Oh boy, it’s boxing day. Again. Funny how this seems to happen with greater celerity each year. For the veterans, welcome to round seven: with six years under your belt, you’ve likely instinctively topped up your tipple and stocked up on enough snacks to last through the apocalypse or this email – whichever comes first. (Or you’ve hit delete. There are options.) For rookie readers, I’d recommend tightening your gloves and attacking this with the unbridled fervor usually reserved for Beliebers and securing that last homemade cinnamon bun. I’ll do my best to make this both delicious and worth your while. And since you've made it this far...
To my relief, Boxing Day is as ardently celebrated in Australia as in the UK, so my conscious is clear that these yearly updates (read: soap-boxy tirades) are not only celebratory but, for all intents and purposes, required for my Visa approval. Furthermore, for a country that observes holidays with greater frequency than Simon Cowell sports cashmere V-necks, I may start sending bi-annual updates by randomly selecting one of their many auxiliary holidays such as Royal Queensland Show Day, Anzac Day, Foundation Day, Melbourne Cup Day, or my personal favorite, the Queen's Birthday Holiday (note: not her actual birth day – just a better weather day for a celebration. Don’t fret, they observe her actual birthday as well.) so. get. excited.
Yes, I said Australia. After living in London for nearly three years, I recently rode the wake of thousands of Brits before me and relocated to this sunburnt country. (No Mom, I did not have to break the law to do so.) The job that moved me to London in 2008 once again shipped me off to pioneer another international market and there’s not a day I don’t wake up feeling grateful to be on this adventure. In other words, it’s bonzer, mate.
In my best supposition, Australia and the US are effectively like two daughters that fled the family farm. One ran away from home after drinking all of mum’s tea and dad’s money. The other was sent to boarding school after pawning Granny’s brooch, (although she continues to be fully funded and invited to all the family holiday parties). The US is a textbook oldest child. Feeling overly controlled in her younger years, the pendulum swung so far that even the suggestion of similarity to the motherland is, to this day, received with cacophonous vocal gagging that should be applied to black licorice and black licorice alone. The US is stubborn and determined (if only to be stubborn and determined) and will never, ever, ever, nevarrrr be told what to do. In contrast, Australia is the younger, hipper, confident child that doesn’t mind occasional family dependency and playing dress-up in her older sister’s closet. Mum and Dad are still protective of precious Australia, but not nearly to the extent that they lorded over their oldest. Chores, curfew, dating, parties – rules that were a #BIGdeal seem not to matter as much on this second effort, and thus, Australia doesn’t mind when Mum steps in with suggestions. Or, you know, mandated elections.
And though I spent the next 10 (now deleted) lines blanketing you with additional likenesses, in short, there’s no place like Oz. It’s famously inverted – its seasons back to front, its constellations upside down and unfamiliar. Its creatures seem to have evolved as if they misread the manual – Australia has more things that will kill you than anywhere else. This is a country where even the fluffiest of caterpillars can lay you out. Where seashells will not just slice you but actually go for you. As Bill Bryson recounts, if you are not stung or pronged to death in some unexpected manner, you may be fatally chomped by sharks or crocodiles, be pulled helplessly out to sea by irresistible currents, or left to stagger to an unhappy death in the baking outback. It’s a tough place.
And yet I adore it. It’s comfortable and clean and familiar – apart from the aforementioned trans-element death traps (or Timmy Traps for my relatives still reading) and the additional fun fact that Christmas and winter have nothing to do with one another. The cities are safe and clean. Airports are efficient and romantic as all clothing articles and liquids remain where originally tucked and giddy family members await arrivals directly at the gates. The people are immensely likable – cheerful, extroverted, optimistic, quick-witted, and unfailingly obliging. The sun nearly always shines. There is single-origin coffee on every corner. They say fun “Stryin” things like “good die, might” and “beast eve-ah!” (Try that last sentence aloud.) Australia feels much younger. Newer. Fresher. Inexperienced. Vibrant. Passionate. In stark contrast, the US feels older. Wiser and more insightful, but also more tired, weary, content, and cynical. Going from the US to Australia is like hopping in a Delorean bound for 1950-something. In 13 hours and a confusing dance with the international dateline, you can be on either side of 20/20 hindsight.
This contradiction of opportunity poses a topic of reflection recently addressed by a great mentor, Erwin McManus. Look closely at all that is available when you are young – the vigor and strength, the energy, the passion of youth. Now compare that to the wisdom of time – the insight and understanding, the clarity that comes with age. The jolting reality is that the two rarely interact. Furthermore, they are both exceptionally rare, even within their respective age brackets.
Wisdom is clearly an undervalued resource in today’s society (insert Republican debate joke HERE). And while the carpe diem mentality is a blast, using the spring of passion to pleasurably gobble up everything in sight can be, how to say, apocalyptically detrimental on a global scale. (Note to self: pay credit card bill.) The notion that “if I only knew then what I know now” continually taunts us because we continually make decisions trapped in the now and rarely see them as the quickly approaching then. Unless we make decisions asking: “how does this affect who I’m becoming?” we'll just keep making misguided decisions. So we must live old, young. Somehow we need to live in the present with the vantage of eternity to create a future that is worth stepping into.
But at the same time, we must live young, old. Do you want to see passion? Get a room full of 20-year-old uni students and tell them you’ll provide unlimited resources to change the world. You will see energy unrestrained. Yet it seems the older we get, the more life will beat the passion out of us if we let it. The more we rationalize that our lives can’t follow a heroic narrative but should revolve around safety and security, around comfort and predictability, the more we will lose the passion and wonder of what it means to be human. Scrambling to soak up every last second of my 20s, my urgency centers on the apprehension that this is the last socially acceptable year I can act passionately. Let’s be honest – passion in your 30s earns you the societal label of “rebellious” or “unique” and if you’re still passionate in your 40s they’ll skip the niceties and just call you a heretic. And the unfortunate solution? Passion-numbing apathy. As we “grow up,” it’s tempting to simply become other people. Our thoughts someone else's opinions, our lives a mimicry, our passions a quotation. But think of the passion in a child – the authentic embodiment of excitement, courage, determination, positivity, self-motivation and acceptance. Living passionately is tirelessly being it in the game of tag. We should be rebellious. We should ask why. We should live life with purpose. And we must stop making excuses.
So what would happen if we took the wisdom that normally only comes with age and the passion that normally only stays in youth and refused to let our lives be defined by time? Hold a wisdom-intervention when we're young and a passion-injection when we’re old...
We’re not going to solve this by boxing it out, just as my Oklahoma Thunder boycott won’t bring them back to Seattle. But hopefully this is enough to make us anxious and slightly uncomfortable. To point out how rare and valuable the passionate and the wise among us are. To remind us that we’re date-stamped – that the hourglass has been turned and that every second matters. As yet another another year passes, I am enormously thankful for you – the persistently wise and unapologetically passionate people in my life who ceaselessly inspire and challenge me. I am undeservingly blessed by my friends and family who love me even amidst my unwise and uninspired decisions. Here's hoping Round 7 wasn't one of them.
Here’s to a wise and passionate 2012!
To my relief, Boxing Day is as ardently celebrated in Australia as in the UK, so my conscious is clear that these yearly updates (read: soap-boxy tirades) are not only celebratory but, for all intents and purposes, required for my Visa approval. Furthermore, for a country that observes holidays with greater frequency than Simon Cowell sports cashmere V-necks, I may start sending bi-annual updates by randomly selecting one of their many auxiliary holidays such as Royal Queensland Show Day, Anzac Day, Foundation Day, Melbourne Cup Day, or my personal favorite, the Queen's Birthday Holiday (note: not her actual birth day – just a better weather day for a celebration. Don’t fret, they observe her actual birthday as well.) so. get. excited.
Yes, I said Australia. After living in London for nearly three years, I recently rode the wake of thousands of Brits before me and relocated to this sunburnt country. (No Mom, I did not have to break the law to do so.) The job that moved me to London in 2008 once again shipped me off to pioneer another international market and there’s not a day I don’t wake up feeling grateful to be on this adventure. In other words, it’s bonzer, mate.
In my best supposition, Australia and the US are effectively like two daughters that fled the family farm. One ran away from home after drinking all of mum’s tea and dad’s money. The other was sent to boarding school after pawning Granny’s brooch, (although she continues to be fully funded and invited to all the family holiday parties). The US is a textbook oldest child. Feeling overly controlled in her younger years, the pendulum swung so far that even the suggestion of similarity to the motherland is, to this day, received with cacophonous vocal gagging that should be applied to black licorice and black licorice alone. The US is stubborn and determined (if only to be stubborn and determined) and will never, ever, ever, nevarrrr be told what to do. In contrast, Australia is the younger, hipper, confident child that doesn’t mind occasional family dependency and playing dress-up in her older sister’s closet. Mum and Dad are still protective of precious Australia, but not nearly to the extent that they lorded over their oldest. Chores, curfew, dating, parties – rules that were a #BIGdeal seem not to matter as much on this second effort, and thus, Australia doesn’t mind when Mum steps in with suggestions. Or, you know, mandated elections.
And though I spent the next 10 (now deleted) lines blanketing you with additional likenesses, in short, there’s no place like Oz. It’s famously inverted – its seasons back to front, its constellations upside down and unfamiliar. Its creatures seem to have evolved as if they misread the manual – Australia has more things that will kill you than anywhere else. This is a country where even the fluffiest of caterpillars can lay you out. Where seashells will not just slice you but actually go for you. As Bill Bryson recounts, if you are not stung or pronged to death in some unexpected manner, you may be fatally chomped by sharks or crocodiles, be pulled helplessly out to sea by irresistible currents, or left to stagger to an unhappy death in the baking outback. It’s a tough place.
And yet I adore it. It’s comfortable and clean and familiar – apart from the aforementioned trans-element death traps (or Timmy Traps for my relatives still reading) and the additional fun fact that Christmas and winter have nothing to do with one another. The cities are safe and clean. Airports are efficient and romantic as all clothing articles and liquids remain where originally tucked and giddy family members await arrivals directly at the gates. The people are immensely likable – cheerful, extroverted, optimistic, quick-witted, and unfailingly obliging. The sun nearly always shines. There is single-origin coffee on every corner. They say fun “Stryin” things like “good die, might” and “beast eve-ah!” (Try that last sentence aloud.) Australia feels much younger. Newer. Fresher. Inexperienced. Vibrant. Passionate. In stark contrast, the US feels older. Wiser and more insightful, but also more tired, weary, content, and cynical. Going from the US to Australia is like hopping in a Delorean bound for 1950-something. In 13 hours and a confusing dance with the international dateline, you can be on either side of 20/20 hindsight.
This contradiction of opportunity poses a topic of reflection recently addressed by a great mentor, Erwin McManus. Look closely at all that is available when you are young – the vigor and strength, the energy, the passion of youth. Now compare that to the wisdom of time – the insight and understanding, the clarity that comes with age. The jolting reality is that the two rarely interact. Furthermore, they are both exceptionally rare, even within their respective age brackets.
Wisdom is clearly an undervalued resource in today’s society (insert Republican debate joke HERE). And while the carpe diem mentality is a blast, using the spring of passion to pleasurably gobble up everything in sight can be, how to say, apocalyptically detrimental on a global scale. (Note to self: pay credit card bill.) The notion that “if I only knew then what I know now” continually taunts us because we continually make decisions trapped in the now and rarely see them as the quickly approaching then. Unless we make decisions asking: “how does this affect who I’m becoming?” we'll just keep making misguided decisions. So we must live old, young. Somehow we need to live in the present with the vantage of eternity to create a future that is worth stepping into.
But at the same time, we must live young, old. Do you want to see passion? Get a room full of 20-year-old uni students and tell them you’ll provide unlimited resources to change the world. You will see energy unrestrained. Yet it seems the older we get, the more life will beat the passion out of us if we let it. The more we rationalize that our lives can’t follow a heroic narrative but should revolve around safety and security, around comfort and predictability, the more we will lose the passion and wonder of what it means to be human. Scrambling to soak up every last second of my 20s, my urgency centers on the apprehension that this is the last socially acceptable year I can act passionately. Let’s be honest – passion in your 30s earns you the societal label of “rebellious” or “unique” and if you’re still passionate in your 40s they’ll skip the niceties and just call you a heretic. And the unfortunate solution? Passion-numbing apathy. As we “grow up,” it’s tempting to simply become other people. Our thoughts someone else's opinions, our lives a mimicry, our passions a quotation. But think of the passion in a child – the authentic embodiment of excitement, courage, determination, positivity, self-motivation and acceptance. Living passionately is tirelessly being it in the game of tag. We should be rebellious. We should ask why. We should live life with purpose. And we must stop making excuses.
So what would happen if we took the wisdom that normally only comes with age and the passion that normally only stays in youth and refused to let our lives be defined by time? Hold a wisdom-intervention when we're young and a passion-injection when we’re old...
We’re not going to solve this by boxing it out, just as my Oklahoma Thunder boycott won’t bring them back to Seattle. But hopefully this is enough to make us anxious and slightly uncomfortable. To point out how rare and valuable the passionate and the wise among us are. To remind us that we’re date-stamped – that the hourglass has been turned and that every second matters. As yet another another year passes, I am enormously thankful for you – the persistently wise and unapologetically passionate people in my life who ceaselessly inspire and challenge me. I am undeservingly blessed by my friends and family who love me even amidst my unwise and uninspired decisions. Here's hoping Round 7 wasn't one of them.
Here’s to a wise and passionate 2012!
