Posted in Life, Writing

On seeking an identity

When she started teaching, she dressed more like an English teacher, although preferred to call herself a Drama teacher. She taught both, but she wanted the stereotype of a Drama teacher to suit her more – creative, exploratory, suggesting invention and movement.

Later, as a PhD student, she carried her lunch into the staff lounge and walked past the big table where the academics sat. She sat instead in the corner, with her sandwich and a journal article or two. She enjoyed the thinking and the stretch of ideas, but she couldn’t yet picture herself wearing the identity that the big table represented.

In time she did, and the academic identity settled more deeply than she expected. In fact, it was the hardest one to let go of. Not because it had ever been easy – it was never that – but because it felt true. It matched her need to make sense of things, to learn, to question, to seek alternatives. And it gave her a title that needed no explanation.

When that identity fell away, she felt a bit lost. Eventually, she became a Senior Consultant Associate. When she was asked what she did, people would invariably say, “What does that entail?” and in the 18 months she was in the role, she never got to the point of being able to easily explain it. So instead, she often told people she was a ‘researcher’ – an identity more closely aligned with ‘academic’.

She had tried retirement before but hadn’t found an identity within it. This time though, with more certainty that it would stick, she knew she needed to work out what her new identity might be.

The question that pushed her in this direction was: “How did you fill your day today?”. She disliked the language of that question, the sense that life without paid work was only marking time, of ‘filling’ time. It’s not a question people asked of those who head off to jobs every morning. And so she bristled at it.

She wasn’t retired from living, or from creating, or from learning. Her life, even her retired life, was made up of more than ‘filling’ time.

And so each morning, she took photos. An anthurium. A sunflower on a black tile. Flannel flowers in a brown vase. Each afternoon she sat at her desk and wrote blog posts, exploring a different style in a different voice to see how it felt.

When she saw the images and words on the screen, she felt a flicker of something that she wasn’t quite ready to face.

But the question lingered: “How did you fill your day today?”. She had no tidy answer yet, but she could feel that she was reaching for something. She’s crafting her ideas into words and images, taking notice, taking her time.

She’s trying on a new identity, one that’s not dependent on a role, or a job, or an income. It’s an identity dependent on what she creates.

She’s not sure she can even say it out loud yet … so she whispers it to herself, to see if it fits.

Not yet … but it’s early days and she knows there’s no rush.

Posted in Life, Photography, Writing

The art of letting go

She sets up carefully: a sheet of black card for the backdrop, the shutters angled to shape the light, the plamp ready to hold the anthurium steady or pull leaves out of the frame. She likes to get the shot right in camera so thinks about the composition, what’s in and what’s out, where the focus hits, how the light falls.

And yet, in this meticulously constructed scene, the unexpected happens. A petal drops. A cloud crosses the sun. The reflector topples just as the light was perfect.

She clicks anyway. The flower leans awkwardly, the shadows fall in unexpected ways, the vase looks crooked. The image isn’t like the one she imagined, but it carries something she hadn’t planned for.

Photography, she remembers, isn’t only about getting it right in camera. It’s also about letting go – allowing the scene, the light, and the unexpected to have a say … the blur, the shadow, the crooked vase.

When she clicks the shutter again, she does so with curiosity. The image is imperfect, but it has something the more carefully crafted ones don’t – a sliver of truth.

A gentle reminder that sometimes more interesting things happen when you let go.

And then she opens the files on her computer. Out of focus, shadowy, crooked. She sighs. All very well to wax lyrical about imperfection, she thinks, but she still doesn’t like them.

Not yet, anyway.

Posted in Life, Photography, Writing

The art of looking away

There’s a cat on her windowsill. The black one from next door, red bandana tied rakishly around its neck, a burst of insouciance.

He watches her, looking like he knows things she doesn’t.

She watches him back then lifts the camera and looks away.

In photography, negative space is the area around the subject, the quiet, unclaimed part of the frame. She looks there instead of at the cat. At the branches giving him an absurd hat. At the fence palings rearing from his head. At the shadows, menacing, behind him. She makes a choice about where to put her attention.

Then is drawn back to her phone by the vibration, and spins through war, famine, scandal, disaster. She scrolls, for far too long, then finally looks away.

She looks away and in doing so notices the tiny bits of life that belong only here, at this moment in time. The sunlight sliding through the shutters like it has somewhere else to be, the Vegemite-coated knife balancing on the sink as if auditioning for the circus, the leaf skittering erractically down the path to come to rest on the mat at the back door, the cat still watching from the windowsill.

She lifts her camera again, capturing it mid-stretch, and realises – again – that the art of looking away is also the art of looking at.

Posted in Life, Writing

What she doesn’t photograph

She photographs because she wants to hold still what is fleeting – an angle, a pose, an age, a smile, a moment in time – before it dissolves, fades, evaporates into reality.

But what she doesn’t photograph matters too.

She didn’t photograph the sky turning red from a hundred bushfires, or the water lapping at the laundry door. She didn’t photograph the washing line, snaking down the backyard, heavy under the weight of the weekly wash, or the heat from the wood stove in the kitchen. She didn’t photograph the hospital bracelet crumpled in the bottom of the bag, or the small fist clutching a handful of her mother’s hair.

She didn’t photograph the look exchanged before the first word of bad news, or the sigh that followed.

She didn’t photograph the relief in the hospital corridor after the surgeon said it went well, the ordinary dinners that kept them alive through ‘that’ time, the thousand mornings where nothing “happened” except that she woke up, or her fumbling attempts at dancing that looked more like jelly caught on a string.

Sometimes she wants proof that it really happened the way she thinks it did. That the sky really was pea soup green, that the drummer really did smile at her.

Maybe it’s better this way. No evidence, no proof. A series of memories, more absurd and exaggerated each time she recalls them – never sure which details are real and which are imagined.

Or which she simply longs for.

Posted in Life, Mid-life blogger, retirement

Euphemisms: Word cushions that soften reality

I’ve always been fascinated by the use of ‘shop lifting’ for ‘stealing’. I wonder how that came about – and why? Who decided that we’d cushion the harshness, the directness, the in-your-faceness of ‘thief’ with the much gentler ‘shop lifter’?

I guess I could look it up if I was so inclined.

Also, who decided they’d term the injuring and killing of civilians ‘collateral damage’ as if people were bits of furniture that got in the way of bombs and bullets.

Or ‘friendly fire’ rather than saying you killed people on your own side?

And do women still ‘powder their noses’ when they need to pee? And do parents still talk about number ones and twos with their kids?

Don’t get me wrong, euphemisms serve a purpose. Sometimes saying the thing itself is too blunt, too harsh, too direct. We’re much more inclined to say that someone has ‘passed away’ than they’ve ‘died’. Or as one grieving wife told her daughter the other day “Daddy has gone on a work trip with Jesus”. There’s a finality to the blunter word that is softened by other ways of phrasing it.

When we rename harsh realities euphemistically, they may not hurt so much, they may make the reality more palatable. They may make it easier to convey things that we’re otherwise embarrassed or uncomfortable to convey.

For instance, I was sacked this week. Not for any wrongdoing or poor performance – purely as an economic decision.

Since learning of said sacking, I’ve been struggling with how to soften the message when I tell other people, of how to not sound bitter (I’m honestly not at all bitter), of how to communicate that it wasn’t because I was bad at my job.

And so I’ve been turning to euphemisms – softer words that cushion the harsh reality of having been ‘given my notice’, ‘let go’, ‘restructured out’, ‘transitioned’, ‘invited to pursue other opportunities’.

So here I am, ‘hanging up my hat’, ‘calling it a day’, ‘moving into a new season’, ‘starting a new chapter’, or if you prefer, ‘entering into a period of rewirement’ (a fantastically euphemistic word if ever I heard one).

Or another way to look at it is, that at this very early stage of transition from work to whatever comes after it, I’m simply ‘between adventures’.

That’s a euphemism I can live with!

Posted in Life

The streak

I’m not talking about the Ray Stevens song here – I thought I’d better preface that in case you think I’ve taken up running through the grocery store with no clothes on.

This is a different kind of streak, a streak that requires memory, persistence and consistency. You have to remember to do the thing that develops into a streak every day. You have to build it into your – in my case morning – routine, so that you don’t lose your streak through forgetting.

At first it’s easy – the stakes are low; it doesn’t matter if you don’t do it when you have a streak of just one or two, or even ten or twelve. But when it starts getting over 50, there’s a tingle of motivation to keep going. You play around with it, testing yourself out to see how much you really do care, to see how serious you are about it.

You start to brag to other people you know who have their own streaks – or who at least challenge themselves on a daily basis. I’m on 150 now. I’m now on 200. I’m closing in on 280! You feel a weird sense of pride, tinged with a fear that it might end. You ask your husband for hints, you read the blog to pick up what others have said about it, you try a different starting point each day.

You also need to get it right – your streak is over if you make too many errors – and so you proceed cautiously, being more careful, taking more time. My morning routine was such that I was having to get up half an hour earlier, just to get it done. Or getting to work later!

I make it to 300! I don’t post about it on social media of course, that would be weird, but I do feel pretty good. Close to a year’s worth of luck and determination, and new approaches, and risk, and remembering.

But then, Thursday, August 15 dawns. I’m not well, I rush, I get to the last attempt, feeling oddly confident. I couldn’t possibly be wrong.

I sit there open mouthed when it turns out I am.

My streak ends at 303.

303 days of getting Wordle right – and then, in an instant, my streak is gone!

I had wanted to get to a year … and I came so close!

And the thing that hurt just as much as losing my streak?

There was no acknowledgement of my 303 days of success. Just a ‘thanks for playing! You’re out of guesses.’

Brutal.

Posted in Life, Mid-life blogger, Writing

Friday Feels

As it’s Friday, it’s time for another Friday Feels post. When I started writing these posts I wasn’t planning on doing more than one, and now I find I’ve written a post every Friday for the past nine weeks.

I answer roughly the same questions each week and it’s always interesting to read back over my responses (mostly so that I don’t repeat myself) but also to refresh myself on what’s been happening in the/my world.

The three questions each week are:

  1. What’s made me happy this week?
  2. What’s caused me some discomfort?
  3. What have I re-started doing that I haven’t done in ages?

My F-word for this week is fazed, which I’ve sneakily used somewhere in this post.

  1. What made me happy this week was my friend Airdre coming to visit. The last time we tried to organise a catch-up her grandson thoughtfully gave her his cold and so she wasn’t able to make it, but today, despite a lingering cough, she arrived for a chat and a laugh and a delicious lunch at a local cafe (3 Little Pigs – we can both highly recommend the zucchini fritters). Airdre and I co-edited the recently published Enacting a Pedagogy of Kindness: A guide for practitioners in higher education (available now online). If you’ve read it, we’d love a review. A kind one, of course!

    We talked about writing and editing and reviewing and about how being direct is much maligned and how we both don’t do small talk and the importance of acknowledging the good bits in a piece of work and tense and tone and voice. Airdre and I have another connection – not just our writing one. I discovered earlier this year that the house Airdre used to live in, in northern NSW, was the very same house that my great-grandparents had lived in 90 years before. I wrote about it here. So a lovely morning with Airdre has made me happy this week.

  2. What caused me some discomfort this week was the result in the US election. I won’t say any more about it, but it discomforted me. You could say, it fazed me.

  3. What I’ve re-started doing that I haven’t done in ages, is digital drawing. In mid-2022 I started drawing using Procreate, an iPad app. It’s a very powerful tool and I found some great tutorials to follow along with as I learnt how to use the program and started to develop my skills. Back then I was in the retirement phase of my life and had loads of time to learn. Since moving on from retirement – back to full-time work – I have had way less time to do any drawing and I realised recently that I miss it. I came across more tutorials through the week and have decided to give them a go and see what I can learn and create. I need to emphasise that I have never been someone who draws and I have zero skills. But I enjoy learning and trying new things and so I gave it a go.
One of my ‘drawings’ from mid-2022 – drawn using Procreate


That’s it from me for another week. Next Friday I have my final oncology appointment. It’s the final thing in my cancer ‘journey’ (hate that term but can’t think of another one) and I am very much looking forward to that particular journey being well and truly over! I will probably pass on the Friday Feels post next week – just know my Friday will feel pretty darn good!!

Posted in Life, Mid-life blogger, Photography, Writing

Friday already?

I work in a very progressive company that has a 4-day work week, and I usually have Fridays as my day off. Not this week though – I had a meeting on Wednesday and so took that as my day off instead. It meant I had to work today and I didn’t get a chance to write my usual 3 questions and an F-word Friday post this morning.

It’s 6:30pm, and as I’ve just finished work, I figured now is as good a time as any to respond to the usual three questions.

The three questions, which are generally the same every week are:

  1. What made me happy this week?
  2. What have I been working on this week?
  3. What caught my attention on social media this week?

My F-word for the week is ‘flowers’.

  1. What made me happy? I had the absolute delight of meeting with two people I’d never met before to talk about teaching and student engagement this week. I had quite forgotten how passionate I am about teaching and how excited I get when I have the opportunity to talk about it with others who are just as passionate. In my current line of work there’s very little call – well, none really – to talk about teaching and so when the opportunity arose to share some knowledge and insights with others, I jumped at it. In preparation for the meeting I found old hard drives full of files (some from well over a decade ago) to re-orient myself with the sorts of things I (and a small but brilliant team of colleagues) used to do around Orientation and Engagement. It brought back all kinds of happy memories!

    The conversation was fabulous and energising and while I don’t ever want to work in a university again, I can see the appeal of working to support others in their teaching endeavours.

  2. What have I been working on this week? Lots of editing and reviewing and formatting of policy documents. That probably doesn’t sound as interesting as it is, but I like editing much more than writing, so when someone else puts words on the page, I am more than happy to clean them up.

  3. What caught my attention on social media this week? Scrolling through Instagram can suck hours from a day, but I do enjoy it when I come across something that’s a little bit unqiue and makes me smile. One such ‘reel’ did just that this week – James McNicholas (@jmcnik on Instagram) does dramatic monologues of songs. It’s an interesting way of re-interpreting them and I reckon it takes a fair bit of skill. One of my favourites is his dramatic monologue of Blue (Eiffel 65) – mostly because I like his hat – but here he is doing MmmBop.
It took me way too many hours to re-find this!


My F-word? Flowers.

Now that Spring is well and truly upon us, I’m looking forward to finding some flowers to photograph. Maybe I’ll do that over the weekend and have something to show you next Friday.

Enjoy your weekend!

    Posted in Life, Mid-life blogger, Writing

    It’s Friday … you know what that means

    In case you don’t know what it means, it’s Friday and that means it’s time for another 3 questions and an F-word post.

    Today’s three questions are:

    1. What made me happy this week?
    2. What am I looking forward to next week?
    3. What am I doing this long weekend? (Yes, in Victoria we have a long weekend because it’s the eve of the AFL Grand Final. Don’t ask me, I don’t know why that requires a holiday either … but I’ll take it anyway. Well, actually, I have a long weekend every week because where I work has taken the brilliant decision of having a 4-day work week and every Friday is my day off. But it means Tim is home today and that means we have plans. More on that later.)

    My F-word for the week: Fabulous. Read on to find out why.

    First, to the questions.

    1. What made me happy this week? One of the projects I’ve been working on culminated in a presentation this week. Tuesday morning to be precise. It was to be a 20-minute presentation that took many more hours to prepare than to present, but the preparation was worth it.

      I was confident, I knew what I wanted to communicate, I talked about assumptions (something I don’t get a chance to talk about enough these days), I was clear and, those in the audience (an Expert Advisory Group from the Victorian Department of Health) said things like, “thank you Dr Pittaway for your insightful presentation”. That felt good. I felt so good afterwards that I craved a biscuit with my celebratory cup of tea. Trouble is, I have a problem with supermarkets, so while I could present to an audience of over a dozen experts, walking into a supermarket was a whole different kettle of fish. But I was so happy I did it anyway.

    2. What am I looking forward to next week? This one has me so excited that I clap my hands with glee everytime I think about it. Which is often. When I was retired (over a year ago now), I joined a photography group through U3A. Every second Monday we’d go to a location and take photos, and the next week we’d show five of our best. The group had been photographing together for many years (as many as 16) but they welcomed me into their midst. I was part of the group for about six months before I stopped being retired.

      One of the group members knew someone who knew someone who was the President of the Royal Historical Society of Victoria. The RHSV had the idea of publishing a second edition of a book originally published 40 years ago, focused on Melbourne’s laneways. U3A members were sent out into said laneways with the task of capturing up-to-date images for the new edition. I happened to be part of the group involved in that project. The book has now been published and is being launched on Thursday, October 3. That’s Thursday next week.

      And I’m SO excited. Why?

      I’m glad you asked. I’m super excited because one of my images is on the front cover.

      I’m more than excited. I’m chuffed. And proud. And I can’t wait to go to the book launch and see it for myself. And I’ve been told, by Diana from U3A, that there will be a copy waiting for me there!

    3. What am I looking forward to this long weekend? I’ve made a list:
      * Taking some more photos for my black glove series
      * Planting the rest of the snow in the summer plants that it’s been too wet to plant
      * Our annual Grand Final party. We don’t watch any football through the year (apart from the odd occasion I get to watch my grandchildren play football – rugby and AFL), but we started a tradition about 18 years ago of having a grandfinal party while actually watching the grandfinal on telly. One year we even went to the GF Eve parade and then to the celebrations the day after the GF because Hawthorn had won for the third year in a row and the celebrations were being held at the local oval (we lived near Hawthorn at the time) and it was on the way to the train station. It’s only ever Tim and I – although one year my friend Rosie attended too (well, she had to because she was visiting from Tasmania at the time) – but we really live it up! (Emma, I heard you laugh at that from here!!) I wasn’t here last year so Tim had to party on his own, and come to think of it I wasn’t here the year before either, but I’m determined to attend the party this year so Tim doesn’t have to party on his own for a third year in a row.
      * We’re also going out hunting for retro motels to photograph and I’ll do some drawing.

    All in all, a creative and lavish party weekend!

    So why my F-word of fabulous? Well, I’ve had a fabulous work week, I’m looking forward to a fabulous book launch, and who can say no to a fabulous grandfinal party complete with gourmet delights like cocktail savs and party pies?

    Not me, that’s for sure!

    Here’s a sneak peek of the image on the cover of the Laneways book.

    Hozier Lane, Melbourne Photo ©Sharon Pittaway
    Posted in Learning, Life, Writing

    An answer

    Tyson Yunkaporta’s book Sand talk: How Indigenous thinking can save the world has answered a big question for me. One I’ve been seeking an answer to for years. The way he answered the question was humbling, but it was an answer nevertheless and I was instantly calmed by it.

    It made sense.

    Existential crises are nothing new for me. My first memory of said crisis was in Year 7 (first year of high school – called first form back then). High school was big and scary and I was introverted (called shy back then) and felt bewildered. So many people, so much movement and action and interaction and confusion. So much talk, so much noise filling my head. Finding my way and fitting in. Or not.

    A steel door slamming shut in my mind. The familiar refrain ‘so what? so what? so what?’ bouncing around the walls of my newly closed mind.

    It was a refrain that ran through my adolescence. And beyond.

    From the outside, it might have seemed like an attitude of not caring, but it masked a deep desire for meaning. For understanding the experiences of high school. For understanding myself and my place there, and how I fitted in. Or not.

    So what?

    It’s a fundamental question that can tie you in knots if you linger on it; if you seek an answer that has meaning for you and for your life to this point and for your life into the future.

    It’s a question I ask a lot. I try not to because of the damage it can do, but it pops into my mind stealthily, when I least expect it.

    We’re born, we live, we die.

    So what?

    Far beyond high school the question continued to plague me. There were times when I’d bounce from one existential crisis to another. None would bring any answers, or at least none that I was happy with. None of the usual answers made sense to me.

    meaning of life

    I tried Googling it. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t help.

    But then I read Sand Talk and that did help. Enormously.

    Yunkaporta says “Some new cultures keep asking, ‘Why are we here?’. It’s easy. This is why we’re here. We look after things on the earth and in the sky and the places in between” (p. 109).

    We’re custodians. Of things in the places between earth and sky: People. Animals. Ourselves. Each other. Knowledge. Ideas. The processes through which we generate and share knowledge and ideas.

    Humans, according to Yunkaporta, are a “custodial species” (p. 102). It’s a slightly different rendering of the ‘man has dominion over …’ we learnt in Sunday school; it has a different quality. A nurturing quality. A caring quality. A quality that works against exploitation.

    The idea of being a custodian is a powerful one for me. It makes sense as no other response to the ‘so what?’ question ever has.

    There are many other insights in this book that have made sense to me in ways nothing I’ve read or heard have done before. For me, it’s an important work that helps make sense of my thinking – not necessarily what I think, but most certainly how I think.

    ‘I have previously talked about civilised cultures losing collective memory and having to struggle for thousands of years to gain full maturity and knowledge again, unless they have assistance. But that assistance does not take the form of somebody passing on cultural content and ecological wisdom. The assistance I’m talking about comes from sharing patterns of knowledge and ways of thinking that will help trigger the ancestral knowledge hidden inside. The assistance people need is not in learning about Aboriginal Knowledge but in remembering their own’ (Yunkaporta, 2019, p. 163).

    Perhaps this book has helped trigger [my] ancestral knowledge. Whether that’s the case, it’s certainly making a lot of sense for me.

    Sand Talk

    Source: Booktopia