Thirty is the new who cares

Never too old to 'meme'

Thirty is the new 'who gives a toss how old you are'. An indifference I expect will - naturally and counter-intuitively - increase with time. The happiest people in the world don't care about their age. Most of them are 'old'. Writing about getting old at 30 must seem as foolish to anyone older than me as it would seem normal to most people younger.

"Are you feeling older and wiser today?" my workmates asked on Tuesday - the day I dropped the "2" prefix forever.

"Yeah," I replied. "Same as every other day."

I don't feel anywhere near as old as I probably seem to those kids that drunkenly stumble around the bars around the corner from my house. Not that I care. I was the same. They'll get it one day. Maybe.

My 18-year-old self would have been shocked to find out 12 years on I'd be renting in a share house, with no wife, no girlfriend, in a barely-satisfying job.

Aging worried me more when I was 16 than it does now. I was dumb. Why spend today worrying about how you might feel tomorrow? How else is there to live other than moving through life?

People complain about getting old, but no one wants to miss out on the privilege.

I didn't get it, but you're not supposed to, otherwise what would be the point?

I could never have dreamed of my life at 30 - the people, the opportunities, more actively getting out and seeing things, looking at small gigs and realising that not everyone buys into the myth of adulthood that's sold to us early on, not everyone lives by the numbers. It can still be fun and that doesn't mean balking at the responsibilities and serious stuff. It just means being happy. I don't have to be married right now (or ever); I don't have to have kids, though it would be a shame given how awesome an uncle I am; I don't have to be bidding on houses in places I can afford but don't want to live; I don't have to start tuning in to classic hits radio.

My twenties were tough. And fantastic. And memorable. Defining. I've picked up so much and left behind a restrictive, miserable, instructed way of thinking about myself and the world. I realised that it's weird to be normal and it's normal to be weird. Normal for you is who you are, what you desire, how you express yourself. Guaranteed it will seem weird to other people but that's just a great filter of figuring out who is worth talking to.

I've never been older, I've never been happier.

Thirty is a good round number, so it's a worthwhile time, sit back for a moment and think about how things are going, write a blog post perhaps.

Life is moving fast, as ever. There's more to do than can be done. But you will never have so much life left again.

Mostly, turning 30 has made me think about my priorities and how to achieve what I really want from my life, particularly the next few years.

Saturn's Return has fascinated me for a few years, because I wanted it to be truth. I wanted upheaval in my life, and better if it came because of some external, universal force that didn't require me waking up to myself. I wrote one of my first blog posts about it, on the occasion of my 28th birthday.

I was excited about this period when “a person crosses over a major threshold and into the next stage of life”.

“The first Saturn Return is famous because it represents the first test of character and the structures a person has built their life upon. According to traditions, should these structures be unsound, or if a person is living out of touch with his or her true values, the Saturn Return will be a time of upheaval and limitations as Saturn forces him or her to jettison old concepts and worn out patterns of living. It is not uncommon for relationships and jobs to end during this time of life restructuring and reevaluation.”
  
And on turning 30:

"During this time astrologers note that goals are consolidated and people tend to gain a better vision of where they are going in life. There are added responsibilities and a person may reap the rewards from his or her hard work. Many major life milestones seem to happen around the ages of 29 and 30. This is why astrologers believe that the thirtieth birthday is such a major rite of passage because it marks the true beginning of adulthood, self-evaluation, independence, ambition, and self-actualization.”
 

Maybe I just wanted it to be true, I had the right mindset to make it self-fulfilling. Maybe it was coincidence that that girl passed through my life right at that time and shook everything up. Whether astrological, psychological or random chance, the last two years of my life have been the most amazing, most transformative, of my life. Or perhaps I'm just more aware of myself now.

"You're shit - do stuff!": Friendly advice in early 2010

Two years ago I desperately wanted a relationship, partially as a distraction from myself to make me happy. Instead I did it myself. I had some guidance and good friends, friends who saw the gap between my life and my potential and were willing to say "You're shit, do stuff!". And I did, I am, I will. I got to work on being happy with myself so I could get going pursuing the things that made me happy. I'm keeping an eye out for that special someone, whoever she is, but I don't need her anymore - to the resistant dismay of some friends. There is so much else in my life that drives me and makes me happy anyway. I will never rely on just one person for companionship, inspiration, advice, conversation, wisdom, fun, telling-it-like-it-is, love and everything else my friends provide. I am tired of spooning my pillows though.

The notion of being a grown up is bullshit. It suggests being done growing. No one never knows much at all, and we know taking life too seriously is hazardous for your health. The day I stop growing as a person is the day I say goodbye, be it 30 or 80.

Today is always today. Yesterday is a memory. Tomorrow will never arrive. This is the start of what I expect to be the best decade of my first four. But maybe it won't be. Maybe I won't see it out. I'll just enjoy living it for better and worse. I'm not going to base my life around a job I don't like and work towards a day I might not reach, only to get there and wonder where the time went?

I'm the least stressed member of my family and I'm the one living the least conventional life (and the one with the - diagnosed at least - anxiety disorder...).

Every day is a highly unlikely gift, so don't make it a cliche - you're not one, once you realise it. Even if that sentence is.

Fond farewell to a man's best friend

Goodbye Lucy, my manic ball of scruff.

Lucy in 2002, age 6, looking innocent

They say dogs resemble their owners. I wonder if you picked up certain unfortunate traits from me, at least me as a youth, things like a palpable anxiety at times (no doubt also due to being zipped over, miraculously unharmed, by a car in the very early days), a fierce temper and being just a little bit, healthily, crazy.

Sixteen and a half years ago, Mum and Dad just sprung it on me one ordinary June Saturday that we were to get a dog. A lesson for all kids there - pester long enough and you can win. Dad had, years earlier, promised me a dog for my eighth birthday, undoubtedly hoping I'd forget. We had an old Labrador for a short while - the most timid animal I've ever met, very unlike you Lucy - but she became too much stress for Mum I think so we gave her to a family friend where she was well looked after. Perhaps if I'd been more aware of things I would not have half-jokingly pestered Dad for the five or six between turning  eight and this June day in 1996. Still, it was a shock. Why had they suddenly come to this decision? Was there bribery involved...?

I don't know why I chose a small dog, I've always liked big ones. Maybe the pressure of the situation. I don't know what stood out about you, I vaguely remember a certain energy. It would make sense if you were the terror of the litter, even at six weeks.

It was so unexpected that Nick and Dave freaked out when they saw what looked like an over-sized rat running around the kitchen upon returning home from a weekend in Queensland. I remember when you used to sleep in Dave's The Late Show cap. He loved that cap. I love that you claimed it. Man, I wish I could find that photo!

I was naive in a lot of ways. I wanted the dog but not the responsibility. But I was now old enough to take on responsibility. I sure as hell didn't know what I was in for. None of us did. You included, I'm sure.

For years I wanted a dog, but as soon as we got you home I became depressed. It wasn't you, it was me. All I could think about for days was that I was going to get attached to you and someday you would die. That was the sentiment in my irrational head and locked-up heart. In the first days you were a constant reminder of an unavoidable sadness I couldn't handle. Maybe it was the sudden change in my life. I never much liked change.

But change is inevitable, and irrationality passes. And who could maintain such detached thinking with such bursts of unbound energy racing around the place.

I'm not gonna lie, you brought more than your fair share of trouble. We had a complex friendship you and me, but that just made it more real. I think I was the only one that actually talked to you sometimes, but don't tell anyone.

Lucy, 11 November 2012, aged 16

I always knew exactly where you stood. Your temperament needed work as much as my energy and motivation did. It didn't make things easy. I didn't train you well at all, but on the flipside, I'm glad we didn't train the personality out of you. You were moody a bit more than is generally acceptable for a dog, and we had to make sure the kids were careful with you - which was sad - but you were genuine. When you came to me, jumped all over me in your unruly, enthusiastic way, I knew it was because you wanted to - maybe because I had a schmacko - not out of mere obedience.

I should have socialised you more. I was not a great owner, but I hope I was as good a friend for you as you were for me, especially in those early years when I didn't have many of the human variety.

As I spent two weeks unable to settle on a name, Nick and Dave - inspired by a film they'd just seen - enthusiastically suggested Kaiser. It would have been somewhat fitting. Dave lovingly called you "Psycho". Unbound sometimes meant aggressively undisciplined, but in all you were a loving, loved, bundle of fun and joy.

It's fair to say I have some regrets, though I don't know how you feel about it all. about lots of things. You didn't want to be trained, and I made mediocre teenage efforts to train you. You had temperament issues, I had motivational ones. In some ways, we made a good pairing, but I think I let you down. I definitely let Mum and Dad down. I'd do things differently, I don't know how you felt about it all.

I'm sorry I had to leave you behind when I moved out. I probably didn't wash you often enough, especially after moving out, but I'm not sure you're too fussed about that one. I was thrilled that we continued to have that special owner/pet bond, as if you know you were "my" dog. Though I don't like the term "owner" between friends.

I'm sorry for the conflicted feelings I felt as you aged. The guilt of leaving you behind, when having a dog around was a stress Mum didn't need and had her own health to worry about. When signs of age appeared - when you stopped racing to the side of the house barking as my car pulled up because you couldn't hear so well, and when you stopped running to the front door as I entered jumping all over me because you didn't have the energy - I felt some relief of this guilt, which was horrible and created new conflicted feelings and guilt in me.

The last week was tough. Seeing you stop eating and fade so fast, no longer responding to your name, I wasn't even sure if I was being a comfort or annoyance. I don't know if you even knew who I really was anymore so far were you gone. You were not the little loveable menace of years past. But you were still Lucy.

The hardest part was that I didn't know what the best thing for you was. I prepared myself to make that difficult decision - on advice - but the vet encouraged persistence. You seemed to have made up your mind though.

I'm sad I wasn't the one there with you on Friday when you fell asleep for the last time, to look you in the eye and comfort you like all those other times the bad man gave you needles (he really is a nice fellow, I should say). I'm sorry one of the last moments we shared involved me forcing tablets down your throat.

I hate saying I felt some relief when we all decided it was time, but I did, for various reasons. It was nothing like my anxious fears when you first arrived. We were all ready. It's horrible. Or is it? Is it coping? Is it the way when a life comes to a prolonged, (almost) natural end?

But now you are actually gone and it's been a long time - before you were born - since I've lost anyone/anything dear to me. Looking at photos of you makes me much much sadder than I felt when I knew your time was up. Do I miss you more than I loved you? Fuck, I hope not, that's horrible. It's reality sinking in. I look at these photos and want to scruff you up again, chase you round the back yard, yell "cat!" and see you bolt out the back to try in vain to intimidate the darn things. I look  at that photo, of the dog that's been some years gone, and still I have to remind myself. She's gone. She's gone. She's gone. I think I had a tear yesterday. I'm not sure, wind was blowing in my eyes. But I am sad.

I'm coming round tomorrow. It might sink in then, seeing your bowl and bed - or not seeing them. I'm going to sit next to where Dad buried you, have a beer and thank you for being the crazy, untameable, troublesome, fun life you were. I'm glad I picked you.


Miss you buddy. You were one of a kind. It was far from perfect, but I hope we gave you a happy life.

A friend gave me some words from Ben Hur Lampman (I'd never heard of him, but he seems to be switched on): "The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master".

I'm not sure I was ever your master, but you know you always have a comfortable spot there.

Rest well, or just give 'em hell, wherever you are.

Berlin

Slightly edited version of internal ramblings jotted down while sitting with a beer at the Weihenstephaner Restaurant, Hackescher Markt, immediately after a five-hour walking tour of Berlin on Tuesday 9 October 2012.

Berlin is exploding my mind.

Ich bin ein Berliner!

I arrived Sunday evening, am staying on the north-east fringe of town - and a large town it is - and didn't really feel it yesterday. All I did yesterday though, was visit the nice but relatively pitiful Oktoberfest set up in Alexanderplatz (comparison aside, it's actually kinda cool) and went up the TV Tower where I finally started to get my bearings. You can study maps all you like but it's not until you've been in and around the city for at least a day or two that it starts to make sense. And perhaps even then, without contextual knowledge of history and culture, this place wouldn't be so flash. Yesterday I walked right past Lustgarten, barely giving it a glance.

Today I did a walking tour. It was five hours of cultural and historical sights and information. A barrage of thought-provoking information bites, one after another for five hours. It was full on. Possibly the best paid tourist experience I've had. Today, back at Lustgarten with a little knowledge, the same space affected me deeply.

Yesterday I wondered whether Berlin would meet my expectations. Today I declare it my favourite of all the cities I've visited! One I could really see myself spending an extended period of time in. I love Germany overall, but this city has so much to offer.

New York makes you feel like you are at the centre of the world, Berlin feels like the centre of modern human history. New York's appeal is largely built on ego. Berlin's is based on culture, counter-culture, history, revolution, misery, and tough lessons that they've taken head on. My country could learn a lot about dealing with shameful history from Berlin and Germany generally.

There is such contrast and diversity in the history and place of this city. So much to think about.

How would modern Australia treat 'wall jumping' asylum seekers?

One place, one city that has been a leader in tolerance, was home to the greatest intolerance and human rights abuses of living memory, was bombed to pieces, ripped in half as part of a conflict not it's own, and came out the other side - finally - as one of the most vibrant, accepting and open cities on the planet.

The Mayor is openly homosexual - surely one of very few in the world - in a city where homosexuals were executed 70 years ago. My tour guide was an Israeli artist who moved to Berlin because it allowed her greater freedom of expression than her homeland. The same Berlin that was the capital of a country that executed six million Jews is now more accepting of some of them than Israel. Shocking, amazing, disappointing, fantastic.

Were the decades of pain and suffering necessary to make the city what it is? No doubt tourism thrives on atrocious historical events, but not culture, right? Why have the people of Berlin progressed so rapidly on respect for others while we in the lucky country languish in the struggle to shift - to open - supressed conservative minds. Perhaps drastic events are necessary for rapid change - sometimes for the worse, as post-World War I Berlin showed - but surely we can progress without suffering. Why does it often take a wall to drive people to seek to move beyond the ground its on.

This man. Is my hero

Berlin is what it is - something great - because of its past. Who's to say what it might otherwise have been? Or more the point, it is the city it is because of how the people of Berlin responded to their circumstances: accepting the past, learning from it and moving forward.

At one point on the walking tour we stopped by a memorial for a man who tried to assassinate Hitler in 1939. The guide wondered aloud, "if he has assassinated Hitler, maybe we would have avoided these atrocities."

It was a pertinent, thought-provoking and troubling. An ordinary man, an attempted murderer, presented as a hero. Yes, I felt a ping of admiration for him. He could have saved millions of lives and spared decades of misery for Germans, particularly of the east. Or maybe it would have made little difference. The Nazis were more than Hitler. Maybe things would have escalated. Maybe all hell would have broken lose. Assassinations tend to start more wars than they end. Who knows?

I'm opposed to the death penalty and certainly people taking justice into their own hands, so it was difficult to reconcile my feelings. If he'd been successful, maybe we'd view him differently - after all, Hitler would have died with far less blood on his hands and no one would ever have known the lengths to which he was prepared to go for his vision and to win the war.

As I said, I felt some admiration towards and sympathy for this man - admittedly given the full and subsequent context of Hitler's life - and disappointment that he had failed like so many others did, before I realised I was perhaps being hypocritical and now I'm not really sure.

Truth is it's complex. I dare say he was a decent man with well-intentioned - even admirable and courageous - motives who tried to do something that was morally questionable. I think questioning the morality of such action is the only way to promote and maintain a civil society. Can you bring back civility with uncivil action? Or is it better to die standing by your values no matter what? It's easy to stand by your morals when you're not the one doing the dying I guess.

That was just one of many complex questions Berlin has thrown at me today

No city has ever made me think so much about the complexities in humanity. Complexities too often glossed over or shoved into a convenient pigeon-hole.

Here the contrasts and complexities are - more than anywhere I've ever been - set free and promoted. By government, but mostly, and somewhat passively, through art.

I get it now. I understand why so many artists come here.

This city makes you think, question, explore - if you're willing to take the journey.

JFK was right, we're all Berliners (not doughnuts), it's the world's city of human struggle. This place has seen it all and has something to teach every person on the planet.

Anxious and travel

We're all prone to lying to ourselves sometimes to avoid uncomfortable or unpopular truths.

I reckon there is a massive myth around the way we travel. Few people ever admit to not enjoying a holiday - it’s sacrilege.

Each year over the last six years I’ve taken three-to-five weeks leave and gone on adventure, almost always overseas. Every time I’ve suffered a bout of depression and anxiety at some point for a variety of reasons – one time so bad I was painfully close to flying home a week early – but I always returned home with a smile and revelled in the photos and stories of a wonderful adventure. I do love travelling; I had just never found the right way for me. But I think I’ve cracked it.

Right now I’m in a Munich hotel, with about 24 hours left of a three-week journey through Germany and Eastern Europe, and this time I can genuinely say has been a fantastic trip; easily the most enjoyable yet. I’m not gonna lie, it hasn’t all been easy, but it’s the first time I’ve consistently forgotten what day it is; the first time I haven’t struggled to occupy my mind when travelling alone; the first time I haven’t started counting down days in anticipation of getting home (though I am now ready). Never before have I been able to so completely forget about home and my comfort zone for such long periods of time.

There are a few reasons. Partly it’s just being in a better place mentally. These trips have always been somewhat of a benchmark of where I am really at in my management of anxiety. I think I’ve kept doing it because I like challenging myself, or I’m a maniacal optimist.

But I’ve learnt from previous mistakes. This time I did things differently. I did it the way that worked for me, not how other people do it.

I mixed things up.

I started with a bang at Oktoberfest with friends, one of the craziest experiences I’ve had and one we’ll be talking about to the point of boredom for those who weren’t there as long as we hang out.

I then spent a week or so on my own. I knew I needed some relaxation, downtime and my own space on this trip. That meant taking things a bit slower that I have in the past and slashing my list of places to visit so I could enjoy those I did and relax as well as get out amongst it. In that time I splashed out and stayed in hotels. I can afford it and the trip was short enough that the extra cost was worth maintaining my sanity by paying to have my own space with the basic luxuries.

One of the lies I’ve told myself while travelling is that people always have fun in hostels - that I’ll meet people and we’ll be friends and maybe I’ll even hook up with someone and it’ll be awesome. Maybe it’s true for confident extroverts but I’m socially stunted when it comes to meeting people, lack the energy to engage with strangers, hate small talk and have had few conversations in the many hostels I’ve stayed in, let alone made friends. In fact, once I start to feel mental fatigue and the downs of travel – detachment, isolation, boredom – hostels suffocate me. I feel like there’s already friendships established so why would they want me talking to them (talking to people in the lobby these days means interrupting them while they’re checking the Facebook on the free wi-fi anyway)and I don’t sleep well from paranoia about snoring and pissing people off. I don’t want to have to flee my base to get the space I need.

I realised if I want to relax, I needed my own comfortable space. It’s not the cool or youthful way to travel, but fuck me, it worked a treat. And I was quite happy being anti-social for a week, especially while I dealt with the mind explosion that is Berlin. It also allowed me to address the single most important element in keeping my head – getting plenty of rest.

In that time I also made sure I had things to keep me occupied in my downtime that weren’t Facebook, or the internet in general. Previously I’ve thought the way to stave off boredom and anxiety was to keep a busy itinerary. But I think, for me, it’s just the opposite. Take time, and have time to myself where I have things to do. Sightseeing is the main activity, but you can’t feel guilty taking a break from it. It should be an experience not a distraction. Don’t drive yourself nuts getting to all the sights listed in Lonely Planet because you feel like you should. See what interests you. Spend a few hours reading or writing or just people watching in a bar and soaking up the vibe of a city. Whatever.

I didn’t want to spend two weeks on my own, and I know I need a bit of force to mingle with strangers, so I signed up for a tour for the following week. One that was long enough to actually get to know people, but not too long that it wore me down. In 2009 when I was ready to pay whatever it took to fly home early, the saving grace was a four-day tour of the Canadian Rockies. It got me out of my own head after a couple of weeks mentally isolated in hostels racking up a massive phone bill looking to Facebook for human connection and made me actually interact with real people.

Once past that awkward initial stage I’m a social animal. I made up for my lack of getting-to-know-you skills by never shying away from activity, especially involving that social lubricant, alcohol. After a few days you realise a few cool people actually like you and you wonder why you doubt yourself so much, because really you are pretty fucking awesome.

Now it’s over and I’m missing a bunch of random strangers who happened to pick the same tour as me that I’d never met a little over a week ago. People I had deep and diverse conversation with that I wouldn’t have with family or work colleagues, and many of whom I’ll likely never see again. I don’t have the stomach to do that over and over for a few months. At least Facebook makes it easier to either stay friends or gently slip away. 

Maybe there are lessons here for others, I don’t know. A lot of people get stressed out when they travel, much more than they’ll admit. Do be confined by how others define the experience of travel. Find your own way. It should be a fun, joyous thing. But as little as it’s ever spoken, there’s a lot of stress that can come with travel.

Modern tourists get caught up worrying about schedules and itineraries. We visit tourist sites because they’re tourist sites, take their photos and leave, not actually really enjoying it. We race from city to city to say they’ve been there so they can partake in masturbatory conversations about the best city in the world (I personally think its Berlin). Even though my travels have been largely based on it, I don’t think three or less days does any city justice, even Canberra. We see places through a camera lens, desperately trying to capture a moment for fear of forgetting it - or so it can be relayed to others (not possible unless you’re a mega creative photographer) - rather than actually immersing ourselves in it with all our senses and soaking up the atmosphere, which a camera can’t do.

Travelling alone makes you more prone to taking too many photos because you want to share all the little interesting moments with someone. I actually find it relieving when places don’t allow photos because I take it in without thinking about the camera.

I don’t care that I didn’t experience an onslaught of cities through booze-wearied Contiki eyes. Better to experience a few places properly than visit a lot briefly.

I’m not bothered that I never spent my youth travelling and/or working in Europe as seems to have become a rite-of-passage for many young Aussies. It’s great for some, it’s not for everyone and it’s sure as hell not an automatic ticket to maturity or worldliness. I know people who never left Australia that are more world-wise than others who’ve been to 20 countries. 

Travel is a fantastic learning experience though. It offers a chance to get outside your comfort zone and away from the daily grind, see different cultures, meet new and diverse people, gain perspective, learn about life and reflect on your own. Do it your own way and learn from the inevitable – sometimes painful, sometimes fun, sometimes hilarious – mistakes and it’s one of life’s greatest activities.

I’ve learnt a lot every time, and no less on this trip time, about myself and this crazy, messed up world and time I randomly find myself in.

Anxious and dating

I've never even seen Mad Men. But I like whiskey.

First dates are horrible. Two people getting to know each other, sussing out whether they want to see the other person again, while often being too nervous too reveal particularly much of their personality.

It's worse when you're predisposed to anxious thinking. Even having learnt to deal with it pretty well now, there are certain situations that deem themselves important enough to grant it power.

The doubts, the questions, the 'what ifs' - all return a little, then a lot if you let them. The pressures outweigh the prospects. The ruminations outweigh the romance.

In five years of singledom I've covered many dating scenarios - the online dating date, the friend of a friend date, the work colleague date. I've courted, been courted, rejected, been rejected. Had a couple of one-night-stands, even more one-night-spoons, even a short, intense quasi-relationship.

I don't date a lot. I don't feel the need and, well, I'm no good at it.

There are compounding factors to the whole anxiety thing. It took me a long time to be understand females. I grew up with two brothers and no sisters, went to an all-boys high school, had no real female friends through my teens (or fake ones for that matter). I had not the slightest idea of how to talk to girls. All I knew was to avoid the failsafe schoolyard conversation topics of farts, footy and gay-jokes.

I did grow up with the fantastic notion that a girl would waltz into my life, see through my crippling shyness, and make me happy, distracting me totally and perpetually from all those stupid thoughts and constant 'worrying' (later to be diagnosed as OCD and anxiety disorder!)

Somehow I found myself (sadly that's not much of an overstatement) in a relationship when I was 18 that lasted six years, and I came out the other side at 24 with a much better understanding of women, a growing number of female friends - actually many of my closest - but still no real dating experience.

Five years on, things are quite different. I'm far more confident, capable and calm. I am surrounded by women at work and in social life, they probably more than half of my closest friends and confidantes.

Still. I don't enjoy dating. It's bad enough with someone you've gotten to know, decided you like, clumsily courted, built up the courage to ask out. Meeting someone from the online dating world is a whole other experience, and one I'm going through at the moment.

I find much more intense meeting a person with the immediate pressure of prospective relations.. You might call it 'intimi-dating'. Perhaps not. But I don't enjoy it.

I hate small talk. I hate talking about work. I play it safe, don't bang on about issues I'm passionate about that they might have no interest in. I actually had multiple dates with a girl who said she would never talk politics. Oh the thought of it!

I get ahead of myself, my mind fast forwards, I project thoughts, doubts and feelings. She's talking to me and my mind is trying to run three simultaneous processes: trying to think of something to say when silence falls; trying to assess our compatibility; and finally - given least importance in my tense, distorted mind - listening to what she's actually saying.

I'm naturally cautious. I don't want to throw uncertainty to the wind and find myself suddenly in a relationship I never really wanted. Past mistakes haunt me.

If I'm somewhat interested, then there's a new collection of doubts. Should I kiss her? When? How to do it without awkwardness (impossible!)? What if that leads her on? What if I don't and she thinks I have no interest? What if I do and it doesn't clear my head of all these goddamned thoughts?!!?What next? And when? Will this lead to inevitable hurt? I remember when I was 12 my parents got me a dog after years of me pestering - when we got her I was consumed with the painful thought of becoming attached to this creature that would die and hurt me someday. If the present didn't provide it, I could find sufficient anxiety in the future.

I warm to people slowly, and it's an amazing, crazy few who see through my (now much thinner) veneer of anxiety-riddled bullshit to the comfortable, awesome person I really am. So my initial assumption is the date's gone badly and she won't want to see me again. Mostly I've been right - hooray! What's wrong with all these girls that they can't see that I'm a catch, I'll wonder. A few times I've been wrong. Then I get suspicious. What's wrong with her if she thinks I'm worthy of more time after a pathetic, fumbling performance where I let her buy my hot chocolate?! Do I want to date someone who would choose to spend more time with me, especially having only met the socially inept me??

The level of interest she shows will influence the doubts and questions prodding my mind. I absolutely do not endorse the 'Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen' advice, but there is a little anxious logic (which may be an oxymoron) behind it.

Where she's showing clear interest and the ball's been pretty much in my court to make the move, often all my thoughts are drawn to reasons not to pursue it - my anxiety monster reminds me of things I may not find attractive or elements missing that I adored in others.

What would my friends think of her? What would I have thought of her if I'd just spotted her in a bar or on the street without this whole context messing with my mind? What of my cherished, now well-established independence!? I don't want to be tethered to any single person. I want to continue to draw inspiration, love and life from a range of people in my life.

But then there's also been those I fancied who were far less forward with their interest, and all I could think of were the things I loved about her! Over-analysing the number and content of messages, trying to figure out her real feelings. And then she'd give me a little rope and I'd start wondering whether I was just overplaying my feelings and looking for a relationship for the sake of a relationship because I think it would be a good distraction from my anxiety, despite the fact this whole line of thinking is driven by anxiety.

Anyway, the solution is quite simple. Just take things as they come. Live in the moment. Enjoy the company of a nice person. Be honest with them, and yourself, and not worrying about what you may or may not feel. No expectations, no disappointments.

But that doesn't mean you can't dream a little. Indeed, if you find yourself doing so, it's a  good sign.

My experiences have taught me to never let my own doubts and insecurity affect my relationships, or potential relationships, with others. Let go of what you can't control, cherish what you have and be excited by what could be without a care for what will not.

I'm still learning to put that into practice though. I still get anxious feet.

Indigenous Exceptionalism - MWF review

Article written for Right Now, and appears on the website with other human rights reviews here.


Is ‘race’ is an inherently negative word and is it time we stopped using it?

‘Racism’ has been a useful term for defining and addressing undesirable attitudes and conduct, but race – a term devised by European explorers – is often a simplistic, generalised method of identification that relies on physical appearance, rather than nationality, culture, ancestry or any meaningful feature of identity. We are, after all, members of a single human race, comprised of millions of ethnicities.

Professor Marcia Langton, Chair of Indigenous Studies at the University of Melbourne, was part of an expert panel set up by the federal government to look into recognition of Indigenous Australians in the Australian Constitution. In a Melbourne Writers Festival address, titled Indigenous Exceptionalism, she discussed race and the need to remove reference to it in the Constitution.

Until 1967, the Constitution allowed the parliament to legislate in the interests of “the people of any race, other than the aboriginal race in any State, for whom it is deemed necessary to make special laws”.

Following the referendum of 1967 the words “other than the aboriginal race in any State” were removed.

However, the lingering reference to ‘race’ remains problematic, and the panel’s recommendations, handed down in January this year, included removing it, as well as acknowledging Indigenous Australians as the first peoples of Australia and the aspiration for cultural maintenance, including languages.

Professor Langton called recognition of Indigenous Australians in the Constitution “a large, fraught topic full of legal, as well as moral, challenges.”

She called race an out-dated, crude concept – historically used to justify colonialism by portraying non-white peoples as inferior – and one that is “such a discredited biological and social construct that its citation in a democratic constitution is undesirable.”

“Defining Aboriginal people as a race, as the Constitution does,” she said “sets up the conditions for Indigenous people to be treated, not just as different, but exceptional and, moreover, inherently incapable of joining the Australian polity and society.”

“In the slowly building campaign for constitutional recognition of Indigenous people, it is vital that we broaden the understanding that the constitutional tradition of treating Aborigines as a race must be replaced with the idea of first peoples,” Professor Langton said.

The problem of race is evident in comments such as those by Andrew Bolt, who was found guilty of breaching the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 (Cth) in 2011, for implying that some fair-skinned Aboriginals were not true Aboriginals. Such perceptions are based on appearance rather than lineage and ties to place and culture.

Professor Langton actually shares Bolt’s cynicism towards some claims to Aboriginality by people seeking access to special treatment. The difference is, however, that her criticism is not based on skin tone but abuses of special treatment by those who cannot be described as disadvantaged, and those who claim Aboriginality on paper to claim benefit, but not in public.

Where temporary special assistance is required, she argued, the test for assistance must be economic disadvantage not Aboriginal ancestry. Aboriginality does not automatically equate to economic disadvantage and Professor Langton believes the entitlement mentality that has developed is poisoning Aboriginal society just as much as it is poisoning Australian attitudes towards Indigenous people.

The challenge ahead is addressing “the poorly understood friction between bringing Indigenous Australians firmly into the national polity and, on the other hand, maintaining their exceptional status as inextricably different.”

Despite her strong stance, Professor Langton believes a referendum should not be rushed, citing Australia’s record of rejecting constitutional change and the potentially harmful outcomes a negative result would have. Not only does she fear defeat would prevent the change being made in her lifetime, but she believes it would also lead to disappointment and bitterness among the Indigenous community, and Australia being seen internationally as racist.

Whether you agree with her views or not, Professor Langton is a formidable speaker and one of those wonderfully fascinating and considered people who seem impossible to pin down on the traditional political spectrum, making it all the more difficult to dismiss her argument’s challenge to one’s own perceptions. On such an important issue, even if a symbolic one, it is important for us all to keep an open mind and consider our own perceptions.

A 'balanced' ABC, or a better ABC?

Not many people are happy with our ABC at the moment. ALP supporters think Aunty is leaning to the right and giving Tony Abbott an easy ride. Conservative commentators continue to, as they always will, bang on about the national broadcaster being a mouthpiece of the left.

Mark Scott probably feels comfortable that the criticism from both sides places them nicely in the middle; that it's an indicator of a job well done. Well it's not.

Some of the concerns are valid but many of the party-political calling for a "fairer", "more balanced" ABC seem more interested in seeing their political team get a better run than promoting quality independent journalism.

I'm not sure why this feels like a radical notion, but I'd rather see the ABC forget the left-right divide altogether if they're going to be properly able to report without fear or favour.

Doesn't forcing the national broadcaster to operate in the middle of that one-dimensional spectrum - rather than above it - just restrict independence and the ability to pursue the public interest? Is measuring the coverage of left and right, Coalition vs ALP (and partners) really a meaningful indicator of quality journalism? It's important to be unbiased, but that's not necessarily the same as balanced.

It's like judging the performance of AFL umpires based on the free kick count at the end of a match - it completely ignores the quality and discipline of the competing teams, and (most importantly) the umpires themselves. Unbiased isn't necessarily the same as balanced.

The ABC is meant to provide balance to the media landscape as an alternative to the commercial media, not by walking a careful, inoffensive and tedious line down the middle of politics. Ok, the Charter may disagree with me there, and "the public interest" is probably a little too subjective to measure and report on. *Sigh*.

The role of a public broadcaster is to present a diverse and thoughtful voice that speaks to the public interest rather than the ratings figures. That's why they shouldn’t be afraid to broadcast a documentary like shouldn't be afraid to broadcast an important, insightful documentary like Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, for fear of the appearance of bias. Especially given the current discourse on asylum seekers, which is why a commercial station wouldn't touch it.

In politics, they should be asking policy questions and applying pressure where others will not and fleshing out the issues, informing and challenging us - those of us who wish to be informed and challenged anyway. Not everybody wants to engage politically, and that is totally fine. But they have to vote, so some independent analysis is pretty vital, and the ABC goes to extremes to ensure fair coverage during an election - the one time I'd probably agree with the onerous task.

Perhaps being driven by public interest rather than profit is inherently "progressive". So be it (yes, it suits me - maybe I'm biased too, only human). That doesn't preclude critical analysis of all sides of politics and presentation of a diverse range of views, most importantly views that contribute substance and/or don't get their voice heard in the mainstream media.

Even if that's the case, the cranky conservatives have enough profit-driven media outlets, with a lot more influence, to play with. We need Aunty. We all need her. As much as they may be loathe to admit it, their taxes provide vital diversity and accountability - you need only spend 15 minutes a week watching the ABC's MediaWatch to see how pathetic profit-driven media can be and why a strong ABC is so important. How often does a story on a program like Four Corners end up sparking discussion across the media the following day? (Rhetorical - quite often)

Should they report both sides of the climate change debate equally? Of course not, no one expects tobacco companies to get a right of reply every time cigarettes are discussed. But it should be reported and questioned objectively, with the facts.

But yes, I agree the Aunty's political coverage hasn't been the best of late.

Mr Abbott's gotten away with a lot of BS for much of the last two years, while Prime Minister Gillard has copped excessive criticism - from the ABC and mainstream media. But it's not bias, it's lazy, pack journalism combined with an undisciplined government who don't communicate well. Abbott's deficiencies are mostly policy (or lack of) based, whereas Gillard has faced a stream of scandals and chaos, too often caused by mischievous colleagues. Going after Gillard has offered a better story for attracting and entertaining the audience.

The criticism of the ABC shouldn't be "Hey, attack their guy!", it should be "You're meant to be better than this!"

The tide actually seems to be starting to turn on Abbott now, with the introduction of the Carbon Tax providing a background of reality to scrutinise him against, and allowing for broader critique of a few dodgy (sometimes harmful) lines. With the polls turning slowly on him too, it will probably continue. But a government will - and should - always receive a little more scrutiny than the opposition throughout it's term.

However, it's not about left and right. It doesn't matter how many ABC journalists have joined either major political party. Why should Insiders feel the need to give up a seat to rambling and stubborn people like Piers Ackerman and Gerard Henderson to balance the thoughtfulness of George Megalogenis and Annabelle Crabb? I know there's a lot of complain about the extent of Institute of Public Affairs (IPA) presence, but at least some of the IPA representatives listen and engage in productive discussion.

We (I'm talking on your behalf, you're welcome) just want some real policy discussion, without so many polls and unfounded leadership speculation!

I still love you Aunty - we're very lucky to have you - but you aren't without fault. Just don't listen to the shouters.


Declaration: I begrudgingly accept the label "progressive", provided it is preceded by "open-minded". I do not pledge support to any party and think the left-right spectrum is dumb.