Living +61

It's strange to think that one can identify with a number, especially one as innocuous as 61. Yet as an Aussie, 61 has significance to me as this is Australia's international calling code. For me, the necessity of adding 61 to an otherwise familiar phone number means the sound of a familiar accent and the reassuring words of family and friends. That simple code establishes a conduit to home and erases the isolation of distance. More importantly however, +61 shouts of travel abroad, novel experiences, and the exciting uncertainty of being far from home.

Now that I’ve moved from Australia to the US, my interpretation of +61 has altered. Plus 61 is not just about the feeling of being away from Australia, instead, it now implies living beyond Australia. I’ve come to realise that this period of my life is not just about finding a new home. It’s also about discovering what it means to me to live in this absurd world, regardless of geography.

Furthermore, my interpretation of +61 has evolved by the view that the web has largely superseded the phone as the primary form of long distance communication. This blog is my new +61.

Therefore in many aspects, living +61 seems an appropriate theme for this blog. Who knows how it’ll turn out, but I plan the blog to be an eclectic documentation of how one relocates their life to the other side of the world, random day to day observations of adjusting to a foreign city, the odd rant, and if I’m brave enough, an occasional intimate insight as I continue the philosophical journey to know myself.

I guess it comes down to necessity, but it’s still intriguing to think that the convention of an international calling code is something that the entire world agrees on. Even though it's ridiculous to think of the international calling code as some sort of a global ranking of a country, it still kinda feels that way to me. It's stupid I know, and I'm not even exactly sure what I perceive the code to rank. Liveability, economic clout, political stability and global influence maybe. I'm not saying that the US is the "best" country in the world, but doesn't it seem fitting that the US code is 1 and not 994? 994 is the code for Azerbaijan by the way. For the record, my opinion is that Australia is the best country in the world (of course), and I think Australia is suited to +61. A number that's not too high, but not completely obscure either. Sixty-one sits well for a country that's generally laid-back and comfortable in its isolated corner of the globe.

Having relocated to the east coast of the US, I've moved 60 places in the "hierarchy" of calling codes to pole position. My new international calling code is 1. Will the day come when the need to dial plus 1 invokes the same emotions of “home” that I've come to associate with plus 61? There will be plenty of time to find out.

Memories awakened

I was in Boston once. It was snowing and bitterly cold, with temperatures that were nothing like you'd ever experience on the worst Sydney winter day. At least the cold was refreshing after living in planes and airport lounges for the past 20 hours. It was my first solo trip overseas and I had just checked into my nondescript hotel, the cheapest accommodation work could arrange. Typical. The small room was well heated thankfully, but remained feeling as sterile as the cold beige hallways that led me there.


The night outside was frozen to stillness. It was late and cold enough that no-one, except those with pressing need, braved the street. Snug in my room and relieved that the travel was over, I called home, dialling +61 to Australia, to reassure my family that I had arrived safely. After all, the first anniversary of 9/11 had passed not long ago and fears of a fresh attack were still lingering in peoples minds. The near empty United Airlines aircraft I had travelled on were a testament to that fear. The media was in a frenzy over the impeding war.

Sitting alone in my motel room, I tried to avoid pondering over the busy days ahead. Uncertainty and a sense of pessimistic inevitability threatened to dominate the eagerness in my thoughts of the work I was sent over to complete. Ultimately, my memories of that 2 week visit are filled with immense stress, pressure and satisfaction that was associated with surviving the 12-18 hour working days. During that time, I was absolutely pushed to my limits of physical and mental endurance. With the work done, I returned to Australia with a feeling of achievement, a greater sense of independence and more importantly, a fresh new stamp in my passport.

That was quite a few years ago. Now I'm back in Boston. Not for days, but for years this time around. My passport may have acquired a few more stamps, but the familiar mix of uncertainty and eagerness that I experienced during my first Boston trip remain. The war in Iraq still wages, but I've certainly changed over the years. On this trip, there's more at stake. It's not only work that I must conquer, but also a new life to establish.

Bring it on.