When your own flesh and blood says,
“I’m disowning you, because you traveled unmarried with your boyfriend”, 
And it stings because you don’t feel that that is wrong.
And you get to a point
When you’re in your late twenties
And you’re sick of people being assholes for no good reason.
And you just want to turn around and say like Kate Monster,
“Why can’t people just love each other and get along?”
 
And you take a deep breath.
And you try to remember to not be nasty,
To be a force for good in the world
And say nice things,
And hope it makes a difference
To the one person
Who might be listening.
 
The end. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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.