More Oversharing
Sorry this has turned into a bit of a life story.
As discussed, a few weeks back, I’m going to use sections of this page as a bit of a journal/insight into what I’m doing over here in London.
To kick things off, I thought I’d dig a little bit into what exactly drew me into this writing thing in the first place. After attending my fair share of writers’ groups over the past few years, I can tell you I definitely don’t fit the standard mould. You don’t tend to see too many cauliflower ears, or Nike trainers at these things.
I’d love to say writing is a vocation I’ve been chasing since I was a kid, but that’s not exactly true. Sure, I’ve always had a natural knack for English, and yes, I did go through a phase where I obsessively drew new book covers for the “Peter Pickletoes” series I’d written in primary school, but after I hit age ten, it’s not something I put much thought into for about a decade.
One thing I did pick up fairly early, however, was an allergy to doing things in a “conventional” manner. I’ve tracked the roots of this all the way back to a memory that probably never actually occurred.
I was on the farm one day, riding on the back of the family’s Honda 500 four-wheeler motorbike, roaring around the Ruititi hills with my eldest brother, Tom, driving. Our black and white heading dog, Tui, ran alongside the bike, sprinting up and down the hillside, tongue out, having the time of her life.
We stopped at a locked gate, and I hopped my Red-band gumboots amongst the mud and sheep-shit to carry out the mandatory little-brother duty of unlatching the gate. As I wrestled to pry open the moss-covered rails, Tom pointed over to Tui. She had her ears forward, stalking a cornered sheep, taking miniature steps, muscles twitching at the slightest movement from its woolly target, eyes carrying the focus of a SWAT team leader. Tom said something along the lines of, “Have you ever seen a person who loves what they do as much as that?”
To him, it was probably just an offhand comment of the type you’d throw out twenty times across a workday. But for whatever reason, that really stuck with me. He was right. Through a combination of breeding, training and dog-centric incentive, Tui was engaged in an activity, that, if given the choice, she wouldn’t trade anything in the world for. How often does your average human with all their “intelligence,” achieve that state, let alone engage in it on a daily basis?
I know this is hardly a profound thought, but I was maybe eleven when it hit me, so cut me some slack. For the first time, I started seriously thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. Making a distinction between work and work.
My mind didn’t go straight to writing though. On my list of non-soul crushing career paths, I had: Pro-snowboarder, Rockstar and MMA fighter. All very high percentage options, I know.
It took having my brain literally smashed against the inside of my skull one too many times, to put two of those dreams to bed for me. The rockstar one was a bit more of a slow burn. Not being in a band threw a slight spanner in the works, but really, it took the epiphany that I don’t actually like staying up late and being around crowds very much, before I decided my guitar playing would stay in the hobby realm.
Fast forward a few years, I’ve graduated Uni, and I’m ready to chase the last dream I’ve managed to keep aflame. Just go out and do it right?
Here’s the thing: “Author,” isn’t a job title you can just apply for. There’s no entry level, get coffee for the first few years, earn a promotion and one day, graduate to New York Times best seller by virtue of time served.
It’s also near impossible (for me at least) to ignore the fundamental need to be self-sufficient. You can call this a societal construct, or chalk it up to evolution. But as far as I can see, by a certain age, the ability to look at yourself and say, “I’m capable of paying my own rent, I can buy my own groceries,” is crucial to basic mental health, and for me, a pre-requisite to attempting any type of artistic endeavour.
So, I went out, and found myself a day-job.
Flash forward, I’m one week out from getting my restricted driver’s licence, and I find myself in the Auckland city centre navigating heavily congested streets with a trailer full of Black Forrest Bark.
Thanks Tristan.
What started as a one-off gardening job, evolved into a renovation role, which evolved into a sales role, until I found myself six year’s later, bidding on property in all the central auction rooms in New Zealand’s largest city. My partner Mollie and I even managed to purchase our own apartment during this period.
I kept writing though (I should mention here that I’m a bit of a psycho when it comes to habits and routine). At one point in time, I strung together a streak of 730 days without missing a writing session—I’ll try to fish out my wordcount log if I can find it.
In 2020 Covid hit—ruined the property market, ruined a lot of things. For two years or so, it felt like the colour settings on life had been switched to dull. This isn’t something exclusive to me though, and I by no means had it worse than anyone else.
The point is, as it did for many people, this interruption gave me a chance to re-prioritise. Sure, I’d been plugging away at writing—but during one of those enforced lockdowns where three of us were cooped up in a 63m2 apartment for five weeks, the Hemingway quote I’ve had saved as my desktop image for the last five years started taunting me, “Never mistake motion for action.” I don’t want to get too airy-fairy here, but the chicken vs egg process on my choosing that quote does hurt my head a little bit with I think about it too much.
This spurred a long chat with my partner Mollie. She’d been wanting to get back over to Europe for years by this point, so she was on board with a change. 2021 was a year of saving for both of us. 2022 was the year we “took action.”
I appreciate not everyone has the opportunity or naivety to make a life change of this type. But if circumstance, hasn’t already crushed your “delusional” dreams, I recommend making some sort of plan to at least get some taste of what that life might be like.
In the next one of these, I’ll go into the expectations vs reality of this. Trust me, I’m definitely not Tui the dog, chasing sheep every day. See you next time.