If you’ve been reading my essays for a while now, you might know a bit about my family in Canada—the birders of Southern Ontario, that’s them.

One of my sisters sent me a photo of the decorations going on their tree this year over there, which naturally enough included a lot of bird-related ornaments, gathered over many years. My dad and my uncle used to have a boxing day tradition of shopping for new ornaments, so the collection was pretty expansive by the time we were kids—and we had to be a bit careful around all that Czechoslovakian blown glass, I can tell you. But I think we did okay; most of it survives and is still being used by them & their own (careful!) kids today.

Not having kids, a tree, or ornaments here in Sydney myself, I decided to do pretty much the opposite of what I usually do for one of these essays: I took my longest lens, and my largest camera, and went looking for actual birds I could capture, and send to my mum over in a wintry lockdown in Toronto, to give her a bit of colour and summer light to enjoy for a while…

If the pandemic has taught us one thing, it’s how easy it is to take things for granted.

If you were to stop by my apartment, you might think I was mildly obsessed. And you’d be right—but it’s not quite what you’d think, at first glance.

There might be a Phantom of the Opera poster on the wall. You could find a Phantom action figure, lurking on my desk. And, sure, I do have six (SIX?!) copies of the film—many of which actually contain two versions of it.

But, I promise you—there will be no songs about him, no Broadway or London cast renditions of anything. This isn’t the Phantom you’re thinking of; well, probably not, anyway…

Stay at Home, go to Work, Don't go to Work, Stay at Home

Like most of us, I’m finding this year hard.

I’m well aware that it could be worse, of course—Sydney (and New South Wales, and Australia) are comparatively speaking doing extremely well, with new cases under 20 per day for months now; meanwhile, to our south, Melbourne is in their second lockdown after case numbers went over 500/day for weeks on end.

But still, between my father’s passing earlier in the year, and the fact that the entire industry I’ve spent my career in is closed indefinitely, it’s hard to know what my purpose is at the moment. Mostly I try to stay safe, which means rarely leaving the house aside from walks in a nearby park or grocery shopping; so I see the same few blocks, and not much else…

Good times or bad, whatever the news, we simply do love to be beside the seaside.

Sometimes to move forward we must briefly retreat.

Sometimes we need our happy place.

Time stops. Beauty surrounds. The world is quiet.

All are welcome here.

To suggest that there’s been a lot going on in 2020 so far would be, well, the understatement of the year.

We drove inland from Sydney on the weekend to visit a friend (now that we’re allowed to travel locally), passing through lands that were scorched by the bushfires in December and January, flooded with rain in February, and quarantined for coronavirus ever since.

But what I was thinking about on this trip was, ironically, the things I didn’t need to think about. The many, many things that are just easier for me, as a whitefella in Australia—even as a recent migrant…

My last essay, from February, seems like a postcard from a bygone age. Me, at home; a life in the arts; what different meanings those have now.

Two days after posting the essay, my father died; by the following week I was in Toronto with my family, putting him to rest on a windswept hill, as snow fell around us…

I seem to be accumulating identities.

When we first started talking about this project for 2020, I thought I knew what it meant, more or less.

But the reality is, I don’t find it much easier to define myself now than I did at the end of high school, when we were supposed to be choosing careers, and figuring out our plans. I mean, I know what I do, and where I’m from, and where I live - but are any of those defining…?