Hindsight is 2020

By the end of 2020…

my mind was spaghetti. Shifting, unpredictable, slippery, chaotic spaghetti.

That’s why I found it so hard to pull a blog out of my arse all year. Well, that, and the fact that we were all watching the same volcano explode. To comment on it, or my feelings about it, felt irrelevant. The differences lie only in our proximity to the volcano; the risk, and the options, vary wildly depending on our geographical location. And even though each individual country often has a disaster it’s trying to deal with, this is the first time, in my lifetime, at least, that we’re all caught up in the same one.

Hosting a Virtual Science Fair in 2020

I gave this talk to the Royal Society of New Zealand Wellington Branch at their AGM on 21st October 2020 (so forgive me if the context, particularly in relation to the pandemic, is already out of date - I've just been exceptionally lazy in getting around to sharing it!) Below is the story of how the NIWA Wellington Regional Science Fair (a competition open to all students from years 7 to 13 in the Wellington region) went virtual for the first time in it's nearly 60-year history. 

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The Good Place: the lesson is, we’re already here

Okay, so, naturally, spoilers for the overall arc of The Good Place, but I’ll try to keep them limited to the aspect of the narrative I want to focus on. I’m not giving you a detailed plot overview, more a watercolour impression of it. Besides, this isn’t a story about that show, not really, this is a story about what happened after I watched that show.

Three weeks ago, I was sat smiling in a geothermally heated spa pool in Rotorua, drinking wine and feeling pretty happy about my present and optimistic about my future. Which, if you don’t know me, is a fairly rare occurrence. A few days after that, the world went to Hell. But this isn’t a story about that, either, this is a story about what happened just before it.

The Big Let Down (or, why I hate New Year’s)

*Disclaimer – all the stories that follow are based on my flawed and subjective memory. So please bear that in my mind if you were present for any of those moments and they don’t ring 100% accurate to your recollection. I can’t help that, none of us can.

** Another disclaimer – all of these stories, in some manner or another, involve drinking. But given that the context of them is New Year’s, this shouldn’t be a concern.

The Beginning

               When it comes to New Year’s Eve, I just can’t be arsed. Not this New Year’s specifically, I mean all of them. No matter where I am, what I’m doing or who I’m with. I realise that this sounds rather bleak, but bear with me. It’s the expectation that gets me down. There’s all this build up to… nothing. I mean, nothing. Best case scenario is that you’ve had enough fun that you’ve got messed up in some manner, and let’s face it, there are consequences to doing that that nobody enjoys.

New Year, New… well, hmmm.

It feels really good to be sat here writing this. It’s an actual joy. Why? Because it’s been a while, that’s why. It’s been a while because toward the end of last year, I took a class on writing short fiction. During that time, and since, my focus has been on fiction.

I love learning to write fiction. It’s challenging and interesting and completely engaging. My classmates and I have formed a writing group, to continue the practice of sharing our work and giving honest and unbiased feedback. Albeit in a kind, encouraging way. Which is vital, I think, to the effectiveness of constructive feedback on creative work. You need to be gentle when you’re that intimately involved with someone else’s head. I know I definitely need that respect and sensitivity in order to remain open to other ideas and perspectives.

The Devil You Know

At high school, in the girl’s changing room, there was a mirror next to the toilets. It was long, but sat high up on the wall. I was a short teenager, a little over five feet for most of the time, so the bottom of the mirror only reached as far as the top of my neck, just below my chin. Apart from my bobble head peaking over, the majority of the mirror reflected back the high tiled walls and ceiling of the shower room. It was a bit like looking into eternity, a vast expanse of white juxtaposed by this little animal head, a wink of identity at the bottom of an expanse of nothing.

So here’s the part where you make a choice

Art is entirely subjective. The value of a piece of art, to any individual, is derived through a combination of subjective meaning and the talent of the creator. Of course, what constitutes ‘talent’ is, also, entirely subjective. When I use the word ‘art’, I’m talking about any creative output, from a literal piece of art, to a screenplay, to everything in between. The example I’m going to use to demonstrate my argument is from a television show. And yes, I do mean Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But, before you groan loudly, roll your eyes, and close this tab, just, calm your farm, and hear me out, because, I’m not really talking a TV show here. I’m using an aspect of it as a metaphor to tell a bigger story about the importance of subjective meaning and why art, the analysis and interpretation of it, is so important to our personal growth and perspective on the world. So, ner.