Blog: Full circle

Published on 6 November 2023 at 12:35

Last July I revisited Australia. This time I traveled out to Adelaide. Ten short days to catch up with family and reconnect, my first trip overseas since I was last there in July of 2020. Lots had changed in three years. We lost people whom we loved dearly and at the same time babies were born left and right. So I brought a Rolleiflex, 12 rolls of B&W film in a lead lined bag and tons of memories still lodged in my head to reflect on while I was there.

I should read more. I really should. Everytime I make myself write one of these posts I draw a blank. My brain isn’t used to putting words in order. That’s all part of the reason why I do this. Three years ago I had a very similar issue with reading out loud. It didn’t matter if I was reading to myself out loud or in public, I would just trip and fall over every other word and be out of breath (like actually being exhausted). When I made the trip out to Australia in march of 2020 I had plenty of time on my hands with the COVID lockdowns. For weeks I would camp out on the banks of the Murray River in my Mitsubishi Magna, all alone with nothing for miles around. Boy. Sleeping in that car did a number on my back. Regardless, I would read for hours a day. Most days that would be the only thing I do. In the trunk I had five volumes of Bruce Courtenay's work and a book or two about significant events from recent Australian history. I was completely immersed. The literature. The environment. All of it. That was my whole world back then. 


For a good eight to ten weeks that was my life.  However idyllic that may sound. It wasn't. Boredom was a real issue (one that later turned out to be a blessing in disguise) and I had genuinely trouble finding my way on my own. Be that as it may, the books were my escape and a method to engage with this vast country I found myself in far from home. They provided context, a history and an insight into what it was like ‘to be Australian.’ 

During that time I would read to myself out loud. Hundreds and hundreds of pages. Day in. Day out. And you know what. I did get better. A lot better. I got good enough to where I now feel unashamed to recite a piece of text. To this day I still benefit from that. It is a good skill to have. It’s something I value for many reasons. So yeah I should read more. Write more. Photograph more. Live life a little more. The days where I camped out on the Murray’s riverbanks feel like a long time ago now. Those were the times when I had enough going on to grow bored. There’s too much going on right now. My day-to-day life revolves around managing life. Yes, managing life and not living it. [Insert more inspirational wise ass quotes here] So yeah, I miss my little camping spot. I miss waking up in a cold damp car in the middle of nowhere. And most of all, I miss feeling like a spoiled little shit for being bored. 

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