Life

Angie McMahon – Just Like North

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I was lucky enough to be at one of Angie’s shows at The Forum at the end of May when she surprised us with this beautiful new song.  She explained that it was recorded at the time of making her latest album Light, Dark, Light Again but didn’t make sense anywhere in the sequencing of the tracks.

I’m not sure I agree, but I’m kind of glad that such a special song was released into its own spotlight this week.  Perhaps it was always supposed to serve as a reassuring overview of the personal journey she describes on her album.

pain will be on every map, just like north is
pain will be in every year, just like August

failure is on every map, just like north is
failure is in every year, just like August

Life (for me) ended up being all A Bit Much at the time of the Forum show, so I didn’t end up finding the spoons to do anything with the photos and videos that I took that night.  Seeing more live music this year has been one of the greatest joys, and I remember feeling especially present for this show and managing to pause all of the white noise in my life for a few hours.

It’s a particular gift of hers, the way that she captures the attention of the crowd between songs with her gentle and fragile storytelling, and then sweeps us off our feet with ferocious strength when she sings.

When Angie talked about how different she was the last time she played this venue (anxious, scared, “didn’t know how to hold a crowd”, as she put it), I was catapulted back to that night in 2018 and reminded that my life was different then, too.  It was a highly anticipated show for me, and it was almost ruined by the person I chose to see it with.

What an absolute joy and healing experience to see Angie again a few years later, in one of our favourite venues, both of us a little older and wiser and in love with the right people.

Failure is on every map, just like north is
Failure is in every year, just like August
You had to be ugly before you were gorgeous
Balancing tiger with rhythm of tortoise
Here in your (Chest) chest, (Chest) chest, chest

You’re not gonna blow it ’cause slowness is calling
You don’t have to know where your feet will be falling
If you get everything right, then there’s nothing else left, left
If you get everything right, then there’s nothing else left, left

Here’s some little memories from that night in May, when this song first landed on my ears.




Sarah McLeod, George Lane – 29 June, 2024 (101 Things: #071)

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Thing #71 on my list of 101 Things in 1001 Days: See live music in 20 different venues (3/20)

Sarah McLeod
George Lane, St Kilda
29 June

This show by Sarah McLeod was one of the most delightfully chaotic gigs of my entire life.

We arrived about an hour before the show, hoping to grab a coveted table near the stage.  We hadn’t counted on the rain, or the cold, or the fact that the venue would be about 20 minutes late opening its doors to punters.  We were freezing and drenched, but each time a staff member came out with a “5 more minutes!” update I told myself it would be worth it.

I was right.

The cold was forgotten once we were inside and warm, and we managed to grab a table where we could settle in for the night.  We ordered food and beers, and before long Sarah walked onto the tiny stage at the front of the room.

“Funny story”, Sarah tells us, and explains that the cover band had fallen through at the last minute.  The delay in bringing everyone inside had been because she was quickly writing another set of songs, which unexpectedly meant playing the haunted underwater piano at the back of the room, behind the audience.

It was at around this point that I got really excited, because I could see that this was somebody who was willing to make magic out of a shitty situation and not be precious about any of it.  The piano was an absolute piece of shit, but every single person in the room was dying to see how this unfolded and so the energy was electric.

And off she went.

There was an alarming amount of unsolicited audience participation, a dramatic love story in the crowd (followed by breakup), and a punter who invited himself up on stage to sing a duet.  Another artist might have cracked it over the multiple technical glitches, the snarky AV technician and eye-watering overfamiliarity of the audience, but instead Sarah seemed to run towards danger and embrace it all.  The end result was one of the most joyful, improvised and intimate shows I’ll ever experience.

An incredible night, all set to Sarah McLeod’s phenomenal voice and songwriting. There will never be another gig like this one and we will never ever forget it, or just how generous and talented she is as a performer.  I left one of her biggest fans and can’t wait to see her again.

Glenn Morgan, Home and Away – Australian Galleries (101 Things: #091)

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Thing #91 on my list of 101 Things in 1001 Days: Visit 10 different galleries.

Glenn Morgan | Home and Away
Australian Galleries, Collingwood
2 July – 20 July 2024

Sunday before last I took myself for a spontaneous solo art expedition and found myself at Australian Galleries in Collingwood.  I had done no research and arrived with no expectations, so it was an absolute delight to stumble upon an exhibition of works by Warrnambool / Melbourne artist Glenn Morgan.

Morgan’s art is unapologetically bright and chaotic, each carefully chosen scene hinting at the noise and brilliance in the mind of the artist as he created it.  Glance casually at his paintings and you’ll be blasted with colour and energy, but run the risk of missing the serious complexity of thought and execution that goes into his work.

Look closely and you’ll discover that the irreverence of his painting style betrays the reverence with which he chooses his subjects.  Each piece feels like a snapshot of a moment in time, set in a location that’s personal to the artist and then generously shared with the rest of us.  The art extends to the edges of the framing, most pieces are captioned or scattered with speech bubbles, and as a viewer you sense that you’ve stepped out of a time-machine and walked into the middle of somebody’s conversation.  It seems clear that Morgan wants viewers to understand the point he’s making with each piece – whether you’re a viewer who can extract meaning from the abstract imagery, or one who understands best through literal text captions.  

 

I came away from this exhibition wanting to know more about Glenn Morgan, his process and his politics.  This interview from 2014 is a truly wonderful glimpse into the person, and the importance he places on teaching, community and symbolism as a form of communication.  

Instagram: @glennwilliammorgan

 

101 Things in 1001 Days: February and March 2024 (3/33)

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It really shouldn’t come as a shock to any of us that there has been limited progress on my 101 Things in 1001 Days project since starting my brand new job this year.  The conditions over the past 8 weeks haven’t allowed for much outside of getting used to my new routine, and cramming as much information into my very tiny brain as possible.  I really miss that feeling of knowing everything about my job and the organisation, of understanding what information to retain and what can be safely ignored.  I hope that I can hit that point in my new job soon so that there is capacity for living properly outside of work again.

Having said that, I’m pretty pleased with myself for keeping the fire burning on a few of my longer term goals while I’ve been juggling this new career of mine – especially since March was also a busy and social birthday month.  This update will be short, but I am still giving myself some kind of participation award for not grinding to a halt with these goals.

 

COMPLETED

#047 – Make a very fancy cake
This cake turned out to be so fancy that I’ve decided to devote an entire post to it later this week.  I chose Natalie Paull’s Pistachio and Lemon Curd Layer Cake from her magnificent book Beatrix Bakes, and for my underequipped kitchen this was a real marathon.  More on that later, but just know that the end result was extremely worth it (even if I did invent a few new combinations of swear words).  A special thank you to my pal Bene for having a birthday / giving me a good reason!

 

IN PROGRESS

#001 – Track my health and fitness goals for 12 months
It’s been easy to track the little I’m doing right now, but I’m still keeping my records up to date.  Big plans for this one in April!

#020 – Distance challenge: Hume Highway (Melbourne to Sydney – 840km)
I wasn’t very good at wearing my Apple Watch in February and March, often forgetting to put it on before heading into the office.  As a result my steps and distances are much lower than actual figures, but for the sake of this goal I’ll just use what was actually recorded and try harder to wear my watch next month. Even without the watch issue, my distances have been pretty abysmal since becoming a fulltime desk worker again.  It’s a good reminder that I need to up my game in April.

 

#044 – Record a tiny video every day for a year
This daily habit has turned out to be a true joy in my day, and it’s one that I think I’ll continue once this 12 months is up.  It reminds me to look up from my feet, notice the beauty around me and pause for a moment on something that deserves attention or gratitude.  My February video is at the top of this post, and here’s one for March.

#055 – Cook a recipe from 25 different cookbooks from my bookshelf
My epic Natalie Paull / Beatrix Bakes Pistachio and Lemon Curd Layer Cake is the first of many discoveries from my own cook book collection.

#057 – Maintain Duolingo streak (follow me @elzxbth)
As at 31 March 2024, my Duolingo streak is 818 days.

#071 – See live music in 20 different venues
In GREAT news for me (but terrible news for this project) I have a stack of gigs lined up at The Forum this year.  Fortunately it’s one of my most favourite venues for live music, so I don’t mind.  I did branch out in February to see Taylor Swift play at The MCG – perhaps you’ve heard of her?  She’s pretty good, I think she’s on Spotify…

APRIL PLANS

I loved February and March for so many reasons, but if I’m honest, improvising my way through the past couple of months has left me feeling kind of sluggish.  I want to finish this month feeling better than I do at the start, so I’ve written up a plan of attack to make sure that it happens.

It looks a bit like this:

MOVE – I’ve thrown together a 30 day challenge to strengthen my core and arms.  I’m also tracking my cardio for the next 30 days to make sure that I’m doing something most days.

PLAY – Guitar or piano, every day, even if it’s for 5 minutes.

READ – I am halfway through 4 books at the moment, and I want to finish at least 2 of them this month.

CREATE – I am never not thinking about drawing, but it’s been so long since I’ve picked up a pencil.  There are also a bunch of time lapses, photo projects and music challenges that I could be getting started on.  Either way, April is the month when I make a proper start.

Today is April 1st, and outside my window the leaves are just beginning to fall, right on cue.  April, you are such a babe.

The mind is just a hard drive

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Cassandra Jenkins – Hard Drive (An Overview On Phenomenal Nature)
He said, “You know, the mind, the mind is just a hard driveIn this life, the mind is just a hard drive”

The first Cassandra Jenkins song to ever grab my attention was this one, from her kaleidoscopic album An Overview On Phenomenal Nature.  When I was introduced to this album I was barely surviving a deep personal crisis – just a few months into clawing my way out of a toxic relationship that simply would not flush, and navigating associated losses that at times felt insurmountable.  It was early 2021, and I listened to this song for the very first time as I was driving to work – a rare opportunity to leave my 5km radius during Melbourne’s second year of lockdown.

When people around me talk about the pandemic lockdowns of 2020-2021 I have to choose my words so carefully.  For so many people, those two years represented a complete halt to life and progress – no weddings, funerals or birthday parties, no holidays or school camps.  It was a time when people said goodbye to loved ones over Facetime instead of by their hospital beds, and children missed developmental and social milestones stuck in their bedrooms.  Relationships broke down, businesses closed, and many people were forced to face up to their personal demons for the very first time.

I know this now, and I knew it at the time.  We are not designed for solitary confinement and so many people buckled under the pressure of it.

I was one of the lucky few.  Lockdown was my salvation.

 

Darryl’s been teaching me to driveI finally got my license when I was thirty-fiveSpeeding up the west side, changing lanes,He reminds me to leave room for grace
He said, “Have you been seeing your therapist?You seem a little on edge. Are you always this nervous?”
I said, “Yes, and this is a hard drive.”

Melbourne was the most locked down city in the world, and I experienced it so differently to most people.  My stupid little email job meant that my salary was never interrupted, and some of my work was significantly easier when I was doing it from home.  I had a house and a yard and a hammock all to myself, so I never had to negotiate with kids or housemates for a quiet hour to have my meeting.

I had space, space to spread out and the time to make my home a sanctuary from the fear and misery outside.  I was never low on fresh air or sunshine.  I missed my friends and family, but things had gotten so bad that I was just grateful to not be trapped inside with somebody who was mistreating me.

With no cars humming outside my window after curfew I slept deeply.  I learned how to tell my magpies apart, and knew which one would pretend to have a sore foot until he was rewarded with a piece of meat.  With no people or cars around at night, life passed more slowly and foxes made themselves at home in the quiet of my garden.  I took online classes in whatever I could find – painting, ethics, how to write a budget.  I lacked the foresight or attention span to sink my teeth into any meaty projects, but with every day that passed I was stronger and more like myself again.  Only better than before.

When lockdown began in March 2020 I was suddenly and completely alone, physically sick and fighting to stay above water.  By the end of 2021 I had largely rebuilt myself from the ashes, and while everyone else yearned for the freedom to leave our suburbs, I was just beginning to enjoy the newfound freedom in my mind.

 

I ran into Perry at Lowell’s placeHer gemstone eyes caught my gazeShe said, “Oh, dear, I can see you’ve had a rough few monthsBut this year, it’s gonna be a good oneI’ll count to three and tap your shoulderWe’re gonna put your heart back togetherSo all those little pieces they took from youThey’re coming back now, they’ll miss ’em tooSo close your eyes, I’ll count to threeTake a deep breath, count with me”

Hard Drive became a kind of anthem for this period in my life.  When crisis descended, I instinctively tried to rebuild myself according to the original blueprint.  But what are we to do when entire building blocks are missing, warped or eroded?

When I heard this song for the first time I found solace in this notion of all my little pieces coming back to me, in their own time, and in whatever shape they found themselves in.  Welcoming back the parts that were always supposed to be mine, without worrying too much about what the final product would look like when I got around to putting them together.

When time stopped being linear, the journey became far more important.  And this song arrived in my life when the finish line was so unattainable that it wasn’t worth picturing.

She said, “One, two, three.
Just breathe.”

This song reminds me of healing, and hope, and slowing down for long enough to formulate a plan.  Part of me wonders where I’d be right now without those two gentle (for me) years, and this specific album.

 

Anywhere else I’d be a 10 (101 Things: #069, #070)

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Picture this.

It’s early January 2023, and I’m driving to my workplace of almost 15 years after the Christmas break.  I know that I’ll be one of only a handful of people on site (most staff don’t return until late January), so I’m dressed comfortably for a day of relative calm and solitude.  Under normal circumstances these kinds of work days are my favourite because my bucket is overflowing – fully rested, a full social battery, and full of Christmas leftovers.  With just me and the other skeleton staff I could work deeply without interruption, ‘sharpen the axe’ for the busy year ahead, and do everything possible to start the year in my happiest state: prepared for anything.

This time everything was different.  Rather than returning refreshed and excited about the brand new year, I showed up that day physically sick with stress and paranoia.  I hadn’t slept properly in weeks because of rolling nightmares, I was too nauseous to eat, and my days were spent managing adrenaline that I couldn’t hold back in certain situations.

I know now that this was a rational response from my subconscious mind, one which understood better than the rest of me that it had been living under the sustained threat of danger for the better part of a year.  After months and months of relentless fight or flight mode I was exhausted, scared and utterly devoid of hope and control.

 

When workplaces become psychologically unsafe it’s usually because of a combination of factors.  Sometimes it’s the product of negligence, sometimes there’s intent, but the impact on employees can be devastating either way.  And on that day, on my very first day back at work after a 3 week break, all it took was a colleague asking how my Christmas was for me to break down entirely.

This is not how you’re supposed to feel at the start of the year, I remember repeating to myself that day.

I loved that job for the vast majority of my 15 years there, but towards the end it stopped loving me back.  On 6 March 2023 I went to work as usual and 20 minutes into my first meeting I picked up my bag, walked to my car and drove away.

And I never went back.

 

In the months that followed I became stuck in the weeds of it all – the injustice of what happened to me, the powerlessness I felt to defend myself, the ongoing betrayals from those who promised to right the wrongs, and the decade-long relationships that evaporated before my eyes while I was trapped at home, muzzled.  I had to sign a document that said I wouldn’t make the movie about it, but I wouldn’t want to – it was all just too fucking sad.

In the end, all that really mattered was repairing the damage that I could see in the mirror – the erosion of my self-identity, confidence and capacity to trust people again. To trust myself again.

I had to go right back to basics in those early days, and it started by re-learning how to sleep without keeping one eye open.

 

It took weeks for anything to change, but after some time and geographical distance from the situation I began to notice the cloud of confusion was lifting.  My days were now spent in stocktake mode: sifting through the wreckage of my body and my life, looking for parts that were still intact or able to be repurposed.  Sometimes I’d discover an unexpected pulse beneath the rubble and the elation would carry me for days!  But at every turn, the highs were followed by even deeper heartbreak – the realisation that something critical to my identity was gone forever.

I found myself in a catch-22 situation of needing to quickly get back in the saddle and work again, but being unable to convince anyone (including myself) of why they should take me on.  I quickly learned the impossibility of trying to sell yourself when you didn’t believe your own elevator pitch anymore.  At the same time I began to understand how many bad habits I’d formed as a result of coping in a high risk, blame-based environment – the disproportionate energy I was putting into contingency planning, and the dark humour that just realistically just manifested as negativity to those around me.

 

I was unemployed,  running out of money, and realising that I had spent years strengthening all of the wrong muscles.  If you were to plot these months on a graph, you’d get seasick, which is kind of how it felt most of the time.

 

Against my will, I joined LinkedIn.

I had (of course) expected it to be cringeworthy, but had not anticipated the sheer volume of toxic positivity and Pinterest-grade clickbait that I would find there.  But I showed up each day, curating my feed a little further each time.  I began to discover stories that were just like mine, and then I followed the people who were writing about their workplace trauma to study how they recovered from it.

Over time I began to learn how common my situation is, and how to identify, measure and develop healthy workplace culture.  I began to see that being a survivor of a workplace injury like mine didn’t have to carry chronic levels of shame, and I could stop expending all of my energy trying to conceal it.

The more I inhaled the examples of the trauma-informed leaders I’d discovered, the more compassion I found for myself.  Most of all, this was the point when I realised that my experience had the potential to be my origin story, not the embarrassing setback that destroyed my future.

With a fresh lens on my situation, and my personal stocktake complete, I threw out my old plan and stepped into the unknown.

#069 – Rewrite my resume

I hadn’t planned it this way, but this was the very first thing on my list of 101 Things in 1001 Days that I tackled.  With a fresh mindset I was able to present my skills with far greater clarity and objectivity than I’d previously been able to access, and when I began sending my new resume out a few weeks ago, I did so believing every single word of it, and that they’d be lucky to have me.

While I hunted for something permanent, I took on a temporary contract doing something totally different to what I’d done in the past – a role that required formal qualifications that I did not have, and experience that I absolutely could not demonstrate.  I got the job anyway and worked so damn hard at it.  It wasn’t long before I thrived there, and despite being ‘just a temp’ the impact I made was recognised and celebrated.  I credit the short time I spent in that job with completing my de-programming, and strengthening the core muscles I’d neglected for so long.

 

#070 – Find a fulltime job that I love

The instant I truly got out of my own way, others saw my value too.

Last week I applied for a fairly ambitious role – not just something to tide me over, but the job I most wanted in an organisation I care about.  It’s the kind of work that would make me excited to get out of bed each morning, and in my application I presented the most authentic version of myself – warts and all.

I am convinced that my understanding and passion for healthy workplace experience and culture is what got me over the line for this job, and that honouring my vulnerabilities in this area was ultimately seen as a strength – not the weakness that I had previously assumed it would be.  They called four hours after my interview to offer me the position, along with extra money I hadn’t even asked for.

The grief I carry about my last job will endure, of course.  My experience was a long and brutal lesson in power imbalance, and also the potential for toxic environments to accept collateral damage in exchange for its own survival.

But there was beauty, too.  The unwavering, practical support provided by my partner, my family, and the friends who chose to show up and sit alongside my grief.  These were the people who reminded me daily that the person I’d lost was still in there, and that she would emerge again when she was safe.

There was support to be found in unexpected places too – the colleagues who had previously kept their distance because they were processing their own pain, and the unofficial network of former colleagues/casualties who reached out when I was suddenly gone without a trace, making sure I was okay.  These were the people who best understood the landscape, listened to my panicked confusion and said:

I believe you.
I believe you.
I believe you.
Tell me how I can help.

 

The pain doesn’t stop, but it does get further away.

Forever changed, but so much richer.  Any way you look at this, I won.

Here we go again

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Imagine being the kind of person who starts a brand new personal blog in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty three.  That would be embarrassing, hey.