A book on the shelf
The name, Jill Ker Conway,
Stirs a memory
A historian and writer
Born in Australia
Now living in America 

The Road from Coorain
An autobiography
A story of growing up in rural NSW
Barely surviving the drought 
Living in Sydney 
Post the second world war
The familiar names of 
Mosman, Waitara, and Pennant Hills 

The relief of reading stories
Of someone 
Who never felt at home in Australia
In Sydney 
Despite the beaches and bush 
The smell of eucalyptus and earth 

What it feels to board the plane
To leave 
Knowing that Australia will always
Be a part of who you are
But knowing that your life
Exists somewhere over the ocean

Relief and tears 
Connection with a woman 
Whom, despite an age gap
Of half a century,
Loves history and reading and learning
And discovery 
And finds a place
Beyond the continent 
Of her birth. 

The end. 

If someone had told me
Just two years ago
That I would be living in 
Fort Collins, Colorado
I would have said,
Where?! 
They say home is where the heart is
And yes, my love is here,
But this pretty little town
An hour north of Denver
Population approx 150,000,
Has, in less than two months,
Become home 

I love Old Town
With its multitude of fairy lights
And hipster stores
Selling Tibetan and locally-made crafts
And burgers and pizzas and 
Yoga mats 
I love the Bean Cycle and 
Wolverine Bookstore 
With its shelves of second-hand books
And coffee aroma 

I love City Park
With its rolling green hills
And large sparkling lake
Its waters now frozen and home to 
Impromptu ice hockey games
And ice fishing
And ice skating ducks 
In the summer 
When the water is liquid 
It is filled with paddle boats 
And swimmers 
And cries of joy from the adjacent water slide 

I love cycling to rehearsal 
Down wide streets with designated cycle lanes
And along the Poudre Trail 
Following the bends and turns of the river
Through parkland and forests 
Within a ten to fifteen minutes you are out of suburbia
And into the open expanse of 
Colorado with 
Mountains on the horizon
And nothing but sweeping brown vistas
All around you 
And everywhere you go
Ducks and geese fly in V’s up above
Black dots against heart-breakingly blue sky

The sky is always blue
With an average of 
300 days of sunshine a year 
Every time I catch the silhouette 
Of dark leafless trees against that blue
I gasp

I love the extremes in temperature
One day will see you shivering at -26C/-14F
And the next day will be 12C/53F and you wondered what it was like to feel cold. 
The way the air smells fresh and crisp after snow
And when it’s warm, the scent is tinged with manure from the surrounding farms. 
The way the wind whips down the streets
The way the snow falls
The way the sun shines. 

I love that Craigslist works
We have a lovely handmade coffee table 
And a keyboard
And babysitting gigs 
I love that people interact and connect 
I’ve built more of a community in two months
Than I ever did in two years in London
Every other person brews beer
Keeps bees 
Knits
Fort Collins is full of artists and students and hipsters 
I fit right in. 

I love our farmer’s market
And driving fifteen minutes out of town
To Jodar Farms to buy eggs
And pork and chicken for Aaron
I love the taste of local kale and spinach
And those eggs
With their bright yellow yolks 
And multi-coloured shells. 

I love being here
This unexpected place 
That once, didn’t even know existed
Colorado
From the Spanish, meaning, coloured red,
For now,
My home 

The end.

The year started twirling a “glow sword”
Because in the land of the free and the brave
It’s easier to buy a gun than a sparkler 
We applied for a fiance visa. 
I flew back to London.

In February, I started house hunting,
Visited Brighton
And saw A Chorus Line at the Palladium
I watched women in black t-shirts and bright red lipstick
Rise and dance outside Parliament House. 
We had a bake sale at the theatre.
I wandered the streets of London 
Trying to feel at home. 

In March, I saw Liza Minnelli at Royal Festival Hall.
In the midst of a snow storm
I moved to Ruislip. 
Saw my friend’s play 
Nights of Enchantment,
And over noodles, had a long and delightful conversation
With an old friend. 
One bright chilly morning
I walked from Covent Garden to the Thames to Islington. 

In April, I did quite the unthinkable
And quit my job ushering
At a west end theatre
And prepared to walk 780km across 
Northern rural Spain 
I saw the Lichtenstein retrospective at the Tate Modern
On the 30th April I caught the Eurostar
From London to Paris
And spent the day on trains heading 
South across France to the Pyrenees

On the first day of May
I walked up and down the Pyrenees 
Crossed into Navarra 
And spent the next 31 days
Walking the width of Spain 
Until I reached Santiago de Compostela 

In June, I saw War Horse at the New London.
I flew over the Atlantic
To spend the summer with my love
We went to a wedding
And a Wesslmann pop art exhibit in Richmond 
Drove through Washington DC, Jersey, New York, and Connecticut
And arrived 
Home 
At summer camp 

We staged 2 full-scale musicals 
In 8 weeks 
I taught singing and voice
And melted in the heat
Watched Yo Yo Ma and the Boston Symphony Orchestra
At Tanglewood 
And walked a rainbow chalk labyrinth
Smudged and glowing from rain 

In August
I saw Matilda, Once, and Peter and the Starcatcher in NYC
And wandered the streets of Manhattan praying for a miracle. 
I unwillingly flew back to London
And moved to the south east. 
I worked as a temp
At an international commercial property research company
Two finance firms
Two publishing houses
And spent my days behind reception desks around London
Writing and researching my play.
I saw Blue Stockings at The Globe.  

In September, I quietly turned 29
In one of the offices of London
And in the evening saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at the 
Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, with my big brother
I saw Grounded at The Gate Theatre
And did a workshop on writing solo material 
I traveled to Bath to audition for a play 
I saw Once with my Australian singing teacher 
And remembered why I was doing what I was doing. 
I saw A Doll’s House at The Duke of York
And had to talk myself into staying for the second act. 
I went blackberry picking in Southminster 
And made a blackberry pie. 

In October, I had my interview with the US Consulate 
And was rejected
I waited for a piece of paper
Declaring my lack of criminal record
To be sent from Australia to the UK
Via snail mail
I waited for my file to be lifted from the hundreds of other files
In someone’s office
I saw Trevor Ashley perform
Liza on an E 
And Malala Yousafzai speak at Queen Elizabeth Hall
I went to the London Dungeon and SeaLife Aquarium with my first London friend 
I saw The Light Princess at the National Theatre
And a debate between the founder of No More Page 3 
And three playboy bunnies 
In Carnaby St. 
I went to Brighton with Mum and
Rode the carousel on the pier.
The next day I was the sickest I have been since moving to London
Ten months of waiting catching up with my stomach. 

In November, I saw Matilda at the Cambridge
One last time 
Walked along the Thames  
Saw the Christmas lights in Oxford St and 
Bid farewell to London.  
I flew across the Atlantic 
To be with my love
And, finally, 
We were married. 

In December 
I worked on my play
Went to my first American audition
And was cast in my first Shakespeare  
I discovered I could run in below freezing temperatures
Volunteered in a second-hand bookshop
Learnt to play the ukulele
Went to a Warhol exhibit
And wandered through Old Town admiring the fairy lights.

We started our happily ever after

The end. 

I was at uni
And I was learning
And acting
And surrounded by amazing people
And I was so depressed
I was numb
I actually felt nothing
And I tortured myself
Literally and metaphorically
And kept asking
When will I ever be good enough
To do something amazing
And then I got to perform my own material
And I was like
Hey, I really like this
And then I got to travel the world
And my brain exploded with possibility

I was engaged
And we were gonna get married!
Everything was lovely!
We were in love!
And then we broke up
And I was miserable
And wondered when anything was ever going to stop feel like crying again
And I sat with my bestie at the markets
And said
"ARGH! What is next?!"
And the next day got an email about working in the theatre full-time, and getting an agent
And everything changed
(My bestie was lamenting that he would ever meet someone.  Just over a year from that day, he was married).
And I got into drama school in London
And I packed my bags and moved to a whole other country

I got there
And was really broke
More broke than I'd ever been
I was living the dream
Of studying theatre in London
And I was miserable
My voice was shot
My self-esteem was invisble (again)
I couldn't get a job
And it got to the point
Where I had exactly one week's rent left in my savings
And that was it
And I won a scholarship
And I was able to stay

And then school was over
And I got to go back to camp
And I finally worked in the Music Shed
And taught voice
And realized I had a skill and a knack for teaching singing
And fell in love with it all over again

Back in London
I discovered what it was like
To be earning minimum wage
Less than the London living wage
And to work and work and work
And having nothing left
And you have to go back and do it all again
Because otherwise
Then you really have nothing
But sitting in offices around London
I'm getting paid to write my own material
And it feels wonderful
And liberating

I got to fall in love again
I got to work again, sometimes for what I felt I was worth
I'm going to perform my own material

We never know what's next
We have to do the work
And hope and pray
That it will work out
Sometimes it won't
But something else will come along
And it will be even better
Than what we could have hoped for

And if all else fails
Hide under the doona and watch cheesy Disney cartoons
Until you feel better

The end.

*And writing stuff like this reminds me that in my insanely privileged bubble... life ain't so bad. It may SEEM bad sometimes... but it's not so bad, you know?!

To wander the streets of London
From Holborn through to Lincoln's Inn Fields
Paying homage to the ghost of Charlotte Charke
First female actor-manager
Who in the 18th century wandered these streets
Desperate for work upon the stage 

Down the Strand past the Royal Courts of Justice and
Onto Fleet St, where,
Somewhere along this road
Mordecai, relative in time, was arrested
Caught creating counterfeit cash and
Eventually tried at the Old Bailey
And shipped to Australia
The Royal Bank with a waterfall of tropical
Pink, orange, and yellow flowers
Cascading down its cold walls
Impossibly narrow buildings squished between
"Newer" edifications
Stone monuments that seem fairy-tale like with their
Statuesque dragons and winged horses

Down to the Thames
The buildings that grace its banks
The very sites that in themselves are the 
Synecdoche of London 
Tower Bridge, St Paul's, The "Shard" 
The latter, still under construction
The city is still being built
Still growing above its labryntine streets
Winding paths that open to secret courtyards, squares, gardens
And ever more winding paths

To walk from Blackfriars as the sun is still rising
To see the world
"Half-way in shadow
And half-way in light"
It really is, as Bert describes,
"Coo, what a sight!"

The city made more real
By the previous experience of it in books, film, television, and art
To be here in the flesh
Wandering the streets of London
Smelling the city
Watching the workers scurrying away
Women in sneakers and stockings
Men in suits and ties
The same brands on nearly every corner
Stone and glass walls built side by side 
It feels like I must be in an elaborate set
Some two thousand years in the making

The end. 

Oh, New York, New York!
In one year from today we will live together 
You and I (and my love) 
And we will eat delicious foods
And be a part of wonderful theatre
And walk down your myriad of streets
And travel in your subways 
And marvel at your architecture

Just three short days this trip
Three shows - two Broadway, one off-
The remarkable talent to strut across the stage 
Stories told through song and dance and music
The sort of irony
That each show I’ve seen this time around
Strongly references/is set in
The UK 
Tomorrow I fly back across the Atlantic

But first,
Tonight, Matilda
To see a show I’ve seen
A hundred times before? 
Literally
Over six months 
In London
Eight shows a week
The routine of front of house
Bruce’s scene
Time to get ice creams for interval 
Counting money and re-stocking ice creams
During Mr Wormwood’s song about telly
And the swings
Back inside in time for 
Miss Honey to wander forlornly and to see
The acrobat and the escapologist! 
Revolting children the cue to 
Get out to the kiosk before the ensemble comes tearing out to change in the corridor 
Ready to be Russians 
When I grow up reprise
The cue to have the merch ready
For the outgoing

Tonight
I am just another patron
The thrill of being seated next to a friend 
From the other side of the world
Six years since we have seen each other? 
A total wonderful coincidence 

The lights grow dim
The opening is slightly different
No school bell
The orchestrations are ever so slightly changed
A slightly longer beginning
The tempos are different
The opening seems slower 
The parents’ singing more articulate 
The chokey song
Definitely slower, perhaps even by half
The set and costumes are the same
With minor adjustments
The fabrics more shiny 
More glitzy for Broadway
The wall of the Wormwood’s living room
A shiny green
The ducks seem bigger
Matilda’s bedspread, not just plain blue
It has texture
Some costume pieces are lined with glittering sequins 
The school desks are imprinted with letters on the inside
The chalkboard is enormous 
The English accents are excellent 
The show translates well
The laughs are big
The audience is very receptive 

And yet at interval
I’m shocked to discover the people around me are lost
Two patrons ask me what is going on
They can’t understand it 
I can’t understand them
In the second half the man across the aisle is bored and reading messages on his phone 
I want to punch him in the face 

At the end of the show
Standing at the stage door
I meet an aspiring actor
He is 17
He is auditioning for 19 drama schools in the fall
He has no idea what he is in for 
(Maybe, MAYBE, I should take everything I’ve learnt, and, and put it in a show!)
The fact that he has 19 drama schools available to him to audition for makes me laugh
Back in my day
Where I come from
We only had three drama schools to audition for
And only two had a musical theatre program

I love being in New York
I love walking through Times Square
It is everything I’m against 
With it’s blatant commercialism 
And wasteful energy consumption
And tourist-filled seediness 
And lack of trees
And yet I love the damn place 
I love seeing shows here
I love the quintessential New York smell that is hot pretzels and air conditioning vents and hot concrete and subway all mingled together 
I love the multitudes of people 
(And another hundred people just got off of the train)
Who come from EVERYWHERE to be 
HERE
I love that the Bronx is up
And the Battery’s down
I love that there are a million songs about New York
That get stuck in my head as I walk its streets
And they capture perfectly how I feel about the place 
(Oooooh, New York! Living in a town that is famous as a place of movie scenes...)
I love the people I can meet here
I love the pulse/vibe/energy
It is always alive
Never for a moment quiet or resting 

New York, New York
It won’t be long now 

The end. 

The heat 
Strangely nostalgic
Reminds me of childhood summers 
Dripping icy poles
Lemonade sticky on the pavement
Memories of going to school
In the height of summer
No hat, no play
Between 11 and 3 stay under a tree
Sunscreen on the teacher's desk
Later. New year's eve. Sitting by the harbour in the shade and still turning the shade of cooked lobster.
Aloe vera in the fridge

The intense HOT
Like living in an oven
I expect the air to explode at any moment
Wait for the air to be thick and hazy red with smoke
To see small delicate wispy ash float through the air
Evidence of burning somethings in the near distance

Abuela burning strawberry oil
To mask the smokey smell
Years later
The same oil
Giving me nightmares
Of fleeing
Of homes being burnt to the ground
Of the world I know being reduced to 
Hazy hot red

But in Connecticut
It's just hot
I'm promised that forest fires are rare here
It rains too often for the world to combust
Every 4th July
I watch the bonfire
And nervously trace glowing embers
Dancing in the air
And pray they won't set the trees alight

Summers in Australia
Mean total fire bans
Because raging bush fires
Destroy entire communities
My year 8 teacher lost everything
Except the clothes on his back
And I always wondered
How does one start from scratch

But like 
Phoenix rising
The heat rejuvinates
Replenishes
The Australian bush
Designed to explode
In order for new growth 

I thrive in the heat
Cold makes me shrivel
Shake
And feel down
In the heat
I feel expansive
Free
Shorts, singlets, and flip flops 
("Thongs" where I come from
Five American summers have drilled 
The colloquialism from my head) 
Walking and working in the heat
Is tiring
And wonderful

The end. 

One moment you are working in London
And feeling frustrated 
And miserable

And you blink
And you are walking across northern rural Spain

And you blink
And you are back in London
And riding on the tube

And it is always winter
And cold
And you are always wearing a thousand layers 
And you feel you could never be warm again

And twenty-four hours without sleep
And two plane trips later
You are back in America
And it is June
And it is summer! 

Oh summertime
I have missed you! 
To walk outside
Without endless layers 
Scarves and beannies and gloves
Just shorts and a t-shirt
And flip flops 
Is bliss

To be back with my love
And to have returned to the cabin in the woods
Sitting on the porch
Watching a storm swirl by
The way the leaves flutter
The way the tall trees bend and wave with the whirling wind
To see lightning flash the sky
And hear thunder crashing
Feeling its rumble in the earth

And in the evening
To sit on the same porch
And smell earth and trees
Blessed by rain
And watch fireflies flicker in the forest
The sparkle of their little luminescents   
Like tiny twinkling fairy lights 
Feels like a delicious dream
And you’re glad you’re here

The end. 

Someone is waiting 
Two someones actually 
My love 
And I 
Waiting 
For my visa to come through 
So I can move to America 
And we can be together 
It's partly why I'm walking 780km across northern Spain 
"Pacing in a straight line" 
As Aaron's dad put it 
Waiting in London I was going stir crazy 
My life 
Just a game of waiting 
Filling time 

We had optimistically booked a ticket for March 
The visa didn't arrive 
The plane left without me 
And I sobbed in frustration 
London stayed miserably cold and bleak 
I worked hard 
I spent time with friends 
I tried to embrace London 
I hoped to land an acting job 
Nothing came 
I felt lonely and frustrated 
Dispirited, disinterested, and disenchanted 

I got the idea to do the Camino again 
This time solo 
This was for me 
It would fill the time 
In a positive and productive way 

I'm walking 
My feet are sore 
I'm meeting wonderful people 
I'm breathing in the Spanish landscape 
It's so beautiful 
Every step 
An affirmation that 
I'm here 
And a step closer 
To my love 

Hurry visa 
I'll wait 
I'll pace across Spain until you arrive 
And give thanks to the universe 
That I can be here 

Buen camino 
Don't stop walking 
The journey 
Is the destination 
Is life 
Is love and joy and heartbreak and beauty 
And being 

The end.

If there is something that you want to do
GO TO IT
You are not too old
It is not too late
You ARE more capable than you think
You have everything you need to start TODAY.
Stop making excuses and
Just. Go. To. It.