Who can explain the passage of time really, over the past two years. Days that seem endless in weeks that fly by. A new year that feels anything but, the drag of uncertainty keeping us all suspended in some, exhausted realm.

Summer is drawing to a close, on a hazy and warm evening in Melbourne. It feels like it barely got going, but I suspect that’s a product of the long, lingering pandemic hangover.

And so ends the simultaneously longest and fastest year of our lives. A year of quiet resilience, months lost in the virtual blink of an eye, and oppressive, enduring anxiety.

I’m learning that to embrace creativity is to constantly question and examine not only the world around you, but your response to it. I’ve been thinking a lot about my values and my achievements and what else I might like to accomplish in my life. As things start to return to “normal” those questions are thrown into sharper relief.

In September, as Melbourne’s lockdown wore on and my 40th birthday loomed, I started to think more deeply about what I was trying to create, and why. Earlier in the year, I’d scoffed at the suggestion to keep a diary of these momentous days. My days were monotonous at best, full of worry at worst, what sense was there in documenting them? But of course, I was already keeping a record of sorts.