John Rawnsley

Energised by a conversation online and an inspirational person who showcases abstinence of alcohol through her posts, I set out this weekend to engage in an experience, journal it, and try my best to 'be in the moment'.  This blogpost is my journal entry.   Mentally I've been on this path before, but for a much longer period (and wrote about it here and here ).  Reflecting back, I never journaled the more detailed and individualised experiences.  If 'being in the moment' is a practice of deep and personal connection and reflection, I didn't leave a written mark.  During a time of no alcohol and in a place where the culture is rife with alcohol there was no 'on-paper' reflections of moments.  And if sobriety is assisted by an active and lived experience without the mind being influenced and altered by a substance, I didn't describe and transcribe it.  Long ago, and 6 months after quitting, I wrote  that 'what I realised from quitting is that ...

I haven't done a yearly grateful piece since 2013, and so here goes.  Five years is a long time in a person's life.  A lot can change.  As I reflect on why I haven't? Life has been busy.  In recent years I've been too busy (a cliche; everyone is busy but we can all re-arrange and find time if we make priorities).  In recent years I've seen what I read once that when we ask each other how we are we're busy.  Sometimes the emphasis changes.  "I've been really  busy", " soooo  busy", "it's crazy", etc.  If there's a holiday coming up we can laugh about it.  And then in November everyone is so busy it is a little crazy (and there are hints of exhaustion) and then the holidays hit and it's another year gone by.

Within short walking distance from Joyce Gullick's house at Riyala sits a vertical wooden stump with a small flat surface on top. This is the place where Lorikeets’ feed. Each morning and evening when Nana Joyce was able, she prepared bread, honey and water inside a large plastic bucket. The honey and water soaked and seeped into the bread. This was the Lorikeets’ meal. From afar the colourful Lorikeet birds soared high in the sky and across the landscape in search of Riyala. As they arrived their wings stretched for a soft landing. One by one they flew in and took their place on broad branches in tall trees. Watching. Waiting. The bread, honey and water sat in an old and used honey bucket. There were no decorations. No resplendent designs. The old labels on the side were used and worn. The bucket was large and had a handle, and so it was useful. It was simple, practical and served its purpose. In the kitchen, as she prepared the meal, Nana Joyce could see and h...

A photo I took at Waikiki beach In 2011 I visited several cities in the United States as part of a leadership program.  This post includes my observations of my visit to Honolulu, Hawai'i. ************************ Intro and history I spent about five days in Hawai'i, mainly the Honolulu city area and some time at Waikiki.  The cultural exposure of the islands to the world, expressed mainly through surfboarding, flowers (lei) and 'Aloha' (hello, love), is a phenomenal story.  Like many people of my generation I came to know these things from a young age and Hawai'i deserves credit for its marketing and tourism success. The success of the islands from a tourism perspective is partly attributed to the sheer size of the US economy and its consumer base (Hawai'i is truly unique and has been able to capitalise on this as a State of the US).  Exposure globally, though, shows credit should go beyond this fate in history.  Experiencing Hawai'i in person a...

This post is to highlight what I'm grateful for in twenty twelve. Above all, I'm grateful for my family and the time I've spent with them this year.  In recent years I've been involved in a few things and found myself too stretched.  This year I re-adjusted and am better for it. I remember some years ago a parent of adults telling me that all ages were enjoyable for raising children.  As she told me I remember the pleased expression on her face as if all her memories of this time flashed before her.  In other conversations I hear of the difficult transition one faces when they raise children and then they leave home.  As my children get older I appreciate this, and as my own work through the 'middle' childhood age I anticipate the final stages of childhood before them.  I am grateful for being able to spend more time with them and my wonderful wife, Anita. Photo courtesy of Justin Brierty and the Centralian Advocate This year I was admitted to the...

Although I have read only a few Obama books, and within the range of middle-of-the-road authors (as far as can be), if ever there was a book which could delve into the narrative and detail of Obama's life pre-politics, this is it.  Nearly 600 pages long, this book offers a forensic account of each stage of his life, starting with his grandparents from both sides and across two continents to the honest and open accounts of family and friends. What impressed me most about this book was the research.  David Maraniss uncovered direct stories of people who knew and experienced Obama's various connections and brought it together in a single piece. Maraniss travelled to each location where Obama lived - Chicago, New York, LA, Hawaii, Indonesia (and Kenya where his father is from) - and went to great extents to learn of the history stretching back generations.  To understand Obama this is important, because the strands of his thinking and persona, like all of us, find commo...

Last year I was privileged to be able to travel to the US with a group of young leaders from Asian and Pacific countries as part of the International Visitors Leadership Program^.  Many of the meetings and sessions were organised by local volunteers and the content and context chosen by invited guests. This post* is part 1 about my experiences in Washington D.C. ******************* Introduction - one year on Washington D.C. was my first city to explore. Following the gruelling trip from Sydney to LA, and then across the vast width of the US, I remember arriving late at night at an airport where arrivals catch a tram to the luggage area.  The airport was new and crisp, its walls white and ceilings high.  All the shops were shut, and at one point I was unsure of where to go as our group of arrivals caught elevators down a story to wait for the tram.  Seeing no signs or people to point me in the right direction, I simply followed them. It was put to me the da...