I lived around Victoria, Australia for a month in January of 2025. The days there I spent waiting for night. With great privilege of deciding how I spent my time came an overwhelming weight of how will I spend it well? This ceases to pose an issue when all there is to do is sleep. Of course this pressure brought upon a dip in confidence. I walked the streets, what a fashion show of a city. Comparable to a runway at any given point in time. I did not and do not have baggy jean shorts and still no ballet flats. How is one to fit in? How is one to channel coolness in the cultural landscape that is Melbourne without a 90’s hat and silver chain for my waist?

Somehow, somewhere, The Past is a Grotesque Animal weaseled its way into my brain. It’s an epic song, about 11 minutes in length. It possesses an edge akin to my body grappling with the insecurity I felt in this new environment. I had always wanted to be someone who listened to of Montreal, who liked that sort of thing. So when this track resonated, it anchored my sense of self. Actually, I am cool. I do listen to this sort of thing.

On one of my last nights in the now familiar streets of Carlton I found myself dancing down the sidewalk. Running around corners. Smiling at people as I passed them. It’s at the other end of the spectrum. In my expansive self I dance in front of others because I want to move and if they see me move, so be it. Logic is, I am filled with joy when I see others dancing. What if I can spread this feeling all on my own? I see only positive. And it has taken a lot of practice. To stretch my body and flow around at an airport gate because I have only 30 minutes before another 7 hours of sitting did not come easily. Until it did. This is what practice has allowed me.

I moved onto New Zealand in February and the song remained prevalent within my listening sphere. It was the perfect length from Mansfield to Vivian St by bus. The 23 picked me up right outside in the darkness of pre-7am. The video above features myself dancing upstairs at Thistle Hall for the last time, the space I came every other Tuesday to be led in movement with a group of others. Mostly older women. Ingrid would ask us, what are you bringing with you today? Invite it in. And so I did. This means that I do not always flow. In fact, sometimes I flail. And also roll like a crumpled hot dog. And cartwheel just because.

I think of the time a man saw me cartwheeling at the Mount Victoria park and asked why I was doing so many. Just practicing. I told him I’d really like to be able to handstand and he showed me how. I went home to the hostel I had been in for nearly a month and demonstrated for everyone in the dining room. So on display. So out of character. But that is where I was at, the confidence of a woman who was making a life for herself somewhere new. And then, here in the video, I was leaving it all behind. I was tired. I was (and am) capable.

On the other side, I see this song to hold the breadth of emotional experience of my 6 months in Oceania. I think it’s about some guy’s divorce. This has no relevance to my own life and yet somehow it still resonates. Music is cool like that. The rest of the song, not featured, I spent lying on the ground. I threw myself around in a way that made me nauseous. I listened to some Twain and cried a bit. And then I made my way home. Goodnight Wellington Gracee. Nice work.