Easter wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. But it was because I skirted the regulations; handed over a chocolate Easter bunny while walking Sunday Easter morning with a friend, checked on a fragile friend later and drank wine with a laugh.

Could I have done it any other way? No.

Our political leaders telling people to bunker down with families over Easter made me incandescent with rage.

Discriminatory I screeched.  To single, living alone and far away from family type of independent individuals.  Good to know that had I started dating a random two weeks before I could go see them.  But not family and friends, except if I went for the 43rd walk of the day filling in time.

Do we really understand the consequences?

I get it. With both parents in the high-risk category, I get it. With one other sibling weighed down with the all important grandkids, no one steps near the grandparents and they are weary, two weeks in.

All weekend I watched the news and the streets for those blatantly flouting the laws, anything that would bring on the threats and actualisation of Stage 4.  What’s Stage 4?  We havn’t been told but it can’t be good.

And barely, just barely, I hang on to the rage that simmers just below at the thought that someone else’s stupidity will bring me closer to being shut off from the rest of the world.

Because how will I differentiate work from home then in my one room apartment?  How will time and days tell themselves apart if I cannot venture out to breathe and to interact 1.5 metres apart in passing people?

I don’t want to do this 

For me, it’s only really a little over two weeks in working remotely and isolating. I wanted to be at home as it was safer. My mum wanted me at home because it was safer.

So, as I swing between eating my doomsday prepper food and supporting the local pizza businesses that are trying to remain open, I wash my hands yet again, use the hand sanitiser made by a local gin distillery and wonder if I need to try my hand at sewing a mask.

It’s acknowledged that life in iso is hard. At the same time, we’re supposed to be grateful; I have a job for now, my health, a privileged online shopping habit and Skype-connected friends and family.

But the grief that hangs in the air, that accompanies everyone walking and biking the streets in search of coffee and connection, is heavy. It can be put to one side for the seemingly never ending Zoom meetings during work days filled with pushing, politics, creativity and caring for people. But not forever.

So when will I cry?

How long can I ignore the fact my mum is starting to cry on every Skype call and valiantly trying to hide it?   Emotion, we’re not much for, traditionally.  And only hugs will heal that one.

This is a goddamn stupid virus

More than six weeks ago I wrote about my confusion around how to react to COVID-19 – was I under-reacting? Fear over reacting?  I wasn’t built for panic, but I was built for caution so I’d keep living life until that had to change, I said..   Three weeks ago I wrote that it was too early to see a world of opportunity and doing things differently because we had death and pain ahead first.

It’s true that in a personal sense, watching from the sidelines objectively, what I thought would happen is happening. The things I “do” in everyday life are not “essential services”. Movies, coffee, friends, family, shopping, gym. I “do” a lot of stuff; I’m always busy.    Sure, I don’t have to be. Slowing down is just fine; it’s something I’ve been working towards for more than a year all by myself.

But this year, 2020, was supposed to be mine. I had plans to launch, excitement and sunshine to look forward to. Instead, it’s been bushfires, a flooded apartment building and now iso life in the ruins of that flood.

The plans aren’t shelved; they’re just being slightly reshaped. Because when I can finally think about it, I’ll no doubt understand better what’s important, what’s necessary, what’s needed and what’s only wanted. That’s what we’re being told anyway.

Who else can feel or see that?  I’ve heard – and been a proponent of previously – that you should never let a good crisis pass without learning a few lessons.  Some of those are harsher this year for many others than me, no question.

There are things I like. Remote work generally and remote teams; trying different things and leading from the front; walking lots and skyping my nieces. They’re now things I can do any time when I wouldn’t have before.

I’ve seen the various memes around “Can we uninstall 2020 and reinstall it? I believe it has a virus.”  Without that reality, and with an extension of the declaration of emergency and stage 3 restrictions in place, a crisitunity is about all we can focus on.

Not yet. Lessons are being learned a mile a minute at all levels, but for a minute, for a moment, it’s okay to say “this sucks”. Goddamn stupid virus.

 

My memory says I was young when as a regional journalist I started writing about big things.

Murder. Grief. Terrorism attacks.

I don’t remember being asked if I ‘needed to speak to anyone’. Maybe I was. Regardless, I had in place my own psychological support to cry through the things I had seen, heard, written and felt. It was difficult to talk about because realistically it hadn’t happened to me. So why did I feel so much?

But there were murder scenes, gruesome evidence, interviews with survivors of rape, tears for the fallen. I’ve been watching some of the current reporters talking about the impact of their work on their mental health. As a police rounds and court reporter who did death knocks, I was a ball of anxiety, nervous I had not appropriately represented a legal argument, or the personal story of someone’s loss. I was also a ball of empathy.

In the newsroom, we used black humour. I had good friends but preferred to use them to forget. In the end I burnt out, having learned a lot but with a big personal toll. Everyone will make a choice about how they handle particularly taxing situations but when it comes to workplaces, support should be a non-negotiable.

I learned that I needed to come first. It’s an ongoing lesson.

#wellbeing #work #storytelling #content #journalism

In September, Adult Learners Week celebrated learning that promotes greater understanding and respect across different generations. I loved the concept.

While I always thought of learning in terms of degrees or forums/conferences, it turns out I have a new found passion for the Centre for Adult Learning (CAE) short courses.

Earlier this year I did a short, sharp Social Media Marketing for Businesses Course – a Saturday well spent with copious notes to follow as a reminder.

Sue Ellson was our knowledgeable tutor, and she connected dots for me and opened my mind to more of the ins and outs of social media marketing. My focus was how to grow small businesses on a shoestring budget.

The course was just a taste, building on more than a decade of knowledge in communications strategy and execution but because I’m a details person, I loved being able to draw marketing concepts and tactics together to understand more about how things work and connect.

Find your Story. Be your Story. The Art of Why.

Last year I chaired one day of a communications forum.  I had to think on my feet and speak in front of other seasoned communication professionals.

Author of “Lead the Room” and speaker Shane Hatton was the Chair of the second day. When I expressed my nervousness, his advice was to be myself, harness my stories, and to say yes to other opportunities – to keep practising.

In his book, he hammers home the connection between communicating and leading. He outlines four practices leaders need to commit to if they want to develop as a leader and a communicator:

– thinking – leading the brain

– investing – sharpening your skills

– asking- seeming out feedback

– failing – dealing with disappointment.

Shane’s point about failing better is great.

The pursuit of growth inevitably includes moments of failure. How you respond makes the difference. There’s a natural fear of failing. But accepting it, recognising, owning, learning, sharing, changing and moving forward is key to failing well. Failing is part of the process not the end of it.

Learning makes the failure usable. In a simple way, at the conference I felt I hadn’t failed exactly, but I hadn’t ‘done my best’, and I hadn’t led the room.  But as Shane says, start before you think you’re ready. Just start. Because every moment matters.

Find your Story. Be your Story. The Art of Why.