The narrative, as told by the handful of publishers controlling mainstream creative content, is that good content is hard to find. A team of dedicated editors scour the world looking for the best music, literature, film, etc so they can bring it to the world. A narrative based on scarcity.

But good creative work is not scarce, it’s abundant. I have learned this again and again throughout my life, first as a music photojournalist, discovering dozens of extremely talented musicians who never made it big because of the scarcity model the music industry follows. Later, as I became involved with writing groups in different cities I saw the same thing: an abundance of creative talent that goes un-discovered.

Far too much to pump out globally through a handful of monolith channels. We would be overwhelmed if 1,000 new books were set out on bookshop displays around the world every month. So how do we narrow it down?

One idea is by geography, taking a bioregional approach. Not to say regions only create and consume creative works within their own region, but that this is the focus of a bioregional socio-technical system operating adjacent to the monolith global creative one we are all more familiar with.

But is this any different than the already operating indie publishing houses? Yes, because indie publishers are just as caught up in the global capitalist artificial scarcity narrative as the monoliths are, they may be small, but they want to discover, distribute and market on a large scale. No specific focus on finding local works nor marketing to the local consumers.

Or is there even a problem here? In the eyes of the monolith publishers and sellers large and small, maybe not. But for the people creating and consuming the content, yes. This is described well in books like ‘Chokepoint Capitalism,’ but not the authors don’t offer feasible solutions, more focused on top-down policy solutions than grassroots and market-based ones.

So what would a bioregional cultural system look like? There are already local artists making works, maybe they share their work with people who know them, but most have their hearts set on making it to the ‘big time’ even though their chances are slim to none, no matter how talented they might be. What’s missing are people and institutions to develop local work and bring it to a local audience. Local creatives are often left with no option other than entering the big time lottery.

Why not create these bioregional creative businesses? Because they need to know there is a market of consumers out there who would keep them profitable. Does this exist? Do ventures not take this opportunity because they think the market isn’t there?

On one hand, they’re right - a lot of people don’t want to take a chance on something they have never heard of, something that hasn’t been inundating their senses through mass marketing. If someone’s going to take a chance, it needs to be via a trusted route. From a publisher or seller who has established a reputation of producing high quality works.

When am I willing to take a chance on some creative work I’ve never heard of created by someone I’ve never heard of? Rarely. But if it’s at a venue with a reputation for quality, then I’m willing to give it a go.

And the question not asked often enough: What if there is local work that could actually be of higher quality than whatever is coming out of the monoliths? I’m confident, based on my experience that this is often the case.

If I’m right, there is a real business opportunity for folks passionate about the arts and wanting to serve their local artists and creative consumers. Such a business’ success would depend on its ability to build trust within the community as producing great works. Ultimately, they are serving content consumers (the customers), not creators (the product). But talented creators get opportunity they might not otherwise.

I think a lot of this comes down to development as well, finding great artists who have created works with potential but perhaps in need of further editing, revising, reworking. The business would need to have experts at refining works, time would need to be devoted to this process and not simply putting whatever comes in on the shelves/stage/etc. At the end of the day, profits would come as community members become loyal customers, knowing they are in for cultural work that is local and at an equal or greater level of quality to what comes out on the mass market.

Works could perhaps use this stage as a ‘proving ground’ and the monoliths may well end up relying on them to pick and choose what they want to mass produce, but their system wouldn’t change, only their sourcing, it would still be a system selecting a handful of works to distribute to the masses. Variety would remain at the bioregional level, with these community-focused development organizations scattered across the globe, thousands, perhaps millions of them.

This is not a new idea. I saw it when I was in Scotland with regional arts organizations like The Stove providing ‘for us by us’ opportunities in a variety of ways. However the focus on developing artists and their works to be on par with mass distributed ones was lacking. Since the organization was government-funded, they had little incentive to appeal to their customer base, but instead could focus solely on the artists - good for artists, but not community as a whole. In the US, government funding for the arts is less of an option, so appealing to the market is more of a necessity than a choice.

Another example might be my favorite theatre in London, Royal Court Theatre. They have built a global reputation for producing extremely high quality new plays. I don’t know how much of their funding comes from public sources, and their regional focus is more on finding artists from across the UK (and sometimes further afield), rather than just in London. But with the nature of theatre, they are primarily serving a local customer base.

I’m writing this mainly for my own benefit, as a means of thinking through the business I would love to start. A place that invites local artists (musicians, writers, etc) to share their best work, have it be developed and brought to a local market. If artists and developmental editors want to be paid, it would be best if done so in equity - rights to a share of the proceeds from the end product. Less risky than debt financing.

Is this any different from what’s already happening? In the case of theatre, there are local theatre companies, but they primarily produce established works from outside the region. They might occasionally commission new works, but again they set a global scope, rather than local. There are some festivals and events that do focus on local artists for a local audience, but they don’t seem to target the mainstream audience or invest the time into serious development.

For local writing, indie bookshops might carry local works from local publishers, but it’s usually hidden in a corner with little effort put into focusing on quality or marketing it to the mainstream audience.

A viable business following the bioregional ideal would only be successful if it could establish a reputation for quality equal to or greater than the mainstream.

The next step would be opening up for submissions, whether it be of music, writing or drama, perhaps all three. And then finding developmental editors in each area willing to work on an equity basis, which would likely mean they play a role in the initial selection process too. All I would do is serve as a means of organization and facilitation, a project manager of sorts.

There’s nothing to lose and everything to gain, even if it’s a failure.

At the beginning of this past November I was feeling quite defeated, having spent the previous two months trying and dropping out of various courses intended to give my life a stronger sense of direction and purpose (punctuated with holidays in Central America and Central Europe). But when all else fails, writing has always been there for me. An old, neglected, activity I have sidelined since departing Scotland in 2022. Ever since, I’ve been simultaneously longing for it and wishing to put it behind me, as if it were an abusive lover.

My time in Scotland, roughly consisting of the autumn of 2018 through the spring of 2022 (three and a half years I usually describe as five) was where I reached the height of my creative journey thus far. While I began writing a decade prior in the US, my creativity took flight in Scotland. I never wanted to leave and fought the realities of not making any money nor having a means of extending my legal residency as long as I possibly could following completion of the Fulbright that brought me out there.

So the past three and a half years since I left that magical place (I can’t believe it was that long ago) have been creatively uninspiring. What Dumfries might lack in reality, it makes up for in imagination. Sadly, returning to the land of industrious practicality (not Germany, but North America) I call home left me in despair and desperate to find the next destination on my creative path - which most assuredly was not here.

I resented all the posh yuppies, arrogant tech bros and bougey boomers. Even the woke folks were often too much for me. Whether someone was rich, poor, right or left didn’t matter - the USA wasn’t Scotland and so I would never approve of it. I tried fleeing to France, Germany, New Zealand and other places, but Scotland wasn’t there either.

After getting sober the summer following my departure from Scotland, I began maintaining a flat in my hometown. Always with the thought of it being a temporary arrangement. Now I’ve been here for over two years and started to think it might be alright to stay a while longer. But that culture sunk in, that endless need for practicality, industry, no greater purpose in life than to serve at the beck and call of Capitalism - it’s the American way. I tried hard to live a more practical life, reminiscing of my days in the corporate world and seeking to resume that Capitalist journey.

Well, a week in Prague gave me an interesting new perspective on that. To many of the people there, the ideologies on offer are Capitalism (a la USA) and Communism (a la USSR). Now, a week is hardly enough time to build any real cultural understanding or appreciation for a place’s nuances, but my experience made me see my home country through some of their eyes, not with the typical Western European disdain, but from the perspective of people who have suffered under communist authoritarianism while watching Americans prosper with Capitalist and Democratic freedom. I met some people who might have mistook my criticism of the Trump regime for Communist affection. I assure you, it’s not. And yes, this is a false dichotomy, Trump and Putin are not the only options on offer to the world. So I returned from Czechia still quite critical of our government, but also grateful for the democracy that remained.

Plenty of great creative works have been produced in the midst of capitalism, communism and lots of other isms. So when my feet returned to American soil at the beginning of November, I was strangely inclined to write. More so than I had been in the three and a half years since leaving Scotland. It was this new perspective that motivated me, I wanted to write something that communicated this new perspective, new question, about how to many people around the world America still represents a great freedom, a great way of life, a promising alternative to their present corrupt, authoritarian reality. With one hand, we must fight to protect and improve our democracy; it would be a tragedy to see the only democratic world power fall to authoritarianism. With the other hand, we must celebrate what we have that so many others dream of, we must continue to inspire (and welcome) all those who believe in a democratic society.

So, with newfound inspiration, I set fingers to keyboard and began work on something I knew not what. It being only a few days into the month, I thought perhaps taking the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge of completing a 50,000 word manuscript in the month of November would be an appropriate outlet for this project.

As often happens when I set out to writing with only a loose plan, my creative brain sidelines the rational one and produces a completely different story. Within a few days, I was thousands of words into a novel about a middle-class guy in America who faces his fear of poverty. I went with it, the whole Communism vs. Democracy thing could wait for another time.

Two weeks into my cranking out words, I was pleased that I had managed to stay on track and was about 25,000 words deep into this manuscript without a name. However, answering the question (what next?) for 1,700 words per day is grueling work and I was soon defeated. But after a day of moping, I decided to just finish the story, write what I could each day and be glad that I was producing something, even if I was bound for NaNoWriMo failure. This past Sunday, 30 November, I keyed in the 27,828th and final word of my draft. I could care less about not reaching 50,000, this was a monumental achievement after years of hardly writing more than the occasional 700 word blog post. And I did it in America.

The manuscript is one I look forward to working more with down the road, but I’m glad to be at a point in my writing life where I can set a lengthly manuscript like that aside rather than frantically rushing to publish it. It’s hardly a waste.

And just like that, I feel like I am back into the writing world I left so many years ago. I don’t have the same wonderful collaborators or institutions of Scotland close-by, but there are some promising things happening to defy the utilitarian social ethos with pockets of creativity here in Seattle. I’m especially motivated to return to the world of playwriting over the next year after dabbling in it prior to heading for Scotland. I love the human and collaborative nature of drama as well as how it can still defy scaling for mass production more than other media forms.

Best of all, Scotland is not behind me. It’s still right there, half a day’s journey away by air bus. I’m so grateful that despite my years away and increasingly infrequent visits, I’ve still maintained friendships with many amazing people in Scotland.

One thing I did complete in November was a free online playwriting course offered by the University of Glasgow. While having already taken a course with the same name several years ago here in Seattle, this was a welcome refresher and new perspective that contained a lot of practical advice. I also participated in a local playwrights’ open mic, the first time I’ve heard my words brought to life by others in a while. And then I read a piece in The Guardian about Alan Cumming arriving as the new Artistic Director for the Pitlochry Festival Theatre. What inspired me from that article was not only his vision for the theatre and plans for the coming season, but the way he appeared unbothered with having one foot in New York and the other in Scotland. Here was a man who didn’t have the pressing need to choose one or the other - a decision that had haunted me for so long. Of course, it’s a privilege to regularly cross the Atlantic, but even on a modest income I’ve managed to do more travel than folks who make more, I just don’t spend money on other (perhaps more normal) things like cars, gasoline, auto insurance, eating out or watching TV.

I’m now inspired to keep my home in Seattle, but make more frequent visits and nurture my connections with Scotland to the extent feasible. I would gladly give up holidays to other places in exchange for more time back in Scotland; so that’s my plan going forward. And the greatest gift is that I can write and connect with theatre people not only in both places, but around the world. It was discovering the Royal Court Theatre in London long before I moved to Scotland that inspired my interest in playwriting, and they let writers freely join their writers’ card program no matter where in the world they live.

I hope this blog post goes beyond sharing notes from my journey and inspires others who are creatively inclined but perhaps feel blocked by geography. There is hope, wherever you are!

I’ve been interested in French language and culture since my first trip abroad, a family vacation to France in 2007. This led me to study French while in college a few years later and I’ve been a francophile ever since. However, the idea of moving to France only seriously entered my imagination in the early months of 2023. Through some online research, I learned that I was eligible for a long-stay residence permit in France. At the time, I had recently moved back to the US after several years living in Scotland. My return was primarily out of necessity as my visa in the UK had drawn to an end, if the law had allowed I probably would have remained otherwise. So a few months teaching in Hawai’i over the summer and then a few months in my hometown of Seattle, Washington left me in search of options to get back to Europe.

France was it, and I was rather impatient. I didn’t want to wait and go through the whole visa application process, which could take months, so in January 2023 I booked an Airbnb in Nantes for three months with a plan to use it as a trial run, returning to the US and applying for my visa if the trial was a success. But I only made it as far as Scotland on my first go around. I spent time with friends and then abandoned my plan, returning to the US after a few short weeks.

One might want to know the rationale behind my decision…. Simply put, it wasn’t until I was on the verge of flying to France that the reality set in. I was going to a place I didn’t know, full of people I didn’t know who spoke a language I didn’t know very well. While I had visited France for vacation several times following my 2007 family trip, I had never been to Nantes - only had it suggested by a friend who I thought was French but actually is Dutch.

It requires a good amount of insanity to go through with such an affair and hats off to the brave (or insane) folks who do it. For me, I realized I needed more of a plan.

A few more months back in Seattle left me itching for adventure and so I set out on my second attempt at living in France the following summer. This time I was no more prepared than before, but I actually made it to France. First I spent several weeks in Leipzig, Germany, which I did not enjoy - the isolation and inability to communicate were harsh. Next I went to Paris, which was a welcome cultural relief - I prefer the French way of life to the German - and getting by with English was easy in such a big tourist city.

The social isolation can’t be overstated. Even in Paris, bustling with people and hundreds of events on every night, I didn’t really know why I was there and ended up cocooned in my studio consuming more wine than was healthy.

Big city life is not for me, that’s why I chose Leipzig over Berlin in Germany and made my way to Saint-Malo after a month in Paris. I was relieved to be by the sea and free from crowded metro rides to get place to place. I had also decided to stop drinking and connected with a recovery fellowship that helped me stop avoiding the truth.

The truth was that I found reality unbearable for a variety of reasons (which I have rattled on about in much of my past writing) and so much like drinking, the idea of living in France fooled me into believing there was a way out. A silent, peaceful refuge from the chaos of the world. In some ways it was right, Saint-Malo is a fairly peaceful refuge. At the end of the day however, I’ve learned that I don’t need to drink or move abroad to find peace. Which is welcome news, since the consequences to both my physical and mental health were quite dangerous.

And yet that’s not the end of this story. In the autumn of 2023, I returned to the US to be close to family and no longer had such a strong desire to live abroad. I even rented an apartment this time around. I was learning to find peace through spiritual practices and community rather than poorly-planned relocations and drinking. The idea of moving to France remained on the periphery of my mind, especially since I was now connected with a recovery community there. But over a year later I surprised myself by signing a new rental lease and remaining put. I still enjoyed traveling, including several visits to France, but now I had a home to come back to, in a familiar place close to family and friends.

But political tensions of 2024 got to me and I made the mistake of giving in to fear. I wasn’t afraid that the fascist MAGA party would win the election, I was afraid they would lose and violently overthrow the government. When November came, I hopped on a ship bound for Europe and watched the election results via satellite TV. While it wasn’t the outcome I wanted, I was glad that it was at least peaceful. The American people had voted in favor of fascism, I suppose Hitler rose to power lawfully (albeit undemocratically) too.

The racist and economically incompetent agenda of MAGA led me to fear a rapid decline of the USA from leader of the free world to a corrupt and bankrupt third world dictatorship. Driven by this fear, I did what I had not done in my previous attempts at moving to France and actually applied for my residence permit after returning from my election-time travels.

My permit was approved in just two weeks, a surprisingly simple process. I had a plane ticket dated January 19th and an Airbnb in Normandy booked for three months. But much like my first attempt at moving, when it came time to pack up (and mostly discard) everything in the home I had pieced together over the past 16 months, I wasn’t willing to accept that reality. I wasn’t willing to leave my family, friends and home despite the future my country looking quite bleak.

I also found it a bit hard to accept that I was giving up my work with migrants who had come to the US fleeing war and persecution. Compared to where they had come from, even with the new administration, the US was a safe haven. And here I was, not fleeing violence or even searching for economic opportunities, but refusing to accept the dominant political ideology of my country. So I called off my move and stayed put, opting for a holiday in France over the inauguration period instead.

The first months of the new administration have been about what I expected: economic decline and unlawful deportations. In a matter of weeks the country could go bankrupt and the best bet to avoid that is a budget reconciliation bill that will accelerate spending even further beyond revenue to continue growing our national debt, helping us discover the real debt ceiling, the point at which no one in their right mind wants to lend our government money anymore. Not to mention taking away health care and food from millions of low-income Americans.

In April, after attending a friend’s wedding in England, I decided to spend a few weeks in France, once again toying with the idea of moving. The US administration had just announced a set of tariffs that crashed the stock market and I wondered if this was the point at which I should make my move. Yet when I settled into a flat in the countryside near Paris, I was overcome by the all-to-familiar loneliness and isolation of living in a foreign place and culture. The tariffs were soon rescinded, the market recovered and I returned home.

So I’m left knowing there is a point at which time moving to France, or another sane country, will be the right thing for me to do, but not knowing what the criteria to determine that point really are. In the meantime, I’ve learned that home and family mean a lot more to me than politics and I’m willing to live under the rule of a hate-filled, corrupt and incompetent administration for now.

Over the past two years that I have been back and forth on moving to France I’ve met many other Americans thinking about making similar moves. This has led me to see that my experience is far from unique. All too often, I hear from people who get caught up with some romantic imaginings while not thinking of the practicalities. What will you do when you get there? How will you connect with people? Will you learn French? And what about all the people you care about, how will it be when you’re further away from them? Will you pay tens of thousands of dollars to move your things or leave them behind? There are many who don’t ponder these questions and leap with blind faith, some even land on their feet. Others do have a plan and have weighed the pros and cons, moving forward rationally. And then there are those like me who have, one way or another, come to a rational conclusion not to make the move. Whatever you do, I encourage rationality.

As the MAGAs in charge attempt to engineer historical fantasy while ruining the lives of millions, those of us who disagree and remain here may not be able to stop them, but if we are only suffering mere ideological blows, then we can at least try to help our neighbors who are suffering far worse. That’s really what a government is after all, people working together to help each other, not what’s going on in DC these days, that’s something else.

Last year was amazing. I got to see more of the world than I ever imagined I might see in my lifetime, connecting with a diverse range of people and places, allowing me to see things beyond the narrow lens that social and news media offer. I’m so grateful for the time I got to spend with friends and family too, starting to grow roots back in my hometown after years of moving all over. 2024 also opened my eyes to the tragedy of how we treat those with the least in Seattle, answering the phone on the Tenant Resource Line for six months showed me things are worse than I ever imagined. Witnessing hundreds of people enter homelessness each month is devastating. Much like my travels, this experience also gave me a more full understanding and broader perspective, no longer blaming landlords or the government for the circumstances, but seeing the complexities that make pointing fingers a waste of time and energy.

It’s easy to let one or two things entirely out of my control that dominated the news and social media over the past year lead me away from looking at all the good and drawing a less favorable opinion about the year as a whole, but I refuse to do that. When I focus on what is within my control, what is going on in my life, what I do with every precious day, it’s impossible for me to have anything but gratitude for the past twelve months.

Looking ahead is funny. Every year I set some intentions and without fail things go completely differently than I intended. Nevertheless I am compelled to sketch out some sort of goals, knowing that life will of course introduce unexpected twists, turns and opportunities likely to yet again make my intentions irrelevant.

For the year ahead, I want to challenge myself more - both physically and mentally. I want to do my best work, striving to make positive contributions to society, and take better care of my health. I hope to continue seeing the world, both places familiar and new to me. I want to give my relationships with family and friends the attention they deserve, these are the most valuable things in my life. Through all of these, I intend to walk with purpose. Taking life seriously has never been a problem for me, if anything I take it too seriously. And yet, I sometimes shy away from challenges. Growth is tricky because challenging myself too much can lead to impossible, perfectionist, expectations that result in inertia. Instead, I have to push myself to do my best work knowing it will inevitably be flawed, but still worthwhile.

I’ve been careful not to mention specifics because another intention of mine is to stop announcing when I start things and focus on sharing them once they're finished. This gets tougher because so much of what I start doesn’t get finished - if a project falls in the woods and no one hears it, did it ever even exist? In the nine days that currently comprise 2025, I’ve already started and abandoned one project - and I was foolish enough to announce it on social media when I started it. I don’t see anything wrong with trying things out and realizing they’re not for me or failing at them - it is always a valuable learning experience, so I guess if I can’t help but announce something, I should at least include a disclaimer that in the coming days I might abandon the endeavor entirely.

While I abandon a lot of endeavors, I’m grateful for the things I’ve stuck with. For example, 2025 marks my 24th year as a member of the Dave Matthews Band Warehouse fan club and today marks my 500th day sober - a change in my life that has given me reason to live and tremendous gratitude for the recovery community I am part of. I’ve also been writing this blog for over two years.

Ok, I’ll set one specific intention for 2025: I want to visit Laurel, Mississippi.

Happy New Year!

August has marked an important turning point in this year’s chapter of my life. Having wrapped up the volunteer commitments I started at the beginning of the year and ready to make some changes, I set off on my summer holiday open to new possibilities before making any decisions about what I would do next. It’s not a typical way of living for me, in the past I have been more spontaneous and focused solely on getting what I wanted, leaving no space for emergent possibilities.

Since leaving France about a year ago, the thought of returning has lingered in my mind. When I visited Paris in January, I even claimed the intention of moving back after the Olympics (ie, right about now). Despite living in my current flat for nearly a year, I have never felt settled and avoided getting involved with anything going on in Seattle. In reality, I think the flat was a safe place to prepare for what I would do next with my life. A year-long pause, albeit peppered with travel and volunteering.

What I learned over that time was not what to do with my life, but a better way of living it. More slowly and more open to what was going on around me, rather than just what was going on in my head. What opportunities were being placed before me and given those, what did I want to commit to next?

Moving to France is possible, but there isn’t very much in my life calling me there. Also, one of my biggest challenges last year was trying to get involved with the French literary scene while only speaking an elementary level of French. If I want to do more than hang out with fellow expats, I need to commit to learning more French.

What happened over the past month that made me decide not to move to France though? An unexpected and rare opportunity to rent a much nicer flat than the one I have now for less than I am paying and in a better part of the city - something I didn’t think was possible a month ago. I’ve enjoyed being closer to my family over the past year and no longer feel like moving away from the US is an urgent necessity. While there is much I dislike about American culture, it’s not as bad as I often convinced myself it was - because there are a lot of good things going on too. I was so busy focused on the things I didn’t like, I lost sight of the things I did - like the vibrant arts, music, theatre and literary scene in Seattle.

So I’ve decided to stay in (well, near) Seattle for the time being, but also make a commitment to improving my French, which will be useful whether I ever move to France or not. I’m now more willing to settle in, fully unpack, and get involved with local arts organizations. I’ve also decided to make my primary commitment going forward to my writing, un-shelving the ‘Marie Rousseau’ manuscript I set aside in 2018 and hopefully completing revisions by the end of this year. I also have a few new projects, including a collection of travel booklets and a play I hope to write next year.

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you know about my many trepidations with writing in terms of its social impact. What I’ve concluded for the time being is that I want to write to bring joy into people’s lives. I don’t have a social agenda or any expectations of social change resulting from my writing, despite my many social concerns. Instead, I simply hope to be a ray of light, adding to the symphony of so many other creatives with similar aims. Having the chance to attend a plethora of performances by extraordinarily talented artists over the past month has brought this capacity of the arts to the forefront of my mind and convinced me that it is a worthwhile endeavor. I can’t control what’s going on in the world, but I can try to help my fellow travelers on Spaceship Earth enjoy the journey.

With that mindset, I’m prepared to commit myself to writing as my primary occupation. I will still do some volunteering and work on my French too. I haven’t come to this decision lightly, as I have with so many decisions in the past. Unlike the past, I now understand that decisions without commitment are rather meaningless and so I have taken much more time to consider the full scope of what making these commitments means.

The proof will of course be in the pudding and only time will truly tell. Stay tuned and I hope to have new works to share soon. I’m really glad I paused before making these decisions, the opportunities and experiences that presented themselves have showed me that far more is possible than I could ever think up on my own.

I am partially blind. This is not always apparent to people upon meeting me, it’s not like I am running into walls and knocking people over as I go about my day. I don’t wear sunglasses unless it’s sunny and don’t have one of those stylish white get-out-of-my-way sticks either. Since my first retinal detachment about twenty years ago, I have progressively lost center and peripheral vision as.a result of repeated retinal detachments in both eyes. This usually only happens to people when they're old or get struck by lightning. It happens to me more often and from a younger age because my eyes are bigger than most.

I’m very grateful for the talented retina surgeons who have repaired my retinas after each detachment and kept me from losing my vision entirely. In olden times, I would surely be blind by now. In addition to vision loss, I have had erratic wavy lines on the right side of my field of vision since 2016. I’m not sure what caused this, my doctors have said it’s something I just have to ‘get used to.’ I’ve started to call them my silver lining, because they offer a persistent reminder that my vision is a gift not to be taken for granted.

Additional retinal detachments are possible and so while I may be fortunate and maintain the vision I have now for years to come, it’s also possible that my vision could degrade further. This has left me with an urgency to make the most of what I have while I still have it.

At this time, what I most want to do is see the world. While I have my five senses and decent physical mobility, I want to experience as much as I can. Not just taking in the scenery, but connecting with diverse people and hearing their stories too. Given the modest disability benefits I receive, I’ve learned to live frugally and actually set aside a larger portion of my income for savings than I did when I was earning far greater sums. With my savings, I mainly pursue travel. I’ve learned to travel frugally as well, getting to see and do much more per dollar spent than most tourists. As a writer, I also take advantage of writing residency programs around the world.

The funny thing is, I do this all because of my eye condition. Yet, there are millions of other things that could happen at any time to impair my senses or end my life entirely - many with a greater probability than another retinal detachment. In this way, I’m not really any different from you or anyone else. The only practical difference is that I have a constant reminder of this, thanks to the silver lining in my vision.

Maybe we all should find some sort of silver lining, something to remind us of our mortality on a daily basis. Because today is the day, it’s the only time we have to enjoy what we have before it’s gone. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. I don’t say this to be alarmist, morbid or pessimistic, for most of us tomorrow might be even better than today, but for some of us that won’t be the case. And for all of us, it’s guaranteed that one day will surely be our last.

So do we brush that unpleasant thought aside and continue on as if it weren’t the case? It seems silly, yet it’s what we often do. Perhaps because we forget, the mainstream media certainly doesn’t want us to think about mortality - it wants to sell us on the various Fountain of Youth products that might offer a convincing facade to accompany our continued denial. Modern medicine has certainly extended the average lifespan, but I’ve had far too many friends and family meet early deaths to live by averages.

For me, right now, it means traveling to parts of the world I’ve never been to before and may not have the chance to see in the future. I don’t know what my physical or economic circumstances will be when I’m older, but for the time being I am in the uniquely privileged position to have the time and money required for travel and I’m not taking it for granted or letting it go to waste.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve visited Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, Labrador, Greenland and Iceland. Apart from a few places in Iceland, it’s all new to me. While I wish I had more time in each place, I’ve gotten a taste of the unique cultures and landscapes. Chatting up locals, buying books by regional writers, going on hikes and taking in the highlights of the cities while snapping loads of photos along the way has given me a chance to see the world differently and appreciate its vastness. By equal measure, it’s also brought my own problems and concerns from my life back home down to scale. Things that seemed so important, like trying to start a career in law, are less so to me now, other things, like appreciating the uniqueness of the place I call home as well as my family and friends there, has surprisingly become more important to me as I meet people who call the places I visit their home.

I’m also drawn to take writing more seriously than I have in the past. It’s been a while since I invested in anything beyond blog posts and while I sometimes dismiss writing as unimportant, it seems to have a sustained presence in my life. Taking it seriously means devoting significantly more time to the endeavor. Time I previously spent volunteering with local community organizations with the belief that my time was better spent providing direct service to my community than writing.

The volunteering has been a necessary experience, because it brought my expectations in terms of impact down to size. I can’t fix the homelessness crisis, the best I can do is give a few people some education and resources that might help as well as a listening ear. Hearing their stories had a tremendous impact on me. By the same token, my writing will not revolutionize the world, but maybe it can bring a smile to a few faces. And just because work has limited impact, doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. Those handful of people I helped while volunteering, the few dozen people who tell me they enjoy my writing, that impact truly matters and is more than enough to make the work worthwhile.

And whatever I have to write, it’s certainly something I can’t put off. While I know I will be able to write even if I lose my eyesight, it’s certainly a lot easier to do while I have some of it left. And if I’m not writing on a daily basis, I believe the stories in my imagination fade away as new ones arrive. The more I can capture and share, the better, as they don’t wait around for me to write them. I’d love to open another bookshop and do more publishing as well, but the path forward on those things is not clear right now. I’ll keep looking for the stars to align and if opportunities present themselves, I certainly won’t let them pass by.

So what would happen if we all lived like mortals? What would we do differently today? Do you have a silver lining?

After many years of contempt prior to investigation, I went on my first cruise earlier this year. To my surprise, I liked it so much that I decided to go on another one. I’m now aboard the Volendam with Holland America Line sailing to Iceland from Boston. While there are many things I enjoy about cruising, one of the unexpected delights is the friendly coexistence of people with vastly differing opinions and ideologies. It’s the only place I’ve ever been that brings people from all corners of the United States (as well as other places) together. For the duration, we share a common home. Rather than erupt into chaos as one might expect the inevitable conclusion of mixing people with opposing beliefs in close quarters to be, there is an unwritten rule: “While we’re here, we’re all friends.”

America needs more of this, not just because it would be nice, but because the alternative is a civilization lost. When I lived in the UK during the prolonged Brexit ordeal, I went to a talk with representatives from various EU countries and I’ll never forget one thing a panelist said: “For all our disagreements, Europeans must remember the EU was formed with the hope that we would stop going to war with each other.” Peace. For all the disagreements and crisis that the United States is facing, we enjoy a level of peace that is easy to take for granted. During my lifetime, while we have suffered terrorist attacks, we have never been at war on American soil.

We live in a young country that only found its way out of Civil War 159 years ago. Yet, stories of the bloodshed are not passed down and the conflict rests not in our memories or family discussions, but only on the pages of history books. Some fear internal tensions are on the verge of reaching a tipping point that could lead to violent conflict. We got a preview in January 2021; I was still living in the UK at the time and remember my shock upon learning of the anti-democratic violence, something I never imagined witnessing in my lifetime.

In my view, our disagreements can be productive and may actually make our country greater than it could ever be if we all agreed. The key is to not turn disagreements about ideas into hatred of people, something I believe folks on both sides of the political divide engage in on a regular basis. Protecting democracy and civil society is not something a single political party is capable of doing, it’s something we all have to do together.

Coming together is not about persuading others that I’m right and they’re wrong, but recognizing our shared humanity and coexistence on Spaceship Earth. It’s immensely refreshing to meet people who I disagree with and enjoy our time together none the less, because we are much more than our differences.

The nature of a cruise includes a lot of intermingling, from shared tables at meals to chance encounters on deck and pre-entertainment chit chat. I live in an apartment complex of similar size to the ship I’m on, but I hardly know my neighbors beyond hallway encounters. An FBI agent doing a background check on one of my colleagues once told me it’s a lot harder to do background checks these days because you used to be able to learn a lot about someone by talking with their neighbors.

I don’t think it’s so much geography that isolate us in America, but our contemporary culture itself that leads to isolation and ideological echo chambers. Not everyone can afford to go on a cruise, but I believe there are other ways to create a cultural shift similar to what I’ve now seen manifest twice aboard these ships. We just need to come face to face with those we disagree with, then it becomes easier. In Washington state for example, instead of yelling at each other across the cascades, we could go over the mountains and through the woods on our next holiday to take time and visit public places, making an effort to talk with strangers whether at coffee shops, gigs or in the park.

One of my other favorite things about cruises and travel in general, is talking to new people and hearing their stories. Rather than splurge on shore excursions, I look up coffee shops and bookshops in the various places I go. I’m not a very outgoing person, but I push myself to connect - because it almost always pays off.

I remember my days standing at my desk staring out the window in a corporate office and dreaming of a more adventurous life; I was willing to let go of the security, wealth and prestige offered by a career in the tech industry because staying put felt like giving up on life to me at the time. I started out in that world at the age of 18 (fortunate to takeoff so early in life some would say) and by the time I got to 23 I wondered if the rest of my life would be on the middle class treadmill. It seemed out of place to wish for something else when I had been given what so many others would kill for (I didn’t even have to go to university!). Despite my best efforts, I could find no other path in life and those dreaded days I look back on at that standing desk were five years into my search for freedom. Funny how some people struggle to find their way into the industry and I struggled to find a way out.

It’s not actually that hard to make the leap, but the fear is paralyzing. As a friend and mentor once put it: You have to jump out the window and hope there’s a trampoline below, but you won’t know until you jump. I spent a lot of time leaning out the window trying to get a glimpse of what lay below, but it has only been the the past three years that I have lived the life I always dreamed of.

If I were standing in that office today and reading this post, I would demand to know how I managed to make it work. The answer for me is not glorious, it involved help from family, the government and student loans. Work I have found has not paid well nor lasted long. Everyone’s journey is different, the key is working up the faith to make the leap and seeing what happens. It means walking the walk rather than just talking the talk when it comes to living with less material means and greater risk. The way this is done varies depending on each individual and their circumstances, but I now meet other people who have made similar leaps all the time. I had to make the decision and jump out the window hoping for a trampoline below but not knowing if it was there, that seems to be the only way it works.

Over the past three years, I have traveled to more places than I can count, mostly around Europe. However, today marks the end of my second visit to Aotearoa New Zealand. My travels are not luxurious, I choose to live a simple life and travel in search of natural and cultural experiences rather than what people typically go for when on holiday. I no longer think there is a ‘right’ way to live your life, it just depends what lets you sleep at night. I never dreamed I would actually visit New Zealand, let alone twice, let alone as a visiting writer, back when I was at that standing desk. My only experiences abroad had been a family holiday to France and some work trips to London. I didn’t know where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do, but staring at a computer all day testing software was not the life for me and I was after anything else.

So I’ve had the privilege of a tech career and also the privilege of a life of freedom and travel. What I didn’t expect was that even in the life of adventure I have enjoyed the past few years, there have been new lessons to learn. For me, it has been searching for meaning and purpose in life. Some would call that work, and they have a point. Getting everything I wanted without having to work led me to excess and the depths of alcoholism and spiritual despair.

Thankfully, I have found sobriety, a personal relationship with a power greater than myself, a community of fellow people in recovery and a return to writing as a vocation with a new sense of purpose and service. I’m only a few months in to this new chapter of my life, so it’s impossible to say whether it is the beginning of what I believe is more like the third book of my life rather than merely a chapter. The first being my youth and entry into career life, the second my search for meaning and escape to freedom (see what I did there?) and now a life of service and gratitude.

This post was meant to be the final installment of my Aotearoa travelogue, but the truth is that while I have had a phenomenal time ‘down under,’ seen some wonderful places and met interesting people, I feel like my desire for adventure back at that standing desk has now been fulfilled - and writing about that shift is more important to me than sharing the details of my trip. I’m no longer interested in traveling solely for the new adventure it offers. The only future travel I have planned is to see family and friends.

My track record of new years resolutions is not so great, but for what it’s worth I see the next year (and beyond) being focused on producing some travel books that share photos, stories and reflections along with some tips from my many experiences abroad. I want to share the beauty and richness of the world with people and hope that doing so might be a way for me to offer a humble gift to others.

Thanks for joining me on this blog journey over the past year and a half. I plan to continue posting, but will probably be more focused on bigger projects and devote my blogging to updates on the progress of those projects rather than the travelogue and editorial writing I have been sharing thus far.

When I visited Dunedin on Aotearoa New Zealand’s South Island last year, I thought I had gone about as far south as possible in my exploration of the country. The dots on Google Maps below Dunedin were tiny or non-existent, so I figured there was nothing more to see. Part of what drew me to Dunedin was its Scottish influence, starting with its name, the Gaelic version of Edinburgh, a sign of the many Scottish immigrants that arrived in the 19th century during British colonization. But when I was exploring last year, the locals told me if I really wanted to see the Scottish culture in Aotearoa, I needed to go further south. So this year, thanks to my strange obsession with the Scots, I started my tour of Aotearoa in Invercargill, situated on the southern coast of the South Island.

The suggestion I received bears some truth; I ended up staying with a Scottish couple who moved to Invercargill from Glasgow, Scotland several years ago. They find it a welcome change. The thing is, culture and heritage are sensitive topics in Aotearoa and since arriving I have come to abandon my interest in discovering what would amount to some sort of Scottish theme park. Thank goodness that is not what is here anyway. Imagine going to New York because of an interest in Yorkshire culture!

On my first full day in Invercargill, I discovered Arts Murihiku, a local arts centre, was hosting a free writing workshop with a local writer. Few things could be more up my alley, so of course I went. It was a delight to start my visit by meeting fellow artists and writers, I learned a lot from the workshop leader too! It was here that I also learned about Dan Davin, the writer from Invercargill who was known for the short stories about Southland he published, among other works. I also learned that an illustrator visiting from Auckland would be giving a talk and sharing their sketch books at Arts Murihiku later that evening, so I made a plan to return.

In-between the two events, I made my way to the town’s two art galleries and its secondhand bookshop. Of the two galleries, I was most impressed by Art Attic Gallery. As the name implies, it is located in an attic atop a furniture shop in the town centre. They had a show on featuring dozens of artists from the region. It was a very eclectic mix that was fun to explore. Like most places, there is great creative talent here and it was nice to see a public, welcoming space sharing their work. Visitors were asked to vote on the artwork for awards that would be announced at the end of the show; I loved the categories that got specific about technique, color, intimacy and work that just had an indescribable draw.

At the bookshop, I asked the question I ask whenever I walk into any bookshop: “Where are the books by people from around here?” Thankfully, this one happened to have a section with just what I was looking for. There was a great selection of local books, but of course I had no idea who any of the writers were. Not wanting to pick a book completely randomly, I was fortunate that one title stood out to me: William Pember Reeves’ ‘The long white cloud.’ The synchronicity was too strong to ignore: I had booked tickets to see a performance at the local repertory theatre later in my visit by the same name. Not only that, it was on my previous visit to Aotearoa that I had discovered New Zealander Janet Frame’s ‘Owls Do Cry’ and then happened to be in Wellington when an adaptation of the book was being performed.

While not from Invercargill, Reeves was born on the South Island and went on to become New Zealand’s colonial representative in London at the turn of the 20th century. I am looking forward to reading his book and expanding my understanding of Aotearoa New Zealand history. Having previously read ‘The Penguin History of New Zealand’ by Michael King, it will be an interesting point of comparison. I don’t think I have anywhere close to even an elementary understanding of this country’s unique history, but the more I learn the more intrigued I am by how the story differs from other colonized places.

The Maori arrived on these islands about three thousand years before the British and other colonial forces arrived. Learning about Maori and their culture is about as difficult as learning about the Coast Salish who inhabited in my home region of the Pacific Northwest long before colonizers arrived. In both places, the history is written more by the colonizers than the colonized and the divide between the two remains stark and steeped in resentment. How typically white American of me to show up and be interested in Scottish culture here, thinking doing so was any different than an interest in colonial history. Why didn’t I come here with an interest in Maori culture?

Thankfully, flashes and glimmers of Maori culture have shown up throughout my visit so far. Unfamiliar words and place names here and there, stories about the nearby islands that remain under Maori rule, respect by the government for allowing cultural hunting practices to continue. Only a few things, but enough to draw my interest. If I want to learn more about Scottish culture and history, I ought to focus on Scotland. While here in Aotearoa, I have a wonderful opportunity to learn about Maori culture and history. So now, re-oriented, I am trying to learn as much as I can. It’s not easy, not in-yer-face, not part of the primary pop culture media narrative here; it has to be sought out. The wee glimmers are what I’m on the lookout for. Today I had the pleasure of hearing someone sing in Maori and it brought me to tears, reinforcing my belief that there is something strong, vibrant and powerful hidden beneath the colonial veneer of this place and I look forward to learning more as my journey continues.

I first heard about Rakiura Stewart Island from my guide when I was touring the Otago peninsula of Aotearoa New Zealand’s South Island last year. It’s an island of about 674 square miles located 16 nautical miles south of the South Island, at the 47th southern parallel. I remember my guide specifically chose the word ‘privilege’ to describe going to Rakiura. I knew nothing about it, but I longed to make the journey. When I planned my trip to Aotearoa this year, I included a few days in Southland, but wasn’t sure if I would be able to go to Rakiura. I didn’t do much research and imagined it might be quite difficult to get there. I didn’t know what the rules were for visiting or if the island was even inhabited.

Once I arrived in Invercargill, I found the ferry service to Rakiura and a tour offered by Real NZ, so I went ahead and booked them on my first day in town. Following that, I happened to meet a local who had lived on Rakiura for several years before moving to Invercargill. ‘Wow,’ I thought ‘so people live on it!’ She had nothing but glowing things to say about the island; from the way her face lit up when talking about it, I knew it must be a special place.

Indeed, it is! I took the one hour ferry ride from Bluff, the first ferry I have been on with barf bags provided at every seat. The Foveaux Strait is choppy, even on what was a relatively calm day. It was quite a ride and thankfully I enjoyed it without getting sick. As soon as we docked in Oban, the village that serves the 400 or so residents of the island along with its many visitors, it was onto a bus to go see some sights.

The natural environment is indeed stunning, and I only got a small glimpse of it. To really see the island one must stay for a few days or weeks and go on one of the hiking loops. But there is much more than beautiful scenery and friendly people on Rakiura, there is magic and here’s how it struck me:

I had booked a boat trip to Ulva Island, a nearby bird sanctuary, with some hiking trails. Once we were on the boat, they informed us that if the wind was above 25 knots we would not be able to dock at Ulva, so we would have to go there and see what the conditions were like. On the way we saw some Mollymawks who took an interest in our bright orange vessel and followed us across. I was on edge, as this was the part of my trip I was most looking forward to and it never occurred to me the wind might be what gets in the way. Sure enough, when we arrived at Ulva, the captain informed us the wind was too high and we would have to turn around. I was disappointed, but felt that it was just not meant to be - a strange gratitude came over me, gratitude for a world where nature can overrule man. It’s easier to respect nature when it overpowers you.

This was the start of my magical journey, not a bright and shiny magic, but a subtle and enduring one. I felt a sense of ease come over me and a connection with the place. We made our way back to Oban and I now had just over an hour free to wander before the ferry to Bluff. I didn’t go far, just up a hill overlooking the bay and then into the village. As I walked, I was delighted by how genuinely friendly everyone I passed by seemed to be, always with a howsit or heya. I ended my free time at The Snuggery, a warm and cosy coffee house where people were more than happy to share their table with me. Granted, it was mostly fellow tourists I was encountering rather than locals, but I felt as if we were all under the spell of this special place, relishing in our shared experience.

Having only been on Rakiura for a handful of hours, I was surprised by the sadness I felt walking toward the ferry terminal. I’ve only felt that way a few times in my life, and it usually required a much stronger connection to a place than what I had there. I do hope to go back, but even if I don’t I now feel that the island is part of me. While I did not buy any souvenirs, I did bring the magic back with me and truly feel like a changed person. I’m so grateful for having had the privilege to visit Rakiura Stewart Island.

There’s a signature frenzy to a family-owned business having an unexpectedly good day.  The stress of all the hot apple cider sold out less than an hour after opening and having to stir up a new batch.  The last three cookies on the baking sheet an hour before closing with a queue stretching out the front door.  When heart and soul go into a wood-fired pizza and the kitchen staff prepping for dinner reassure a panicked chef, ‘don’t worry chef, we’ll figure it out..’

One, two, three countless cars with trees tied down to their roofs pass by, families heading home to erect, light and decorate the firs in their living rooms as we approach the coldest, darkest days of the year.  A universal desire to connect with nature realized.

Finding space to breathe, looking out at flooded fields across the valley, distant hills dusted with fog and an inescapable silent serenity offered freely to all who enter the park for a wander.

Assurance, not from a newscaster, economist or politician, that everything’s gonna be alright.  Because it’s just us here living, people wrinkled, weathered, limping, from great-grandparents who have seen it all and carried on to teens who have seen more loss and struggle than their young faces let on.  Our eyes, mouths, hands connect us to the most powerful worldwide network, no batteries required.

Hope is not far away.  It’s with everyone around us, sometimes hidden behind sunglasses or buried under a bit of wreckage.  Actual reality, actual intelligence, actual life.  We just step outside our home, our car, whatever structures enclose us and we’re there without a word.

The real story.

Two months ago, I didn’t know Saint-Malo existed. It was only through researching coastal towns in France during my recent stay in Leipzig that I discovered it and made a plan to visit. Yesterday, I arrived and my first impression has already exceeded the expectations I built up while staying in beautiful, culturally-vibrant, albeit landlocked and crowded Paris over the past month. Being close to the sea brings me an incredible amount of peace and I’m very grateful for the opportunity to be here.

After my two hour TGV journey, I arrived at my cosy studio perched atop a historic building and couldn’t be bothered to unpack before setting out to explore the town on foot. I walked toward the walled ‘intra-muros’ old city, slightly confused by the siren and flashing orange lights as I approached from the south. Getting closer, I discovered that the drawbridge was open so boats could enter and depart the inner harbor. Drawbridge may not be the correct word, I’ve never seen a bridge like this one before; rather than go up or to a side, the entire bridge cleverly reversed back on one side. After about ten minutes, the bridge was pushed back out and the dozens of pedestrians, cyclists and cars on each side were on their way.

Finally making it to the intra-muros, I was impressed to see the wall not only intact, but with limited entry points. While cars could enter, there is the little to no parking so most visitors park outside the wall and enter by foot, making the lanes quite pedestrian-friendly. The stone buildings within were beautiful, but I was more interested in the beaches and wove my way through the shop and restaurant-lined roads toward the seashore. I found that getting out required going up and over the wall, the top of which is comprised of a walkway that allows you to circle the entire old city.

Getting to the beach, my breath was taken away by the beauty (not the preceding stair climb) of the coast. Sun breaking out through the clouds and reflecting off the modest waves, fresh gusts of sea air making me glad I ported my windbreaker. Several sandy beaches line both the western and northern shores, with people running in the sand, swimming in the sea, playing games or just soaking in the serenity. I was in awe, having found the peace that only the sea can give me.

Weary from my journey, lack of sleep the night before and having not yet eaten, I went back within the walls and found an affordable salmon tagliatelle with my name on it. Shellfish are the pride and joy of this region and I’m sure I will give them a try, but they are not my favorite seafood in general; the salmon was excellent.

Heading back to my flat, I took the long way, walking atop the wall with the historic buildings to my right and the inner harbor to my left. I can imagine walking this everyday, but we’ll see.

I’m sure I’ll have more to say once I have a chance to get to know this place and the people better, but my first day put things off to a wonderful start. So far, day two has been a bit more practical, walking to my local grocery shop to get my kitchen stocked. I was surprised to see pre-made galettes (buckwheat crepes) in abundance while doing my shopping and so picked up a few instead of bread, why not? It was also cool to see locally-made soda, why not? It costs less and tastes better than Coke.

Tonight, there’s a free concert at the beach I’m looking forward to and hopefully I’ll make it to the tourist office tomorrow to get my bearings on things to do. I’m here as a tourist, but also as a potential resident. I’ll spend some of my days exploring, but mostly just working and living my life, connecting with the community and seeing if this might be a place I want to call home.

I arrived in France yesterday after a seven hour journey by train from Leipzig, Germany.  My final days in Leipzig primarily consisted of watching Women’s World Cup matches and practicing my French on Rosetta Stone.  I was mentally checked out from Germany long before I physically departed.  That’s not to say I didn’t like Germany, it certainly has some great qualities, but it did not take long for me to know it was not the place for me.

It’s so easy to imagine going to a place and it being a certain way, and of course we know that we are only setting expectations that will probably not be met, but we still try to make as realistic of expectations as we can based on the information we can find as well as our knowledge and experience.

I have visited Germany four times prior to my most recent visit and only been to France twice, yet French language and culture have been an important part of my life for many years - at least since my first French language class in 2009.  I’ve loved reading English translations of French writers, contemporary and classic.  I love classic French music, but also modern French pop and rap.  I’ve studied French on and off at Bellevue College, University of Washington, The French Class of San Francisco as well as online with Rosetta Stone and Frantastique.  So despite only having limited experience in the country, I feel immersed in the culture and language of France far more than that of Germany, where I have actually spent more time.

Given that I am a francophile, why did I head to Germany with the idea that I might settle there?  Again, it’s that planning and imagining mindset we have when we are not yet in a place.  I did a lot of research and concluded that Germany was a more practical place for me than France.  Lower cost of living being the primary driver, but also what I perceived to be an easier to navigate immigration system.  I also imagined a culture that celebrated the arts and had a multitude of writers and artists among the population.  After discovering that Scotland met this cultural standard during my time living there, I was perhaps overly generous in extending my imagination to believe that all of Europe shared a similar appreciation for the arts.

While there have been many great German writers, musicians, artists and philosophers, in the modern day I see a culture that is more concerned with utilitarianism than the ‘useless’ arts.  There is a direct and indirect economic value to the arts, but there is also a cultural value that supersedes the economic, in my view.  Some societies care about cultural value more than others.  One of the main reasons I have not enjoyed living in Seattle is because of the cultural void that has been created following massive gentrification.  It is actually for pretty utilitarian reasons that gentrified places tend to deter artists: they’re too expensive!  Even so, Paris, London and Edinburgh are all expensive places that somehow manage to retain artists (hats off to the artists who manage to scrape by in such expensive places).  On the other hand, Dumfries is an example of a place where the arts thrive more than in gentrified places - being able to share a flat and pay 300 pounds per month in rent opens the possibility of not having to work a 40+ hour per week job just to pay the bills.  I’m sure there are many of these places in every country, but they can be hard to find; I was fortunate to stumble upon Dumfries unexpectedly.

Ok, language - this post is actually meant to be about language.  If you made it through my roundabout introduction, well done.  In America, we mostly speak English and Spanish.  Like most white Americans, I was brought up with English and never explored other languages much.  In middle school, they told us we needed to take a foreign language if we wanted to go to university, so I signed up for Spanish.  After one semester, I decided it was too difficult and I didn’t really want to go to university anyways.  Pro tip for parents and educators: Don’t tell young people the reason to learn another language is because they need it to go to university or get ahead, etc.  If someone had told me about all the amazing Spanish and Latino culture and history, the writers, the music, the places, I would have probably been more motivated to study the language.

When I finally decided to study French, it was actually for the same reason: I wanted to go to university (twelve years later, at the age of 24).  At least I had the option to select among a few different language options and it was probably my first trip abroad (two years earlier) that led me to choose French.  At the time of the trip, I just thought of it as a family vacation to France, but looking back I think it was one of the most transformative experiences of my life; the power of that trip took far longer than its two week duration to fully sink in.  I didn’t choose France, my parents did, but I absolutely loved that trip! I will spare the details as this post is already too long for most blog readers 700 word capacity (as determined by the blog industry).

So when I decided to pursue university studies, I took a French class at Bellevue College and enjoyed it, then I had an intensive French summer course before I finally entered University of Washington in 2016.  Learning French was difficult, but I battled through, in part because I wanted to pursue further education, but also because I enjoyed learning about the culture.  At the time, I perceived myself as a ‘bad’ language learner, the same way I thought of myself as ‘bad’ at math and science.  I think that belief was born from the strange culture and oftentimes poor teaching that haunts the more lucrative subjects in public secondary schools.  Letting young people think that they are somehow inherently good or bad at particular subjects can do irreparable damage, all too often it's a matter of poor teaching, poor study habits, or both.  In any case, it’s not pre-determined.

I consistently earned good marks in French, leading me to overcome my negative self-perception.  However, once I was admitted to university, I did not continue my language studies.  Languages are hard, learning them requires a lot of motivation, in most cases I think people learn new languages out of necessity.  Necessity is a good motivator.

It’s never been necessary for me to learn an additional language (save for university entrance requirements).  However, I have faced the challenge of being thrown into a culture that does not speak English a few times - it has always been a distressing experience.  Going to the tourist parts of Paris or Rome where everyone speaks English is one thing, but when I traveled off the beaten path in Greece, Italy, Germany and other places, if I didn’t have a friend with me who spoke the language, I faced a great struggle upon learning most people I encountered did not speak English and I didn’t speak their languages.  These are the experiences that help me understand why immigrants to America often avoid even leaving their homes: the challenge of living in and navigating a place without a shared language is overwhelming.

Since arriving yesterday, I have sat at cafés in Paris and overheard waiters who graciously interact with American tourists who don’t even try to speak French - they’ve come here expecting everyone to speak their language.  When I try to use my (elementary) French, everyone responds in English - except at the bookshop I visited today and Alliance Française, where I am studying French. I know that things are different in parts of France outside of this tourist bubble, and that’s where I intend to go soon. As much as I love Paris, I have neither the desire nor the money to live here.

Before I went to Leipzig, I made the foolish assumption that all Germans spoke English.  I was quickly proven wrong, with most of my daily interactions requiring stumbling through the fact that neither party shared a common language.  Many people in Leipzig told me that Berlin would be better for me as more people speak English there.  I thought that I would just learn German and started with lessons using Rosetta Stone before I traveled to Germany.  However, after about a month of studying German online, I still couldn’t manage basic interactions in German.  I had forgotten how much work it takes to learn a new language and the difference between practicing online and living in it.  While I still only have basic French skills, my years of study put me at a level where I can manage most interactions.

I didn’t decide to come to France only because I had more familiarity with the language; really the question is why I didn’t go to France to begin with, given my passion for the culture.  I think I failed to see how important culture is to me and how incompatible I am with German culture - until I arrived in Leipzig.  It was a challenging but important lesson for me to learn.

I’ve only been in France for 24 hours, but it has already exceeded my expectations.  To have lived a life so devoted to French cultural work, it is hard to believe I’ve only been to the country twice before.  The people, the architecture, the music, the art, the literature, the gardens - I love it all.  The fact that there is even a possibility for me to live in France is a dream come true and after my aborted attempt to give it a go in January, I am so happy to finally be here.  It will take a lot of time and work for me to improve my French to the point of fluency, but knowing the basics makes taking part in the culture a lot easier.

Language barriers are easy to underestimate when not yet in a foreign place, but aside from wandering the tourist façades of places, it is a monumental challenge.  I can see why some expats find English-speaking enclaves to settle (colonize?) in foreign lands, but I am not traveling merely for a change of scenery or more affordable living - I am in love with the French culture and I only will be able to fully appreciate it when I can comfortably read and speak the language. 

Language is not just a means of communication; it’s the gateway into an entirely different culture, an entirely different way of thinking, understanding and experiencing the world. If we seek to understand other cultures, we must not only meet the people and visit the places, but undertake the more challenging task of learning the languages. By doing so, we can advance mutual understanding - rather than expecting everyone to see things our way.

I’ve visited Germany several times in my life: First, a tour through Munich, Berlin and Hamburg for work.  Later, a conference in Berlin.  Once to visit a friend in Mainz and another time to see friends in Münster.  All of those experiences were good, but all of them were also brief.  None had an intention of longevity.  Until now.

Given the opportunity to travel for a month this summer, I had originally planned to go place to place: DC, Wales, Scotland, Italy.  But the thought of traveling around on holiday was exhausting and my prior interests in DC and Wales had waned.  And Italy appears to be melting in the summer heat.  So I decided to just go to one place and try to see what it would be like living there for a month.

I had this idea earlier in the year, but changed my mind at the last minute. I was all set to go live in Nantes, France for three months, with the intention of potentially living there long-term if it went well.  But the distance from family and friends, going somewhere I’d never been before and where I didn’t speak the language well convinced me not to go. My alternative city had been Leipzig, but I didn’t pursue that for the same reasons that I turned away from Nantes.

When it comes to adventure, I am of two quite conflicted minds.  I didn’t think such a thing was possible until I met Mave, the English Labrador rescue my parents adopted earlier this year.  She is a super sweet dog who had a rough first two years of her life at a poorly run breeder.  From the start of life in her new home, she has been quite skittish - showing a mix of simulatinously wanting and not wanting to do things.  Sometimes when dinnertime comes, she will go up to her food bowl, then go away, then back again a few times before finally eating - a mix of desire and fear.  The same happens at the prospect of going on a walk, she needs some time to make up her mind.  It goes without saying that she certainly enjoys eating her dinner and going for walks when she builds up the courage to do these things.

I’ve always had a strong desire for adventure, travel, new experiences and new challenges.  However, I have always also had a lot of fear and hesitation, doubt and concern about practicalities.  Sometimes I play it safe, but then I am unhappy not having any new experiences in my life.  When I go out and take a risk, it goes well sometimes and sometimes not.  That’s the whole idea of risk, right?

So this time around I took the risk, got on my flight and arrived in Leipzig ready for something new and unexpected.  The only way I get myself to take the risk is to convince myself that it will be amazing - which is not a good technique, because it’s a great way to set myself up for failure.  I even know going into it that my expectations are probably too high, but also that there is a chance things could go as well as I imagine, or perhaps even better. Rather than a positive attitude, I have positive imaginings.

When I had the chance to go live in Dumfries, Scotland back in 2018, I didn’t think twice - I quit my job and applied for my visa.  Meanwhile, I knew absolutely nothing about Dumfries.  I ended up being quite lucky and enjoying the place, making several friends that I still keep in touch with today.  I even spent the better part of several years following my initial stay living there.  I never imagined things going so well.  I wondered if new adventures might have similar results.

Since then, I have gone on numerous adventures, many catalogued on this blog.  Hawai’i, did not work out, New Zealand was wonderful, Greece was a strange middle ground, Iceland was incredible but also incredibly expensive, London was overwhelming in good and bad ways, but ultimately too much for me. If I could live in Scotland or New Zealand I probably would, but visa issues make that difficult.

I always remind myself of my life pre-2016, when I had a great career but very little travel and mostly spent time at my desk dreaming of a life filled with adventure and new experiences.  No matter how disappointing my travels are now, I am grateful for the changes in my life that have given me the chance to live the life I used to only dream about.  I’m incredibly fortunate and I never forget that, it’s a very useful source of consolation when travels aren’t going so well too.

Anyway, back to Leipzig…. I arrived a week ago and started out doing all the tourist things, like going on tours.  My first stop was to the Spinnerei, a former cotton mill complex turned arts center - full of artist studios and small businesses.  It was inspiring to see such a cool historic building put to new use rather than fall into disrepair and become a relic.  Imagination: Hundreds of artists at work in open studio spaces, similar to 59 Rivoli in Paris; I would wander around and talk with loads of artists, making new friends and discussing potential creative collaborations.  Reality: A quiet place, artists in their private studios or entrepreneurs in their work places, keeping to themselves, sometimes scurrying between buildings.  Friendly, but occupied.  This set the tone for my time in Leipzig.

Next, I went on a walking tour of Plagwitz, the hip and trendy formerly working class neighborhood west of Leipzig’s city center.  It was four Germans and myself who showed up and I was quite lucky that the guide offered the tour in English none the less.  I was surprised to be on a tour that wasn’t full of American tourists, which meant none of the stereotypical annoyances that come with stereotypical American tourists.  It was a great tour, sharing the history of the place and several interesting spots, including an outdoor cafe and playground where the kids were taught how to build the toys and make the playground themselves - what a concept!  It reminded me a bit of Christiania in Copenhagen, without all the weed and tourists.  We also passed the Wall of Fame, a series of walls along a path with some incredible street art.  No pictures allowed, so you have to go see it for yourself.  One of the buildings near the wall was a cooperative owned by its residents who took pride in undertaking all maintenance themselves, developing the skills to be more self-sufficient.  Apparently there is a library and theatre open to the public in the building too.

Two days later I went on a walking tour of the city center, which is pretty much what you would expect of a city center in Europe.  Leipzig is a city of about 600,000 people.  There are some large squares, opera house, concert hall, lots of shopping galleries, restaurants, business and government offices.  The tour was interesting and helped orient me, but I am glad I went on the Plagwitz tour first.

After my first three days as a tourist, I was faced with the reality of living in Leipzig.  While the flat I am renting is beautiful and convenient to transportation, it is not in a great neighborhood; it’s on the city’s east side which is working class and doesn’t have a whole lot going on.  When I first arrived, I was shocked to see so many of the buildings in my neighborhood covered top to bottom in graffiti, I wondered who lived here and how safe it was.  Well, it seems plenty safe and the people are nice enough, I don’t think they’re the ones who do the graffiti.  It didn’t take long for me to get used to seeing graffiti everywhere, I imagine most residents don’t even notice it they’ve grown so accustomed to it.

Unfortunately, there is a big construction project underway just outside my building, with a variety of obscenely loud and surprisingly diverse sounds from 7am to 4pm every weekday.  It also gets a bit uncomfortably hot during the day.  When I complain about these things to writer friends, claiming that it’s not a place I can do my work in, they tell me about the much more challenging environments in which they work, because they have no choice.  That said, it is only now that I have found a coffee house where I can work that I am actually doing any writing.  I really do better in certain environments.

Speaking of work, one interesting thing I learned about on the city center tour was Leipzig’s first ‘skyscraper,’ the Kroch-Hochhaus, standing at a mere 11 stories, built in 1928 and inspired by the clocktower on Venice’s Piazza San Marco.  More interesting to me than the building is its latin inscription: ‘omnia vincit labor’ translated to English as ‘work conquers all.’  Our guide informed us that the clocktower in Venice held the slightly different inscription ‘omnia vincit amor’ or ‘love conquers all.’  I haven’t been able to confirm whether the Venetian clocktower actually has this inscription, but it is a useful comparison in any case that speaks strongly to the cultural difference between Germany and Italy.

I would argue, based on my limited experience, that German culture is indeed rooted in the belief that work conquers all.  There is a strong work ethic that is reinforced institutionally.  When considering moving here, I quickly learned that I needed to make clear my occupation as a writer and the government expected me to treat writing as a full-time job.  On one hand, this is good because there is a government-funded organization for writers and artists that provides health insurance and a pension on par with working a full-time job in Germany.  The income requirements to join the organization are modest, only requiring that I make over 3,000 euros annually from writing within three years of enrolling.  But in my view, this takes away a lot of the freedoms I enjoy as a writer.  I like not having the pressure to deliver a ‘product’ that generates revenue - I don’t write to make a living and I don’t want to either.

Like most writers, I depend on other income to survive and use the time I have to write for cultural and spiritual interests, not economic ones.  I write fiction, poetry, essays and blog posts based on what inspires me at the time.  I find the institutional confines of what it means to be a writer in Germany too restrictive. I may write 10 hours a day one week and zero the next with most of what I write never seeing the light of day let alone broad publication. None of my writing is inspired by the idea of selling it.

But looking at German culture in general, I can see the reflection of socialist propaganda.  Rather than critical of routine and mundane labor, it seems to be celebrated. People don’t have the (also flawed) “follow your passion, live your dream” mindset often found in middle and upper class America.  Yet Germany certainly has a leftist culture, full of anarchist beliefs, but it sits on the margins and results in creative work more inspired by hate and destruction than anything else. Germany’s economy has thrived based on its work ethic, which has also brought about security and influence within Europe and globally.  But what is the culture?  Industrial techno music and night clubs that go until 6 in the morning?  A stark contrast to the cultural history of classical music and philosophy.  Neither cultural era having much to do with the notion of love conquering all.

It’s always been the work of French writers, musicians and artists that inspire me the most, as well as an appreciation for some American, Irish and British ones.  Cultural work in Germany is very different and whether it is in support or opposition of the German industrial ethic, it seems to be occupied with industry and not engaged with alternative ideas like surrealism or romance.  I didn’t put much thought into this difference before traveling here, I’m not even sure what I expected.  But this conflict in creative cultural foundations and ethics has been heavy on my mind since I encountered it upon my arrival and haven’t been able to avoid it since.

In my view, the feeling of a place and its culture, a combination of the people, environment and works produced, shapes that place and the direction of its culture. I’ve long felt out of place in the Seattle area for this very reason, a society starkly different from Leipzig, but not in a good way. I would argue that Seattle is a place and culture obsessed with wealth rather than work or love. It’s hard to find a place inspired by love, let alone live there, because while love may conquer all, it doesn’t usually produce a strong and sustainable economy.

I have had the benefit of visiting and even living in places that had a feeling and culture that resonated with me, from lesser known places like Dumfries, Scotland and Pullman, Washington to the big names like Rome and Paris. What I want most of all is to find one of these places where it is also practical for me to live. Visas, taxes, weather, transportation, cost of living - all of these things result in a lot of limitations. And so I am on this journey trying to find the right place (to write) and while Germany checks many of the practicality boxes, it does not resonate with me culturally, so I continue searching…

My inspiration to help emerging artists succeed traces back to my days as a freelance music photojournalist. From 2003 through 2008 I photographed hundreds of bands, most of them indie artists that often had no record deals or even recorded demos. I was frustrated, because I saw first-hand how many talented artists there were in the Pacific Northwest (where I grew up and lived at the time) yet the mainstream system of music production meant that most of them would never catch a break. The system left them facing challenging odds and it also wasn’t serving people who might enjoy these bands’ music but would never have the opportunity to hear it.

I had dreams of producing live recordings of these bands and making them available to the community. I still do, but my attention has since wandered to writing. While it is unrealistic for all the bands with talent to make it to the national or global stage, I questioned why local stages were limited to small music venues that only a limited few frequented. What about the people who were busy that night, couldn’t afford the cover, lived out of town, or just didn’t like being in sweaty black boxes? If good-quality inexpensive recordings were made available online, it could open up a wider audience and potential revenue for the artists. But who would want to trudge through a list of every wee indie band on Earth playing local gigs? Putting such a collection on shuffle might be fun, but in keeping with the idea of a local stage, I thought focusing on the community where the musicians lived and/or grew up would create a natural local interest. To a large extent, this still should be done, has not been done and I would like to play a part in bringing it into reality.

When I worked at large tech companies on music products, I pitched this idea and while it gained some traction, the conclusion was that since the content was largely unavailable, and even if it was, the location metadata simply did not exist in a usable way, it was not worth pursuing. The tech companies were not about to go out and start recording bands at small venues nor take on the grueling task of sorting out where every artist in their catalog lived. It’s a ton of work and the potential profit is probably lacking, a wise business decision on their parts. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done, if we only did what was profitable, where would culture be?

But my attention strayed, to writing and my own ambitions as a writer. I loved writing and thought I had some good stories to tell (still do), so after several years of freelance journalism and other writing opportunities, I wrote the manuscript for my first novel in 2015. While writing the story, I thought I was an absolute literary genius. I imagined the joy that literary agents would have when they read my first pages. I completed the first draft in six short months, did some minor copyediting and began sending out query letters. The responses were disappointing, no agents bit. Their loss, I figured as I prepared to self-publish the book. Once people got their hands on Electric Love, I was sure that they would… love it.

What I learned through this process of failure was that I had delusions of grandeur and had underestimated the importance of editing and necessity for good marketing — simply putting a book on the shelf does not incline anyone to read it. After time had passed and I re-read the manuscript as well as received feedback from friends and family, I saw that there was much that was lacking and it was far from the work of literary genius I had initially envisaged. More time in the literary world, floating among writing groups and briefly running a bookshop, has revealed to me that I was not the only writer to fall for such delusions.

In 2018, while living in Dumfries, Scotland on a Fulbright at the University of Glasgow, I began to see a path forward, one that brought together my interest in creating a local platform for indie musicians as well as my literary ambitions. As part of Dr. David Borthwick’s MLitt Environment, Culture and Communication course, I took a module on Environment, Technology and Society taught by Dr. Sean Johnston — this module changed everything for me because it was my first encounter with the idea of socio-technical systems, a way of de-centering technology and seeing it as fulfilling a role within existing and ever-changing social systems. Thinking of cultural work, music and literature specifically, within the terms of the socio-technical systems that encompass production, distribution, consumption and so on, the full picture with the various social and technological bits performing their roles opened my eyes to see how changes in technology (low-cost digital on-demand book printing, online booksellers) meant that changes to the present system, or a new system entirely, was possible and might better serve the social and cultural needs of communities. While I had already understood a similar possibility back when I was focused on music, I had not been thinking in terms of socio-technical systems. With publishing, the concept helped me better understand how technical limitations that no longer existed still informed how the socio-technical system of mainstream publishing operated. This is all to say that by looking at the big picture and breaking it into social and technological components, I now could clearly and easily understand possibilities for new ways of sharing cultural work.

At the time, I was part of a writing group in Dumfries that aspired to publish an anthology of our work. Most participants had never seen their words in print and there was strong interest in moving beyond weekly writing workshops focused on our individual works to actually making something together. In the summer of 2019, we made it happen with Rubble Riot Chaos Brain, a collection of new writing from Dumfries. The project was a great success, garnering strong community interest, from friends and family of contributors but also from community members simply interested in what was going on within their community. If any one of the group members had attempted to release a chapbook of their own work instead of participating in the anthology, it is unlikely they would have seen as much success as the anthology saw. People working together within their community was essential.

My passion for promoting local literary community inspired me to jump into bookselling with the opening of The Wobbly Shelf in 2021. However, despite all that I did to promote local writers, I found that bigger-name books were far outselling local works. It was a disheartening reality-check. Local writing had potential, but it was not going to replace books being produced by major publishers on most readers’ shelves. The bookshop failed. It had potential as a more traditional independent bookshop, competing directly with the big chains and less focused on local writers. But I would have been bored to tears doing that.

At the time, I had not fully differentiated between the mainstream and community socio-technical systems of publishing. Instead, I was trying to change the former to accommodate the latter rather than seeing them as separate systems entirely. This is one of many things I have learned along the way. Equipped with this new perspective, I have tremendous confidence that building, empowering and connecting writers on a regional basis through a separate socio-technical system of community-focused publishing will serve great social and cultural good. It’s already happening around the world and I’m happy to be a part of it. I will share more specifics on my future plans related to this in an upcoming essay.

The final day of my journey involved what was meant to be an 11 hour train ride up the North Island from Wellington to Auckland aboard the Northern Explorer. We set out at eight in the morning and it quickly proved to be an even more scenic journey than the one up the South Island I had been on the previous day, especially when we passed through the National Park. Taking in an enormous amount of biodiversity and traveling atop massive viaducts made for a nature-rich experience. I captured loads of photos and have included some here.

About nine hours into the trip things got a bit hairy. The train rolled to a stop in Whangamarino, the second largest wetland complex in the North Island. A voice over the intercom informed us that the train had hit some debris that caused an air leak, jamming up the brakes on the luggage car. After waiting about fifteen minutes, we began moving at a reduced speed and the smell of burning brakes soon wafted throughout the train. Apparently we were moving along with the brakes still engaged on the luggage car. The voice returned informing us that the odor was to be expected with the ‘temporary fix’ they had performed. Temporary indeed as a short time later we came to another stop in the wee town of Mercer. This time, after about half an hour of still silence, they informed us that the brakes were fully jammed and we couldn’t move until it was fixed. They tried everything they could, but were unable to fix the problem and so a mechanic was on the way — arriving in about 45 minutes.

After so much time on the train, a holdup, which turned out to be over three hours long, was very unwelcome. The silver lining was that after nine hours of everyone keeping to themselves, everyone started talking with each other. It was nice to have some social interaction on the train and funny that it took the train breaking down for the passengers to break their silence. Everyone was very friendly, most of the people in my carriage were Australians on holiday. They were a bit surprised I was in New Zealand and had never been nor planned to go to Australia. I do want to go, but it doesn’t fit with my current plans. Hopefully one day!

The mechanic worked some magic and within twenty minutes of his arrival we were on the move sans the aroma of burning brakes. However, the train was still broken and so they terminated the service at the next station stop and transferred us to coaches that would take us the remaining 45 minutes of our journey to Auckland. After this experience, I will need some time before getting on a train again — I’m not sure the scenic views are worth the long hours on a train. Seeing the country is great, but it’s really the people and culture I’m more interested in than the views. I have no regrets, but think I will focus more time on cultural immersion within towns and cities for my future travel.

Auckland is New Zealand’s biggest city, stretching across 234 square miles with a population of 1.4 million people. This calculates out to an urban density of roughly 6,000 people per square mile, an important measurement because it explains why the city feels less crowded to me than Seattle despite having twice the population. Seattle is a much denser city, with about 9,000 people per square mile. Before arriving, I was expecting twice the madness of Seattle’s crowds, so it was a relief to have something not all that different from what I had experienced in Christchurch and Wellington.

Auckland’s Central Business District (what we would call Downtown in the US) has all the skyscrapers and hustle and bustle of business one might expect in any city, but thankfully this is not where the Michael King Writers Centre is located. A twelve minute ferry ride from the CBD brought me to Devonport, a beautiful coastal village more than neighborhood of a big city. A short, albeit steep, walk halfway up Mount Victoria brought me to the house I would call home for the coming two weeks. The MKWC far exceeded my expectations, I can’t imagine a more idyllic setting to focus on my writing. The house itself is spacious, with ensuite bedroom, library, kitchen with dining area as well as great outdoor spaces. Additionally, one room acts as an office for the centre’s staff and there is another ensuite bedroom and writing studio for longer-term writers to stay.

The village has a large supermarket, with groceries a third of the price they would be in Hawai’i as well as a theatre, public library, and separate secondhand and new bookshops. There are also loads of restaurants, cafes and pubs. Not to mention the beaches and parks. Everything I need is right here within walking distance. Most of my time will be spent writing and reading, but I am glad to have scenic hilltop views, cultural institutions and a market all within walking distance. I don’t plan to explore the city or even venture back to the CBD, that will have to wait for a future visit.

My first morning at the writers centre, which I spent writing this post, included watching people walk, cycle and Segway up Mt Victoria and back down from the window at my writing desk. I also had a visit from Bob Orr, a poet whose portrait hangs in the library here. He and his wife were very friendly and it was a pleasure to start the day speaking with them. Every time I walk down the hall, filled with photos of past writers in residence, I am in awe to have the privilege of staying in a place where so many writers have worked on such great poetry and prose. As I get to work on my project, I hope that I can give this place due respect through hard work and dedication to my writing and growth as a writer. See you on the other side!

My first train journey was aboard the Coastal Pacific, a scenic route from Christchurch mid-way up the eastern coast of the South Island to Picton at the northern tip. Taking about six hours, I enjoyed the coastal views as well as passing along farms in the countryside. To some people, countryside is novel but after spending time in rural Scotland and Hawai’i, the built environment is more unusual to me than the non-built — nevertheless, I enjoyed it!

Upon arrival in Picton, it was a short walk over to the ferry terminal where myself and most of the other train passengers continued our journeys, boarding the Interislander service to cross the Cook Strait to Wellington, New Zealand’s capitol city located on the southern tip of the North Island. All told, we were three and a half hour at sea, the first portion of which was incredibly scenic, navigating our way through the fjords and wee islands that inclose Picton.

I was relieved to arrive in Wellington, being rather exhausted from so much time in motion. But the behemoth city felt overwhelming. Whereas Christchurch had been rebuilt into a hip and modern city, Wellington reminded me more of what was to be expected in a city — big businesses in big, boring buildings. While it would have been easy to make a rash generalization and dismiss the place entirely, I reminded myself that if I were to arrive in Downtown Seattle as a stranger, I could just as easily make the same judgement, unaware of the rich cultural scene lying in every direction from the hollow city centre. So I went online to see if I could find any cultural happenings for my lone evening in the city. To my surprise, there was quite a bit happening, including several concerts and theatre performances. Even more surprising, one of the plays was a contemporary response to Janet Frame’s novel Owls Do Cry, going by the same name. Having just been turned on to the famous New Zealand writer while in Dunedin, it was quite a serendipitous discovery!

Being too late to buy a ticket online, I walked along the waterfront to the Circa Theatre in hopes of buying a ticket on site. The building was medium-sized and lacked the pretension of some larger theatres. It reminded me of the Royal Court Theatre in London, a place I had grown to love for its intimate performance spaces and focus on developing new work with emerging writers. The lobby was bustling with a growing crowd of patrons and the person at the ticket counter was rather stunned when I asked to buy a new ticket rather than collect one that was already booked. She pulled up a seating chart on her computer revealing that the show was nearly sold out, but a few seats, indicated by white dots were still available. I saw four or five seats open in the far corners of the back row, but then I spotted one wee white dot three rows back in the centre, I went for that one!

I can’t easily put to words how wonderful the performance was. It has been a while since I saw any theatre and Owls Do Cry was one of the best shows I’ve seen in my life. With just six actors in a black box with microphones dangling from the ceiling, a few chairs and equipment crates, the actors had more than they needed to ignite the imagination and create a thrilling dreamscape inspired by Frame’s novel. There was of course stage lighting, all white, as well as projectors for casting white text onto the walls, floor and ceiling. It was the performers entirely that brought life to the story and they did so in a stunning way that included the audience without being cheesy. They broke the third wall, broke character and broke open my creative heart. Following the performance, my mind was racing with ideas for different writing projects I might engage in, most of which I have already forgotten. I didn’t realize (or forgot) how nourishing taking in other creative work can be for my own creative practice. No wonder I found it so difficult to write much of anything while in Kona.

With my upcoming time as a visiting wrtier at the Michael King Writers Centre on my mind and unsure what I would work on while there, I left the performance with a solid answer: An essay putting to words the ideas I have had about community publishing and never fully articulated. This is an idea close to my heart that has come out with projects like the writing anthologies and bookshop I helped create in Dumfries — but I don’t think most people really understand why I took on those projects and the vision of what I am working towards. So this thing that has been inside me for quite some time needs to get out in a thorough and thoughtful way — now is my chance to do it. Perhaps less ambitious than finishing the edits of my latest manuscript or writing a new short story, which were other projects I had considered using my time for, this was the right time and place to bring my ideas on writing community from my mind to the page.

It was great to walk back to my hotel after the show feeling such a sense of awe from what I had just seen as well as a restful reassurance that I now knew what I had come to New Zealand to do. That’s always the way for me, I’ve come to expect it now: Show up for one reason or another knowing the deeper reason will only reveal itself after my arrival.

My second day in Dunedin started out with some much-needed rest and relaxation. I had been going non-stop with little rest and early mornings for the two days that comprised my journey to Aotearoa New Zealand, so it was nice to sleep in and take it easy. In the afternoon, I went on a tour of the Otago Peninsula with Elm Wildlife Tours that highlighted bird and sea life much more prominently than I expected. I had thought it would be more about scenic landscapes, how nice to have scenic landscapes that are also full of life!

I’ve never been much into birdwatching because my vision isn’t very good; had I known this would be a major component of the wildlife tour, I may not have signed up — presuming I wouldn’t be able to see the birds. However, with the help of binoculars and a guide adept at spotting and directing us towards various birds, I was able to see almost everything and it was really amazing to witness such a variety of birdlife, some endemic to New Zealand. I also enjoyed stories of the Moa, a large, now-extinct bird that used to wander around these lands.

Highlights included taking a boat out to an Albatross colony — seeing these long-winged birds for the first time in my life — as well as walking out to Allans Beach and coming upon an adult sea lion taking a snooze, entirely uninterested in our presence. The biggest highlight was seeing a penguin in the wild for the first time in my life. I may have seen some in captivity at zoos while growing up, but on this trip we saw a Yellow-Eyed Penguin up-close at a rehabilitation centre and another from a distance on the beach at Penguin Place Conservation Reserve. It is so much more fulfilling to see these animals in the wild than in a cage. I greatly enjoyed exploring and think photos are worth more than a thousand words in this case, so I will let them speak for themselves.

The tour concluded around 8pm and I was soon to bed after that, foregoing a compelling indie film screening in favor of sleep — I had to wake up at 5am the next day to begin my three-day journey North.

Friday morning I set out bright and early aboard the InterCity bus from Dunedin to Christchurch, a six and a half hour journey that was thankfully broken up with a comfort stop a third of the way in and half an hour for lunch after the second third. I was dreading being cooped up on a coach for six and a half hours, so the breaks were a welcome surprise and made the journey quite pleasant.

Part of my reasoning for taking ground, rather than air, transport was to see as much of the country as I could over the relatively short period of time I had to explore before beginning my residency in Auckland. The drive was quite scenic, but it wasn’t as novel as I had hoped for — consisting of landscapes similar to what I was familiar with in Scotland and Washington state. Some wild areas, but mostly fields of crops, sheep and cattle.

Upon arriving in Christchurch and walking the short distance to my hotel, I passed through the hip Riverside area of the city centre, full of large pedestrian walkways and loads of bars and restaurants. Because of the 2011 earthquake that took Christchurch by surprise and destroyed much of the city, almost all of the buildings in the city centre are newly built. It gives the place a very fresh cosmopolitan feel. Personally, I am more a fan of historic architecture, so I was less impressed with the structures but appreciated the resilience of a city destroyed and rebuilt.

I got a roaring good deal on a hotel, but when I arrived at the address I was very confused because it appeared to be a YMCA. Not ‘Hotel Give’ that I had booked. It turns out The Y re-branded a bit to appeal to a different market (like me). The renovations they had completed were nice, it was a really well-appointed accommodation, the problem was that since it was still mostly a YMCA hostel with very low prices, it was full of young party people. I had a comfortable private room, but felt like I was trapped in a college dorm. After dropping off my bags, I went back into the city centre to see what I could see with the limited time I had.

Wandering led me back to the hip riverside area I had passed through earlier, I felt out of place here in a very different way from how I felt out of place at The Y — in this case, I just felt way too uncool to be there. Lots of trendy places and trendy people, things I generally find repulsive. However, searching on Google Maps showed anywhere else I wanted to go would not be within walking distance and I was not up for venturing too far out.

I ended up at Riverside Market, a really interesting business concept consisting of a large open space with stalls for various vendors — like a food hall, but the stalls were only about a third of the size as the ones you would find in a traditional food hall. So there was a lot of variety packed into a small place. I was a tad overwhelmed by the prices, but ended up finding a good deal on a couple slices of pizza.

While enjoying my slices, I started talking with the people sitting next to me — talking with locals was my main reason for venturing out — and learned a few interesting things from them. Firstly, that Christchurch is a surprisingly affordable place to live. An illustrator I met said that many artists and creative folks were moving down from Auckland and Wellington because of the cultural scene and affordability. The two always seem to unsurprisingly go hand-in-hand, but I was a bit surprised since Christchurch actually has a larger population (about 382,000) than Wellington (about 212,000). The difference must have more to do with Wellington being the capitol and more of a major port and business hub than Christchurch. The illustrator also told me about XCHC, a creative co-working space and art gallery that reminded me a bit of the CCA in Glasgow, a place for art much more vibrant than traditional galleries and museums (where art goes to die).

I was disappointed that I didn’t have time to engage more with the cultural scene in Christchurch, but at least I learned a bit about it and perhaps I will have a chance to return one day. After dinner, I made my way back to the hotel and was grateful that the noisy youth had quieted down by 10pm and I was able to get some rest before making another early start the next morning.

After taking time to explore Larnach Castle and its gardens, I headed into town the afternoon of my first day in Dunedin to see what there was to see. I wandered the university campus, which was surprisingly modern — I’m sure there were some historic buildings, but I did not find them. Next, I went to find the bookshops. The University Bookshop was nice and reminded me a bit of the University Bookshop in Seattle, albeit much smaller — nothing special, but a nice bookshop. The real treasure was a short walk down the road, a place called Hard to Find Books.

I’m not sure whether the name referred to the bookshop location itself or the books being hard to find, but I suspect both. With no storefront, a keen eye for a staircase leading up one floor from the pavement is required. Once inside, I was impressed with the wide selection of well-organized secondhand books. In addition to the shop, there was a large storeroom in the back stacked with additional inventory not for browsing, but available online or by request.

My interest was in books by local writers, as is usually the case wherever I go. The staff were incredibly helpful and turned me on to two respected Dunedin writers, James K. Baxter and Janet Frame. Of Frame, I learned that she was about to be lobotomized and it was winning the Hubert Church Memorial Award, one of New Zealand’s most prestigious, for her first published collection of stories, written while in a psychiatric institution, that saved her. This made me more interested in her writing as it suggests something more gritty, provocative and artistic than mainstream ‘literary fiction’ which I am personally finding less and less appreciation for.

After purchasing secondhand copies of a collection of Frame’s short stories and Baxter’s poetry, I headed for The Dog With Two Tails, a cafe and venue I had been reading about that appeared to cater more to the creative crowd. It was a warm and friendly place, with lots of space and not too busy. While reading my newly acquired books and sipping my pint, I decided to see what might be going on, if anything, in town that night.

Being a City of Literature, I was particularly interested in discovering and meeting folks from a local writing group. Browsing through a list of writing groups in Dunedin I found online, I was fortunate to discover that many met on the second Wednesday of each month, which this day just happened to be. Lucky for me! Even better, the Octagon Collective was hosting their monthly poetry night at the same cafe I was already at — how serendipitous! So I stayed and after I took my seat in the performance space the host asked if I wanted to read as part of the open mic portion of the evening, I hesitated, having not performed my work in a while and unsure what I would share, but ultimately signed up.

I was starved for literary culture and community, having never found anything close to it during my summer in Hawai’i. The joy of being around like-minded writers was a pleasure I had nearly forgotten about. Despite being in a strange new world, I felt more at home in minutes than I did the entirety of my time in Kona.

What was I going to read? I had not written much lately, I (virtually) paged through some of my older poetry, including pieces published in ‘Quaranthology’ and was disappointed, they clearly had their time and place, it was not here nor now. There was a piece I had written a few days earlier, just writing for the sake of writing, a rant about living in Hawai’i really, and after re-reading it I decided it was good enough to share, so I settled on that.

The evening reminded me of the pre-pandemic Brave New Words open mic evenings at The Stove in Dumfries, a room packed full of a wide range of people, old and young, sharing an eclectic variety of poetry and prose. Two better-known local writers were featured, the first being Loveday Why, who shared from her recently published collection Concordaance that includes poetic responses she wrote while listening to her mother recount stories of her past. I found this a refreshingly creative way to share family history, something I might want to try with my own family. Following her was Richard Reeve, another great local writer who has made it to the world stage. In-between poems, he recounted a memory of talking with Joan Butcher, a notorious drunk who roamed the streets of Dunedin and was divisive enough that people were throwing bottles at her that particular evening. A related story he shared with me later that evening: when Butcher passed away, the hearse with her casket was apparently driven around the central octagon of the city several times in her honour.

The first full day in New Zealand set a melodious tone far exceeding my expectations for the weeks ahead. I had a reassuring sense that I was in the right place at the right time and glad I listened to the little voice that encouraged me to seek out writing residencies and see the world. This is not a holiday, this is creative practice.

I arrived at Auckland Airport around 11pm on Tuesday evening, but was back on a plane at 7am the next morning to Dunedin, where my New Zealand adventure was to begin. A two-week writing residency at the Michael King Writers Centre in Auckland was the primary reason for my visit, but having never been to New Zealand I couldn’t imagine coming all this way and not seeing more of the country. So, I gave myself five additional days for exploring. My plan: Take the 1h50 flight to Dunedin on the south part of the South Island and spend five days making my way back to Auckland by bus, train and ferry.

Sidenote: I was very impressed by the better-than-mainstream film selection on my Air New Zealand flight from Auckland to Dunedin. I came across the recently-released film Breaking and it was one of the best films I’ve ever seen. Amazing writing, directing and acting, tragically based on a true story — revealing truths about America’s dysfunctional social systems that often are misconstrued in literature and film.

Dunedin, pronounced dun-EDIN, is a town of about 130,000 and the main hub for the southern region of the South Island. It is also home to the University of Otago, the country’s oldest university (established 1869), with an enrollment of about 21,000 students — a significant portion of the total population. The people I spoke with in town told me Dunedin is more of a university town than anything else — not a major tourist or business hub, but with a decent economy and steadily growing population thanks to its function as a regional centre and home of a highly-ranked university. While there is a large population of people with Scottish ancestry on the South Island, I did not encounter any of them during my brief visit and the cultural influence was not as pronounced as I had expected it to be. From talking with locals, I learned that one would need to travel a bit further south to Invercargill and the surrounding region to discover more Scots.

My first of two full days in Dunedin began at Larnach Castle. A place and its founder only Scottish in name, with William Larnach having grown up in Australia and journeying to New Zealand in 1867 seeking to profit off the gold rush as a banker and businessman. Four years later, with his amassing fortune, he purchased the land up on the hills of the Otago Peninsula looking back at the town of Dunedin from about eight miles away to build his dream castle, which remains the only castle in New Zealand. When his wife passed away, he married her sister after transferring the castle to her in the interest of avoiding losing it to bankruptcy. This started a tide of resentment among his children and grandchildren, who did not agree with his choices nor share his interest in castle-living.

The castle fell into disuse and disrepair from about 1918, until Barry and Margaret Barker, a motivated couple with the privilege of spare time and money purchased it with plans to renovate, inhabit and eventually bring to its current status as a tourist attraction, with lodging and a restaurant. The castle is well-maintained and I enjoyed exploring it, but the extensive gardens were the highlight for me. Immaculately designed and cared for, with stunning views overlooking the bay and peninsula, the gardens were one of the most beautiful and peaceful places I have ever been.