It was a dreary town, a weatherboard and corrugated iron island in an ocean of pine forest. The primary attraction was proximity to a choice of larger towns with greater charm. Petrol stations and the KFC on Highway One were beacons, places to refuel, get a feed, take a piss, before driving on. The railway line ran parallel, carrying its relentless rolling stock loaded with logs. Even the trees were leaving. Residents turned left off the highway into the town centre - New World and Four Square, a TAB, video shop, and several well-patronised pubs. The skate park and courthouse were gathering points for interchangeable gangs of dull-eyed youth.
Like my great-great-grandmother, disembarking to mud and bush in 1883, I had gambled my future on a blind-folded step into the unknown.
The angel: Free will has a lot to answer for, but then I didn’t set the rules. You could argue that without choice, there’s no opportunity to learn. But if you make the wrong choice, and end up taking a detour down one of life’s sidings, it’s we who are charged with getting you back on track. Destinare, destination, destiny. A detour is not a divergence, after all, just an alternative path to the place you are meant to be.
Community radio was a world away from the broadcasting career I imagined. I sold time in thirty second increments to aging appliance retailers with hair transplants. My drink hard, play hard colleagues were locals. Occasional ambitious, talented graduates from Broadcasting School soon followed the trees out of town.
Breaking point came. Alone at Christmas and stranded on the wrong side of Cook Strait by an airline strike, I made a resolution: time to leave. Then one particularly homesick Tuesday afternoon in February, I felt strangely drawn to the public library and the three-day-old pages of my hometown newspaper, where by chance, by sheer good luck, I saw the vacancy.
The angel: Chance? Good luck? Oh yes, I’ve heard that a million times. Yet, your life does not unfold at the whim of a rolling dice. Your better angels plant seed that blossoms as the inspiration you claim comes from nowhere. You’ve probably said it yourself, haven’t you? “I don’t know what made me think of it but ..” or “The idea just popped into my head…”. Angels whisper, whisper, whisper until we are heard.
I applied, with the naive confidence of youth, for a management role in a place I loved. The interview lined up with my travel plans for Easter, the time for new beginnings. Providence meant they chose me. When things are meant to be, it’s like a guiding hand at the elbow, a gentle touch pointing the way.
Rosemary McBryde
Like my great-great-grandmother, disembarking to mud and bush in 1883, I had gambled my future on a blind-folded step into the unknown.
The angel: Free will has a lot to answer for, but then I didn’t set the rules. You could argue that without choice, there’s no opportunity to learn. But if you make the wrong choice, and end up taking a detour down one of life’s sidings, it’s we who are charged with getting you back on track. Destinare, destination, destiny. A detour is not a divergence, after all, just an alternative path to the place you are meant to be.
Community radio was a world away from the broadcasting career I imagined. I sold time in thirty second increments to aging appliance retailers with hair transplants. My drink hard, play hard colleagues were locals. Occasional ambitious, talented graduates from Broadcasting School soon followed the trees out of town.
Breaking point came. Alone at Christmas and stranded on the wrong side of Cook Strait by an airline strike, I made a resolution: time to leave. Then one particularly homesick Tuesday afternoon in February, I felt strangely drawn to the public library and the three-day-old pages of my hometown newspaper, where by chance, by sheer good luck, I saw the vacancy.
The angel: Chance? Good luck? Oh yes, I’ve heard that a million times. Yet, your life does not unfold at the whim of a rolling dice. Your better angels plant seed that blossoms as the inspiration you claim comes from nowhere. You’ve probably said it yourself, haven’t you? “I don’t know what made me think of it but ..” or “The idea just popped into my head…”. Angels whisper, whisper, whisper until we are heard.
I applied, with the naive confidence of youth, for a management role in a place I loved. The interview lined up with my travel plans for Easter, the time for new beginnings. Providence meant they chose me. When things are meant to be, it’s like a guiding hand at the elbow, a gentle touch pointing the way.
Rosemary McBryde
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