understanding patterns; connecting dots

A few days ago I got this (@alturnbull) card from a friend. I like it a lot. The chair on the deck near a tree. Cold drink at hand, sun hat discarded … and slow cooking cast iron enamel pot visible through the kitchen window. It conjures up a lazy carefree afternoon when life is good, a little oasis. Yes, please. ‘Such a contrasting reality to the weird shenanigans going on in the world around us. Unlike the lightness in the image, my soul is actually tired. It takes so much effort to stay present, to stop scrolling, to keep my conscience clear and to turn up everyday to the things that matter most. It’s no wonder clever artists seduce us with scenes like this one. Of course the problem is that if I were to sit on that pink chair, and reach for that drink, my inner world would still be there. The weirdness of the world, the out of control power hunger and status anxiety addictions would still be lurking like some storm clouds all around. Last year I took a sabbatical. It was wonderful,...

If you think your path is pretty secure and you know what’s coming, then you can stop reading now. This post won’t make any sense to you. If you’ve got some uncertainty in your life in areas that matter, and/or your experience suggests that life bowls some swinging deliveries pretty regularly (that, by the way, is my attempt to contextualise the American ‘curve ball’) then you’re like me, and there might be something here of value. So, what if the assumption that wisdom can help me navigate through uncertainty is a faulty one? ‘How to’ help is everywhere. But maybe it’s smoke and mirrors. Maybe my privilege has lied to me about what I am entitled to when it comes to wisdom in uncertain periods of living. Maria shared a post from Kevin Kaiser that was more than a reminder, it invited me further into the peace of embracing what’s real rather than what I hope for. So this is not my own musing. But what Kevin wrote was profoundly helpful. If I was journalling this I would reproduce his ma...

On the morning of my 38th birthday, I woke up in a hotel bed in Alexandra Headlands and turned the radio on. The first words I heard were “The World Trade Centre is no more.” It was like I was listening to fiction. Nearly 20 years later, as awareness of the dangers of the then-little-understood COVID19 virus were beginning to grip governments, I turned on the TV news to the headline, “China has closed its borders.” I again felt like I was watching a Hollywood movie. What followed was a season of unprecedented weirdness as stay-at-home orders were issued, face masks became mandatory and cities that never shut down became deserted. It was completely surreal. It was hell-on-earth for many. For others, it was surprisingly heaven-on-earth. We’ve all heard the reflections on how what matters most became front and centre. People reached out to neighbours, spent time with their kids like never before and discovered ways to tap into their creativity and ingenuity. Yes, for some it was unsafe an...

It had been a long time since I’d caught the train to Melbourne, so it was kind of interesting and kind of depressing to stand on the platform for a couple of days this past week, with what felt like 150 other people, waiting to do the commute. It bought back memories, not all good. In case this post is misunderstood - there is nothing wrong with commuting to work. Doing good work is an important and necessary part of being an active citizen, making a contribution to society and helping provide for our families and loved ones. But it’s got out of hand. How have our lives got so busy chasing more money and experiences? This morning I saw a re-post of a parable I’d heard many years ago. It takes different forms in different cultures, and every version I’ve heard is about a fisherman, but the message is the same. I thought I’d have a go at writing a version for my context. A parable Once upon a time there was a bloke who lived in a seaside village with his gorgeous partner who he loved at...

Last weekend I did my first solo bushwalk and swimming excursion. Saturday’s hike wasn’t particularly long, only about 10kms. But more than half of it was spent on soft sloping sand walking into a stiff breeze. By the time I climbed the track back up the escarpment I was wasted, and when I dragged myself into the camping area about 2.30 in the afternoon, my appetite for further adventure that day was near zero. And so I found myself in my tent, shutting up shop for the day in the near broad daylight hour of 7.30pm! At Maria’s suggestion I’d downloaded a couple of podcasts for such a time as this. Truth was I was pretty confident I’d not listen to them … I didn’t imagine myself with headphones in on a solo bush excursion, but there you go. It turned out to be one of two encounters I’ve had this week with prominent Australians who have recently made a major professional transition. The story of those transitions is not the main point here, they deserve proper consideration in their own r...

We recently visited family in the Northern Rivers hinterland. It was good in the usual ways. Except that one morning a few unrelated and incidental things unsettled me, and I lay in bed mulling over them. It wasn’t a great start to the day. It had been a while since I’d felt that way and I wondered not only what had triggered it, but why I wasn’t able to re-centre as quickly as I normally do. It helped me appreciate how significant my regular morning routine has become, so this post is to record something of the story of how it evolved into the multifaceted practice I now enjoy. I’ve always been a so-called ‘morning person’. Whether it was being up before anyone else in my residential college during uni days to think and study, or cleaning supermarket floors at ungodly hours to make ends meet when our kids were young, I’ve always felt at home in the morning hours, while most others are sleeping. We were incredibly fortunate to move into this seaside village across the road from Karen a...

OK, so this is personal. I had to think twice before writing about it on here … but I guess I’m either doing this transparency thing or I’m not. If I was writing in my hard copy journal, this is what I would be writing about … so here we go. A little background / caveat: Over the years I’ve dug deep to try to understand my insecurities, the illusions I have of myself, my hopes of how others will perceive me and the games I play in relation to these. I have no expectations, and in fact it would be wrong to assume, that anyone else shares these same idiosyncratic psychological pathologies. These wrestlings are mine. Maybe they trigger some things for you … but that is your business not mine. This morning I got an email in my inbox that triggered a train of thoughts that took me down a painful rabbit hole. It wasn’t about the email per se, it was because of who it came from. Let’s call him David. I’m on a list that means I get emails from him every week. They are some of the best emails I...

  I’m writing this on Wednesday. It was 12 months ago on this day that I recovered consciousness in an ambulance with defibrillator paddles hovering over my chest after 10 seconds of flatlining. Maria spent the best part of 30 minutes in an emergency department waiting room not knowing if I was alive or dead. A few days prior to that, my worklife had been violently and unexpectedly upended by completely unrelated incidents. Our lives would be catapulted in a direction we had no inclination of a week before. And we are not alone, in fact unexpected life-changing trauma is common. Economic and social privilege does not insure or protect us. A few months prior to that fateful week 12 months ago, my mate Muz and I collided in the surf and for a terrifying ½ hour there were five of us lying and kneeling on a cold morning beach with the waves lapping us, not knowing if he would ever have use of his limbs again. He has recovered almost completely, but it could have been different. Life is...