understanding patterns; connecting dots

The bucket list thing doesn't work for me, I think because in my experience satisfaction is an inner world thing rather than an experiential one. But that's not to say that there aren't some things that have felt like unfinished business, and one of those things has been to walk The Overland Track. The story goes back a long way. Cradle Mountain was in my backyard growing up. I remember driving up there for family outings ... in those days there were windy country roads, cattle grids and slippery muddy tracks that eventually got us to Waldheim Chalet and then on to Dove Lake. At uni I had friends who loved and knew the Park. I listened to their stories of the Pelion mountains and the iconic track that led south toward Lake St Clair. I climbed Cradle Mountain in Blundstones and one of those checkered woollen bush shorts. I sat with some friends in Cradle Mountain Lodge and ate dinner at what used to be communal tables where you served each other while the devils a

It is our actions, not our words, that indicate what we believe. The gap between what we say we believe and what we actually do is the measure of our integrity. I am really lucky to have among my friends and colleagues people I admire deeply, people who aspire to make a positive difference in the world. This is my professional tribe. We talk about how to make the world better all the time. I am involved with some incredible projects and organisations who do amazingly good stuff; initiatives that you might say are part of the solution rather than the problem. Recently I’ve been doing some soul searching. It has been triggered by reading a couple of provocative books, but as Maria said today, the things we have been pondering of late have been a long time coming. We have been aware of some disturbing facts about economic injustice and the effects of our lifestyle on our environment for a long time … but it is hard, very hard, to make choices that compromise the lifestyle we

As a kid I didn't like fresh tomatoes. Maybe it was the acidity and the texture ... ?? I remember my mum's dad slicing fresh tomatoes from his garden onto toast, pepper and salt-ing and then eating slowly with deliberate bites. At the time the thought of it made me gag. But the taste of tomatoes was everywhere, and for some some reason the processed stuff seemed OK. Sauce from the supermarket ... yep, no worries. Along the way something changed dramatically, or at least the potential for the change lay dormant. It prepared me for meeting Maria. Or more precisely, for meeting home cooked Italian food. Ka-boom. So now, tomatoes are part of our summer lives. Maria is quietly determined that hers will be the best on-vine at the community garden ... the tomato doesn't fall far from the vine. "Mine da best", I hear him say. Earlier this summer it was the closest she's come to depression (slight exaggeration) when she suspected the humidity had got to her crop

I've always been one of those 'jump in the ocean' kind of people. The sea draws me in literally. I even carry a pair of swimming shorts in the back of the Patrol for emergencies. Whatever the temperature of the water, there is something more than invigorating about taking a plunge and having a bit of a frolic. It is a life-giving ritual. A few years ago at Bay of Fires, TAS (cold, but the water beckons) A few mins later ... those swimming shorts came in handy ... although probably could have done without ... deserted as usual. I'm not sure when it started but it became part of everyday life when we lived on the Sunny Coast. It wasn't unusual for me to walk from Bullcock to Kings Beach twice a day, sometimes three times, but certainly at least once. Sure, nice warm air and water there. A part of our souls will always be at Kings Beach, Sunshine Coast When we lived in Launceston, on the weekends I walked from our apartment at Seaport Marina around