Being an Australian is a funny thing – full of uncomfortable contradictions, painful home truths and a happy, boastful pride. I adore this big, bold, beautiful country. I love its intensity, its uniqueness and its childlike spirit. I love being an Aussie. But really feeling like an Australian is something that I’ve slowly grown into.
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There’s something eerie and kind of magic about a heat wave. Four days in a row of temperatures above 40 degrees is too much for most people. We get tired and irritable. It’s just too damn hot. And while everyone is complaining about how uncomfortable they are, it becomes even more uncomfortable to announce your own enjoyment of the situation because it implies that you have the money, free time and good fortune to be swimming, eating ice-cream and basking in the sunshine.
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Don’t get me wrong. I like achieving. I like seeing results. I like feeling as if I’m more competent than the next person. But here’s the thing: I’m tired of being told that I’m not good enough unless I’m ‘achieving my goals’
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