• Strong Motion

    I finished Strong Motion over the weekend and liked it better than The Twenty-Seventh City. Franzen can’t help himself when it comes to graphic sex scenes, can he? Everything unfolds predictably but the joy of his writing is in the observation.

    Next up is The Corrections – allegedly his best – as I continue my way through his novels in order.

    Random bits of prose I liked:

    There was a long silence. Louis felt panic at the thought of Renee, who during these minutes when he hadn’t been thinking about her had doubtless made it all the way back to her apartment. Time was passing in her life even as it was standing still in his. She was getting all this time to think while he was not.

    He saw her with a dreamlike clarity that was the same as a dreamlike inability to really see her.

    She had one of those cello voices that make you sure the woman’s entire body is capable of tremendous resonances, under the right circumstances.

    Cars honked plaintively, as though calling to their young.

    Sleep’s tantalizing glyphs, which each morning signified nothing in a different way.

    The perfect gift for the man who had everything was a quarter-ounce bottle of feminism.

    It was like the kitchen of the kind of man who was careful to wash the dinner dishes and wipe the counters before he went into the bedroom and put a bullet in his brain.

    He wished he could have paid attention to all nine innings of the Red Sox game they’d seen from Henry Rudman’s seats, could remember who had won and how, could have knowledge as clean and permanent and inconsequential as a box score.

  • I Felt As If I Was On Solid Ground

    I recently received the official word that I have been accepted to complete my PhD at the University of Technology, Sydney (UTS). This is the happy result of over a year of legwork that included choosing my research topic, composing my research proposal and endearing myself to the faculty by assisting with teaching.

    I completed my MBA in Sport Management and Marketing last year (also at UTS) and it wasn’t long after graduation that I realized study is a passion of mine that I wasn’t ready to let go. I reached out to a former professor, Nico, who is one of the world experts in the field I am interested in studying (sport for development) and asked if he wouldn’t mind having a drink to discuss the possibility of doing a PhD under his supervision. Fortunately, he happily agreed and we set a meeting in Manly.

    We met on a Friday afternoon just over a year ago. The sun was shining and we enjoyed a cold beer on the wharf as we discussed the future. Nico had sold me on the prospect of further study within moments, confirming that it was everything I thought it was and so much more. I would be able to study, write, pursue my own interests in terms of research, and teach!

    We parted after an hour or so and I immediately rang Claire to tell her what I’d discovered. Her advice was simple.

    “Well, obviously you’re doing it.”

    I watched storm clouds roll in over the harbour as her and I discussed what the next few years would look like. Marriage, honeymoon, kids, and now a thesis. Dr. Greg – and why not?

    I stepped onto the ferry just as the storm hit the shoreline. The rain pounded against the windows and the boat pitched more violently than is typical. It was dark and rainy and it seemed as if the entire world was moving around me but for the first time in my thirty years, I felt as if I was on solid ground.

  • Hers Was A Hopeless Surrender

    This story is part 5 of 5 of The Man From Kiama.

    There is a romance to allowing oneself to be pulled along by the perceived energies of the universe but it is akin to being enslaved by a master who is not interested in or capable of being in control. Hers was a hopeless surrender.

    The days got shorter and then longer again but little else changed. He passed the weeks with study and writing and wine but spared a moment here and there to think of her and look off in the direction she had left.

    She would ring him every so often to say hello but the tenor of her being had changed. Her tempo was no longer in step with his own. Their dance was becoming clumsy and forced.

    On a warm day in February he wandered toward the lighthouse and watched the mobs of tourists come in waves not unlike those landing on the nearby beach. He had always been happy here but Kiama felt empty without her.

    He meandered toward his apartment and past the cafe where she had worked. Past the book store where she had bought him a Joyce. Past the park where they would lie and he would struggle to get through that book for her sake alone.

    He rounded the corner to his street and noticed immediately that the hammock on his porch was swinging. The needle of his heart skipped a groove and began to play an old but familiar tune as he saw the sun reflecting off long and unmistakably auburn hair. There was a suitcase on the landing.

    He was home.

  • The Interminable Vibrations Of Hipster Capitalism

    This story is part 4 of 5 of The Man From Kiama.

    She had soured on Sydney and what she called the ‘interminable vibrations of hipster capitalism’. He was sure that he would never understand what she meant by this.

    She got a job engineering espressos for locals who frequented her cafe for little more than some company while they read the paper.

    The two of them would sit in the hammock and watch the trains chug to and fro. When she first arrived she would lay with her head on his chest but as the months passed he began to notice the surfacing of a restlessness she could not tame. She no longer gazed out at the beach – she was now looking back toward the city beyond.

    Over the course of the summer the black roots of her hair grew while the auburn ends were continually trimmed back. The colour had been entirely eliminated when she told him she was leaving.

  • They Stood And Populated A Moment

    This story is part 3 of 5 of The Man From Kiama.

    She said she would return to Kiama on the weekend but he knew it was a lie. The train accelerated away from the platform and glided over Terralong Street en route to Bombo, where they had spent the previous day walking along the seaside cliffs, and the city beyond.

    It would be two months of excuses and last minute work things before she finally made that return trip. He watched her train wind into town from the hammock on his porch and met her at the station five minutes later.

    Her hair had grown to reveal black roots that she had not bothered to recolour. Each centimetre of that black hair represented a week since he had last seen her and smelled the Chanel perfume she had been sharing exclusively with Sydneysiders in the meantime.

    The bag she brought was bigger than he was expecting. Soon they would kiss and he would effortlessly take the handle of her bag even as he wrapped his other arm around her waist and began to lead her toward the station stairs.

    For now, though, they stood and populated a moment.

  • Five Years And Two Girlfriends Ago

    This story is part 2 of 5 of The Man From Kiama.

    The next morning found them walking along the water in the general direction of the lighthouse. The beach at Bombo could be seen arcing into the haze that constituted the horizon on this rather muggy day.

    She was wearing sunglasses, which struck him as odd. Had she had these with her all night? Women are so resourceful.

    The auburn coloured hair that had looked so bright on the dance floor the night before assumed a new character of luminance under the bright sun. When she turned his way he could see that it framed a square face that had endured little stress. He envied this.

    The afternoon was meant to bring rain. They would go back to his modest apartment and sit on the hammock he had strung between two support beams on his porch five years and two girlfriends ago.

    Knowing now what he did not know then, he would make the most of this honeymoon period with her.

  • He Was Sure He Would Love Her

    This story is part 1 of 5 of The Man From Kiama.

    The train would get to Kiama at just past three in the morning. He didn’t know this girl save for the aspects of her that were immediately obvious. Her hair was auburn coloured but it was clearly not the doing of God as her eyebrows were noticeably darker.

    Circumstance had brought them together at first and then to this platform in the present. He barely liked riding the train that long with himself as company but some incredible chemical reaction brought about by a combination of white wine, cheap beer and heightened adrenaline made him sure that she actually wanted to be boarding the train.

    They sat upstairs on the side of the train that would have given them a view of the ocean had the sun still been in the sky. More than two hours to Kiama.

    He was sure he would love her by then.

  • “She would have laughed at this…”

    This is the first post in what should be a fun project: I’ll be using my Instagram feed (@tovagreg) to share microfiction inspired by the photo I’ve posted. I’m not sure what will become of this, which is part of what makes it fun. Mostly the stories will be one-offs but there is certainly the possibility for linked stories and recurring characters down the road. Follow me on Instagram and keep your eyes on ToVa to stay tuned!

  • Don’t Rush To The Middle

    Rupert is watching.

    Listening to comedians discuss their craft never ceases to fascinate me. In fact, I sometimes find it more interesting than watching their act.

    Sometimes.

    A great source of these discussions is the Joe Rogan Experience podcast, on which Jay Leno was recently a guest. Leno rolled out a few stories I have heard him tell in the past, but one point he made about ‘working clean’ really stuck with me:

    You have a lot of [comedians] now that rush to the middle and then stay there for twenty years.

    He goes on to describe a phenomenon where new comedians are very quickly able to reach the middle of the pack because they can milk swearing or vulgarity for a cheap laugh… but then their careers hit a wall and stall.

    It’s really easy to take a clean joke and make it dirty. It’s almost impossible to take a really funny dirty joke and make it clean. When the punchline is some four-letter word, what do you do with that? Where do you go with it? You can’t take it past a certain point.

    The warning here is obvious: if you take shortcuts to success, you’ll eventually be stranded without the tools to progress further. It’s easy enough to learn what certain words translate to in Spanish, but if you don’t understand how to conjugate verbs and construct sentences you’ll find it difficult to ever carry a conversation in that language.

    A comedian who relies too heavily on cheap laughs runs the danger of never actually learning the craft of comedy. Eventually the novelty of your vulgarity will wear thin and if you don’t have the skills to write new jokes, so will the laughs you receive.

    Granted, there will always be a receptive (but transient) audience for those who lean on tried-and-true tricks, but the real success is reserved for those willing to work for it.

    Most people want to play the audience where they get the best laugh… But if you just play rooms where everybody laughs at everything you say, you never get any better.

    Leno is talking about comedians in this interview but he may as well be talking about anybody with any serious ambitions. Shortcuts and low-hanging fruit abound, as do people who will pat you on the back and tell you what you want to hear. Don’t be afraid to climb a little higher and seek feedback from the people you fear you’ll never impress. Eventually you will find the higher, riper fruit and get a laugh you know you earned.



  • You Can Still Fix What “Ain’t Broke”

    Maybe you should fix what "ain't broke"

    Part of the fun of moving away from home is confusing your new neighbors with the colloquialisms that you heard while growing up. Having done my growing up in the hills of West Virginia, I have quite a collection of such phrases and truisms that frequently raise eyebrows when I slip them into conversation here in Australia.

    One such phrase is: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”.

    Most often this is meant in the context of possibly screwing up a good thing with constant tinkering; the idea that trying to extend that board just one more inch… and then another… will ultimately bring your house down when you’ve extended too far.

    Taken at its most literal interpretation, though, the idea of not ‘fixing’ what isn’t broken seems awfully limiting. It flies in the face of ambition and creativity by assuring you that the grass is perfectly green here and there’s no need to bother looking for grass that is greener. It suggests that you be content with the delicious and nutritious meal sitting in front of you and never wonder if the menu features something even better.

    Life is a Mexican restaurant

    This very situation unfolded for me recently. Claire and I frequent a particular Mexican restaurant that friends introduced us to a couple of years ago. These same friends recommended the fajitas during that initial visit and Claire and I heeded their advice. It was far from a bad tip. These particular fajitas quickly became my favorite dish in Sydney. Over the years Claire and I would get there once a month or so and we would both order the fajitas every single time. Why mess with success?

    Why fix what “ain’t broke”?

    Eventually we found ourselves there on a night that Claire had a strong craving for fajitas that I didn’t share. I looked at the menu and, for the first time in nearly three years, considered other options.

    This was the record- scratch moment. Freeze the frame there on me examining the menu like I’m seeing it for the first time.

    A lot can happen in two years. New menu items could have been introduced. Specials came and went. Any of these things could have been better than the fajitas that, despite being very good, are not the pinnacle of culinary achievement. How many opportunities to find something even tastier had I missed?

    The truth about things that “ain’t broke”

    Naturally, life is slightly more complicated than ordering Mexican. The concept of missed opportunities, though, is basically the same and all too real.

    It is easy – and, in some cases, beneficial – to fall into routines within our day-to-day lives. For the sake of our sanity and productivity, this is mostly okay. Your job pays good money and has great benefits. It’s close to home. Your boss is chill and a pushover in fantasy football. You’re a hit on casual Friday. Life is good. Nothing is broken.

    But what if there is a better opportunity out there? A chance to be even happier in ways you haven’t considered because you haven’t seen the need to look around for them?

    Another popular phrase that you’re more likely to have heard is: “Fortune favors the bold!” It encourages us to take risks here and there because – and why not layer in another cliché? – you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

    And thus we arrive at a critical juncture in which many find themselves throughout their lives: when can we stop looking for something better? When can we be sure that we’ve ‘arrived’ and can achieve no more?

    The answer, of course, is personal. For many, there becomes a natural state of equilibrium at which it no longer makes sense to push ahead. Research shows us that once we’re earning about $90K a year, increases in income don’t really increase our happiness anymore – so why would we bust our rumps to get further raises?

    However, you’re on an actualization blog because you’re a natural pusher. To you, the grass can always be greener. Yet, we can’t constantly be assessing every aspect of our life in search of areas that can be improved. If we were always worrying about the next job, we’d be less effective in this one. Furthermore, exploring every single option that is available to us can sometimes lead to analysis paralysis, a state of being in which the sheer volume of options hinders our ability to make a decision. More often than not, this leads us to make no decision at all.

    Knowing when to fix what “ain’t broke”

    In the interest of pushing forward without driving ourselves crazy, let’s consider three strategies for recognizing when it might be okay to fix something that “ain’t broke”.

    1) You’re on autopilot

    All of us build systems into our life than enable us to be more efficient and productive. In the interest of saving time and mental energy, we often make decisions without even considering that we had other options. In the Mexican restaurant of life, we just order the fajitas and move on.

    Yet you should consider why you have arrived in the place you now find yourself. Did you have a craving for fajitas and thus you came to this restaurant that serves very tasty ones? Or did you come to this restaurant for whatever other reason and now you’re on auto-pilot, ordering the fajitas out of habit? If it’s the latter, the bell should be ringing inside your head as it did for me in this exact scenario.

    As you go through life, consider your context and your situation. To mix metaphors: if you’re not craving the fajitas, maybe it’s time to look for a new job.

    2) You’ve hit a natural plateau

    There’s nothing wrong with a plateau here and there. Sometimes life throws a bit too much at us and we need to set at least one aspect of our life – like our job, for example – on cruise control for a while. However, this should only ever be a temporary solution. If we leave any one area of our life in this mode for too long, the symptoms will start to show:

    • You’ll be bored
    • You’ll no longer derive pleasure from this activity
    • You won’t be learning anything new

    When life has settled down enough that you start to notice these symptoms, take it as an opportunity to explore other options. Have a look around at some other jobs or maybe some courses that you could enroll in to help take your career to the next level. Even if you take no action, the very act of considering other possibilities should be enough to shift you out of cruise-control and get your foot back on the accelerator.

    3) You’re playing it safe

    Granted, when you start to look around at other possibilities, you may be tempted to make a change and go for it. We know that fortune favors the bold, but what if we take that new job and it totally sucks?

    Any hesitation of this nature might have already slipped into your day-to-day life. At work, do you often go for the tried-and-true method? When choosing between different strategies, do you hedge your bets and select the option with lower upside but less risk? If so, you’re playing it safe. The room for possible failure has made you too cautious; too afraid of doing something that might not work out in the short-term.

    Well, nobody ever said fortune always and immediately favors the bold (besides being untrue, it’s also not as catchy). It is the long game that will eventually yield our reward.

    You will most likely encounter setbacks as you push your way forward. Break through some walls and you’re certainly going to collect some bruises. Playing the long game with any decision allows for the possibility of initial setbacks. Yes, you may have to take a step back on the food chain when you transfer to that larger company, but the future opportunities at that new company might be more numerous and appealing than those where you currently work. Sometimes it’s worth taking a step back in order to lengthen the track in front of you. Over the course of the long game you’ll pass those who reached the end of their own track and are being forced to run in place.

    Some will be happy to run in place in this way – nothing is broken and so you won’t catch them trying to fix anything. Send them a photo when you reach the summit and make sure the next, taller mountain that you’re going to climb is in the frame.