Take me to the bridge. Again.

So much water under so much bridge.

In the period between my last post (December 2021) and this one (August 2024), 2022, 2023 and half-of-2024 happened. That’s not how to build an audience for a blog. It hurts stretching my brain across the mental expanse to grasp what happened in that timespan, and to justify why so little writing has taken place. Legacies of lockdown and a fairly wonky second milestone submission, a data collection experience that lowered my spirits and then lifted them again after a rapid method pivot that may have dislodged my vestibular apparatus, a journey through the diagnosis of a child with autism (and the accompanying challenges of adapting them to early learning environments), a month-long stint in Adelaide¹ and the commencement of a chapter that refused to surrender to completion, a serious knee injury followed by a month-long trip to the USA two weeks after, with three kids and a bunch of crutches and wheelchair rides incorporated into the amazing itinerary², then – on our return – a solid two years of rehabilitation and the accompanying journey through my relationship with pain, and a steady concurrent decline into a state of burnout and generalised anxiety that precluded any ability to read or write and thus, let’s forget data analysis altogether. I mustn’t forget to mention a protracted but steep learning curve that comes with being on the board of an Aboriginal Corporation in the throes of a Native Title determination, a leadership mass-walkout and the divisive politics and disarray that go with that. Throw in a bout of shingles for extra spice, a close family-member’s journey through a serious mental health diagnosis, and the total disappearance of a beloved brother and you have a mixed bag of physical and psychological barriers that all add up to a whole lot of zero words written. And that’s just the stuff I can recall³.

It wasn’t all zeroes. There might have been the odd string of zeroes-and-ones flashing across the screen, when I had the willpower and cognitive function to open the computer or get on a panel or participate in an interview or write a report⁴. But, burnout is very real, self-limiting beliefs are very powerful, and intense effort and the application of every available self-help or professional help method and tool⁵ that one can affordably access in an 18-month-plus period was the necessary rekindling needed to rebuild the resilience to get me here: a mere 300-odd words away from the blank screens I’ve been metaphorically staring at for months beyond my capacity to count. And yet it remains: these are 300-odd words at which no academic panel would even sniff.

But, in all the advice about writers block, the general consensus is that breaking the dam wall begins only when one is willing (and I quote) to “Write Shit”. A caveat to that is the expectation that the shit one writes generally pertains to the subject matter one is building expertise around. Well, for now this seemingly irrelevant “shit” will have to do.

The smouldering embers of what remained of my willpower were gently fanned over that time by the care and belief of a very patient and diligent supervisory team. The words “Create Space” uttered by one of them during an anguished phone call where I very nearly convinced myself that “I can’t do this!!!” served as a powerful reminder of my agency and ability to consciously pause, assess and find – no – CREATE the space to self-regulate and mindfully craft a new narrative that says “actually, I can”. Those words “Create Space” came as a bolt-from-the-blue breakthrough that was concreted into my story when I found those exact words in the first book⁶ I was able to read that wasn’t pure fiction (which I read as an exercise to get my reading muscle working again).

Rebuilding myself started with honouring the reality of what was (and still is) happening, forgiving myself for being so very merely human, permitting myself to rest, and then when I was able, slowly doing the work to learn the strategies for managing the crippling stress of my life-load. I was rewarded with little gems like the image above which, crystallising those potent words I’d heard from my supervisor over the phone, convinced me that I was on the right path. [NB: This topic is veering into what belongs in a post that I will file under a category like “Tools that worked” or something like that, so I won’t delve too deeply here.] It also involved being courageously vulnerable. It doesn’t get better by pretending it’s not happening. Few people can sit with the discomfort of someone else’s pain, frustration and despair, but to the people who did – and you know who you are – thank you. I’m here because you listened without judgement and you did or said what you could, and most of the time you didn’t try to solve my problem for me (unless it was appropriate). Thanks for helping to facilitate my transformation.

Don’t be mistaken. I am under absolutely no illusion that this esoteric emo-dump equates to anything like what will go into the exoteric thesis⁷ that will (and must) be produced if I am to earn a doctorate. One could reasonably argue that I’m piss-farting around here and I should spend the precious time I have remaining before my third milestone actually writing the thesis. Well, yeah! Fully! Fair enough, right? Tried it. Didn’t work. I don’t know. Something about running repeatedly into a brick wall expecting a door to appear just doesn’t seem to resonate with me on a subconscious or cellular level. My psyche just doesn’t vibrate at the right frequencies to vaporise invisible but impenetrable barriers, dagnammit. Repeatedly arriving at yet-another bedtime and accepting that “I didn’t write AGAIN today” has not helped me. Comparing myself to match-fit superstar academics who smash out papers, and podcasts and books and interviews and still look beautiful and absent of the dark raccoon under-eye circles of an exhausted Pom Poko tanuki hasn’t helped either. Setting the bar to the most ridiculously low output, however, evidently has because – hey hey hey I’m writing. Yes, I am Writing Shit, and it’s not even the right kind of shit. But I’m writing. Any backyard mechanic well knows that the first gear of an engine provides the lowest output speed and the greatest mechanical advantage. So, I’ve dropped it right back to first, and I’m bunny-hopping my way clear out of this jam.

I have some final thoughts that I need to drop into this illustrious defibrillator of a post. To the good folk from Enspiral Kumara with whom I spent Winterfest 2024, this paragraph is for you. Thank you for absorbing or lifting and shifting the stuff I was carrying. What you did was extreme care work, a kind of metaphysical load bearing that redistributed a spiritual and psychological weight that I couldn’t lift off myself. By doing that, you have created the conditions for me to do stuff that matters. David – I did my first pilates session today after weeks of having to be off (either because of injury, someone else’s illness or my own) and while doing a set of chest fly manoeuvres I embodied those wing-flapping manoeuvres that would shake off a baked-on layer of clay after being buried in a landslide. To everyone else, I remind you of the warning in my post-weekend-post that there’s “stuff-all” in this blog at the moment. But, this is the container through which I can begin communicating my ideas with you, in various posts, threads and categories. Some of them might be half-formed (actually probably most of them will be for a little while yet) but I feel safe to test ideas with you as an audience. I appreciate that my audience is very likely to increase once I share the link to this blog, which – to date – I have only shared with my supervisors because I’ve been too scared to actually make it public like I intended way back in 2019 when I set the blog up in the first place. Like my relationship with pain journey, I have learned that nothing will improve unless I move.

Expect theoretical exploration, weaving texts and testing ideas, mapping and hashing out concepts that allow me to play out ideas in a casual way, thus providing material that I can pull together into a thesis fit for a critical academic audience.

As for today, I did what I have been unable to do since about July 2022. Write. Yes, it’s poxy garbage, but it’s a crack in the dam wall. My current first-gear goal is 250 words a day. Lowest output speed, maximum mechanical advantage. No-one stays in first gear for long. (Unless they’re visiting people in Adelaide and they have to get up that hill toward Crafers and they’re towing a caravan.) So, unless it’s an exceptionally steep and lengthy uphill climb, no-one stays in first gear for long. I’m going. Watch me go. (And get me OFF this bridge!!!)

1. A post acknowledging the tremendous hospitality of UniSA, in particular Deborah Heithersay, Sam Sellar and Professor Lester Irrabinna Rigney, Professor Irene Watson and the sponsors of my partner’s visiting research fellowship will find its way into this blog, in spite of its extreme and probably embarrassing tardiness. ↩︎
2. A post acknowledging the tremendous hospitality of Mahan Mirza and the Ansari Institute for Global Engagement with Religion, Doctor Melanie Goodchild and her partner Sly, and Associate Professor Jolene Rickard and the team who facilitate the American Indian and Indigenous Studies Program at Cornell University will also find its way into this blog (FIWITB), notwithstanding extreme tardiness. ↩︎
3. There was a lot of good stuff that happened along with the challenges. It’s just that the challenges were severe enough, frequent enough, and usually sequential or even overlapping to the extent that my resilience all but dried up. One cannot learn or create in a state of chronic stress, and I can absolutely attest to that. When great becomes meh, good becomes *sigh* “yeah?”, and bad is completely intolerable, learning, creativity and joy are simply not available. ↩︎
4. A post or a set of posts linking to some of these outputs will FIWITB and possibly link back into this post, retrospectively. ↩︎
5. A post discussing these tools and methods will FIWITB, probably sooner than you think. I’m likely to create a category for them, because for me, they were a very real part of getting through this PhD and might help someone, and that would be good. ↩︎
6. Calarco, Melo. 2023. Beating Burnout, Finding Balance: Mindful Lessons for a Meaningful Life, John Wiley & Sons Australia Ltd, Melbourne, Australia. ↩︎
7. Scientific GOD Journal | July 2012 | Vol. 3 | Issue 6| pp. 593-605. Wildman, P., & Miller, I., ‘The Esoteric Thesis: Unspeakable Things & Unknowable Truths’. Available at <https://www.academia.edu/29603914/The_Esoteric_Thesis_Unspeakable_Things_and_Unknowable_Truths> Accessed 27 Aug 2024. (Thanks Daryl.) ↩︎