“Hobart had its mount, Launceston a river -
but we have the horizon.
A cool, constant through line, connecting us all.
I ran my eyes along it, like a butcher sharpening its knife. ”

When you move back to your home town in your 40s, you don’t necessarily do it all in one go. I think I’ve had about five separate attempts at it. Each time I’d declare it was asking too much, that all my people were in Melbourne and dutifully return to the bustling cultural metropolis from which I came.

Then, after six months or so, I would remember that the big smoke wasn’t for me either. I was worn down, I needed nature. Fresh air. A sense of having my own space. And so I would travel back along the North-West coast of Tasmania by bus, until a familiar friend popped its head over the hills to greet me. The ocean. Only then, in my heart, would I feel a sense of an answer to a complicated question. Where am I supposed to be?

While my destiny may be negotiable, there is no change to the whereabouts of my home. In this case, it is the place I was born and spent my first eighteen years. It is called Burnie. It’s an industrial town with blue skies and barking dogs. Revheads and rhododendrons. A severe mixed bag of a place that gets bagged out more than it’s praised. Burnie is hard-core. People like to complain. They despise the council, change, and judging by the voice referendum result, the concept of indigenous rights.

I don’t really fit in with Burnie, but that’s not to say I didn’t try. In my youth I was involved in footy, cricket, surf club, table tennis, cross-country - I attended church and worked at KFC. By the time I was in grade 12 I’d found my voice as an alternative songwriter and staged well-received concerts in the cafeteria at Hellyer College where I was also the SRC president. You might say I was quite popular.

Then, I took off for the mainland and lived in Canberra, Sydney and Melbourne for the next twenty years. I’d visit Burnie every six months, touring the emotional museum of my family, meeting the ocean’s twinkling eye and despairing at the welfare cases congregating outside Kmart. This was a place I was relieved to leave.

By 2019 I felt like Melbourne was slowly grinding my nerves down to dust. Perhaps the irony of living in a huge city yet never sensing there was enough room for me, was catching up. I packed down my possessions and placed them in storage. I checked into an Airbnb and went for a meander through Burnie Park. There is a modest bushwalk at Oldaker Falls only fifteen minutes from the CBD. Ten minutes later you are at the beach. I cried when my nose hit the rich, moist carpet of leaves. The dew kissed freshness of soil. Tasmanian nature.

This was the holy grail. The lungful of eternal life. My soul chariot. I’m a Gemini - an air sign - I crave oxygen rich in information to satisfy my spiritual intelligence.

You don’t have to do drugs, just move back to your home town. I woke up each day shocked and bemused to find myself in the last place on earth I ever thought I’d return. Honestly, it was psychedelic. As an artist, I wrote this challenge off as being good for my creativity. I thrive when I’m uncomfortable, (surely). Walking around Burnie streets, I never felt comfortable. There was too much baggage. The intimidation of masculinity seemed to permeate the dirty echo of savage engines. It’s hard to erase the muscle memory that someone might bash you because they think you’re gay.

By 2023, I created a loophole to force myself to fit in. I collaborated with the Burnie Arts Council, interviewing twenty of the most prominent creatives to come from the area. I needed to take ownership of the place. I wanted to write a new narrative for myself. This wasn’t an emotional museum or a halfway house from the mainland. Burnie was the blazing, blinding present, the scene of my middle-age intervention to reclaim my own name from a schoolyard full of nicknames and a comedy career as The Bedroom Philosopher.

It feels like I’ve planted my flag in Burnie. When I walk down the street, I legitimately believe I have every right to be there. If you happen to see me, ask if I need a lift home.

Sometimes life takes away your choices, making it easier to pick your battles.