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Sydney Morning Herald
4 days ago
- Business
- Sydney Morning Herald
Is this Melbourne's only CEO job with sheep grazing outside the office?
Stepping through the gates of Abbotsford Convent is like happening upon a secret garden. Majestic old buildings overlook sprawling lawns and sun-dappled courtyards, all surrounded by trees older than anyone alive today. They're the last witnesses to some of the convent's grimmer history – but we'll get to that. Justine Hyde is the convent's new CEO – since taking on the role late last year, she's set her sights on an ambitious plan to turn the cultural centre into more than just a haven for locals: she wants to make it one of Melbourne's must-visit centres of culture. 'The big dream is to put the convent on the map, one of the top 10 tourist destinations in Melbourne. A place where people, whether they're coming from the regions, from interstate or internationally, have it on their must-do list of places,' she says. 'At the moment, it's a bit of a hidden gem. I think there's a lot of potential for it to be less hidden.' Hyde has come a long way before finding herself at the convent. She grew up in western Sydney and attended a school famous for two things: 'One was having the first on-site creche for young mothers who were at school. The other thing it was famous for was that one of the Anita Cobby murderers was a student. Those two things combined probably give you a sense of what kind of school environment it was.' Unsurprisingly, a young queer creative with a thirst for learning didn't fit in that well. 'I was lucky enough to find two best mates who also didn't fit in. That was my saving grace through school. I was highly motivated to get out.' It wasn't the sort of place that urged students to follow their dreams. 'I intended to go to university and to travel and do all those things that that environment didn't necessarily encourage. Out of my year at school, only a handful of people went to university. Probably only a handful of people moved out of the area as well.' Living independently in the big city didn't come cheap, though, so Hyde juggled full-time work with part-time study. First, she completed a Bachelor of Applied Science in Information, qualifying her as a librarian, but her interest in writing then led her to follow it up with a graduate certificate in creative writing. Then a grad diploma in management. Then half a law degree. 'I've done a lot of studying,' Hyde says. After all those books, it was time for a change of scenery, and Melbourne has always been welcoming for smart creatives with an interest in culture. Hyde had friends here, and a few years after relocating, secured a job as acting CEO at State Library Victoria, overseeing the library's public experiences. After that came a role at City of Melbourne as director of its Creative City program. She's a prolific writer and critic herself, but it's not that often that writerly types, known for their enjoyment of solitude, also excel at leading large teams on bold projects. Loading 'I guess naturally, I am an introvert, and so writing as a solitary experience feels comfortable to me. In terms of being a leader, I've had to really work on getting out of that comfortable space of being an introvert. When I've done Myers-Briggs and all those kinds of psych testing frameworks, I always come up as what's described as an 'enthusiastic introvert'. That's me.' Before applying for the job at the convent, she was familiar with the place in the way so many Melburnians are. 'I'd come here as a punter lots of times, whether it was to go to Cam's for a meal and a coffee or come to a farmers' market or come to a gig or a performance during one of the festivals. But I didn't really know the diversity of what happens here.' There's the bakery and restaurants, sure, but the venue is also home to a radio station, a Steiner school running from kindergarten to year 12, and the grounds are also where the Australian National Academy of Music has settled while its South Melbourne premises undergo renovations. Then there are the 130 creative tenants who make their art there. 'The other thing that most people don't realise is it's a social enterprise. It's not funded by government,' says Hyde. Ninety per cent of the Abbotsford Convent's revenue is self-generated, with only 10 per cent coming from grants or philanthropy. 'Normally, it's the other way around.' Loading That unusual set-up is the result of an equally unusual origin. Two decades ago, the convent and its surroundings were set to be transformed by developers when a grassroots community campaign convinced the state government that it deserved better. The government purchased the land back from those developers and allowed the newly formed Abbotsford Convent Foundation the right to manage the place on behalf of the public. (The Convent is currently fighting a proposal to build a four-story retirement village on the historic site, which Hyde says would be 'excessive and imposing'.) Further back in time, however, the convent has a bleaker back-story. It was established in 1863 by an order of nuns from France whose philosophy revolved around hard work and industry. What that looked like in practice involved setting up an industrial-scale laundry adjoining the convent 'that was used to imprison young women who were either pregnant or destitute or orphans or criminals, and to put them to work as slave labour, basically.' The nuns ran a very successful operation for a century, servicing the wealthy families and hotels of Melbourne, 'all off the back of the labour of these young women,' says Hyde. TAKE 7: THE ANSWERS ACCORDING TO JUSTINE HYDE Worst habit? Being too easily persuaded to say yes by my children. Greatest fear? Where to start: the crisis in arts funding, environmental collapse, the erosion of hard-won civil rights for women and the LGBTIQA+ community, huntsman spiders. The line that stayed with you? 'I'm telling you stories. Trust me.' – The Passion by Jeanette Winterson, who I was lucky enough to see speak recently in Melbourne. She even quoted this line. Biggest regret? Not getting to meet Jane Fonda when she was having lunch at Julie Restaurant at the convent recently. What a living legend! Favourite book? How To Be Both by Ali Smith. The story is told from two perspectives, one contemporary and one in the Italian Renaissance. Two versions of the book were published simultaneously, one in which the contemporary story appears first, the other in which the Renaissance story comes first. You can read the novel starting from either perspective and ending with the other. Smith is simply brilliant. The artwork/song you wish was yours? It's a piece of writing about an artwork: 'Smote, or when I find I cannot kiss you in front of a print by Bridget Riley' by (British author) Eley Williams. If you could time travel, where would you choose to go? 1970s Manhattan for a queer adventure into the art scene and a night at Studio 54. 'I think it's really important to acknowledge that history and engage with it head-on. What I find really fascinating is you come to this site and when you walk through the gates, it has quite a peaceful, embracing feeling. Which is not what you would expect from a place that had been an institution.' Before the nuns arrived, the area now housing the convent was an important meeting place for Wurundjeri and Kulin nations for a long time. 'I don't think we do as well as we could in terms of acknowledging and celebrating that pre-colonial heritage, and that's something that I'm really keen for us to do better,' Hyde says. Loading To that end, her next big project has been formed around the Wurundjeri seasonal calendar. Winter LIVE sees the convent's many spaces taken over by live music, dance, a cinema and other events. It's a mini-festival aimed at warming up the precinct over the cooler months, with Saturday's winter solstice acting as its heart. Hyde is clearly proud of both the convent's recent history and the plans she has for its future. Wandering through the grounds with her, it wasn't hard to see why she looks forward to arriving at work each day. Music floated down from an open window while kids darted about outside their school. The bakery was buzzing, locals walked their dogs, and down the hill towards the river, sheep and horses grazed. 'It feels like being the mayor of a village sometimes,' Hyde said. 'It feels like the kind of place that you're going to walk into on any day and, through serendipity, happen upon something interesting and unexpected, which is part of the appeal of the place.'
The Age
4 days ago
- Business
- The Age
Is this Melbourne's only CEO job with sheep grazing outside the office?
Stepping through the gates of Abbotsford Convent is like happening upon a secret garden. Majestic old buildings overlook sprawling lawns and sun-dappled courtyards, all surrounded by trees older than anyone alive today. They're the last witnesses to some of the convent's grimmer history – but we'll get to that. Justine Hyde is the convent's new CEO – since taking on the role late last year, she's set her sights on an ambitious plan to turn the cultural centre into more than just a haven for locals: she wants to make it one of Melbourne's must-visit centres of culture. 'The big dream is to put the convent on the map, one of the top 10 tourist destinations in Melbourne. A place where people, whether they're coming from the regions, from interstate or internationally, have it on their must-do list of places,' she says. 'At the moment, it's a bit of a hidden gem. I think there's a lot of potential for it to be less hidden.' Hyde has come a long way before finding herself at the convent. She grew up in western Sydney and attended a school famous for two things: 'One was having the first on-site creche for young mothers who were at school. The other thing it was famous for was that one of the Anita Cobby murderers was a student. Those two things combined probably give you a sense of what kind of school environment it was.' Unsurprisingly, a young queer creative with a thirst for learning didn't fit in that well. 'I was lucky enough to find two best mates who also didn't fit in. That was my saving grace through school. I was highly motivated to get out.' It wasn't the sort of place that urged students to follow their dreams. 'I intended to go to university and to travel and do all those things that that environment didn't necessarily encourage. Out of my year at school, only a handful of people went to university. Probably only a handful of people moved out of the area as well.' Living independently in the big city didn't come cheap, though, so Hyde juggled full-time work with part-time study. First, she completed a Bachelor of Applied Science in Information, qualifying her as a librarian, but her interest in writing then led her to follow it up with a graduate certificate in creative writing. Then a grad diploma in management. Then half a law degree. 'I've done a lot of studying,' Hyde says. After all those books, it was time for a change of scenery, and Melbourne has always been welcoming for smart creatives with an interest in culture. Hyde had friends here, and a few years after relocating, secured a job as acting CEO at State Library Victoria, overseeing the library's public experiences. After that came a role at City of Melbourne as director of its Creative City program. She's a prolific writer and critic herself, but it's not that often that writerly types, known for their enjoyment of solitude, also excel at leading large teams on bold projects. Loading 'I guess naturally, I am an introvert, and so writing as a solitary experience feels comfortable to me. In terms of being a leader, I've had to really work on getting out of that comfortable space of being an introvert. When I've done Myers-Briggs and all those kinds of psych testing frameworks, I always come up as what's described as an 'enthusiastic introvert'. That's me.' Before applying for the job at the convent, she was familiar with the place in the way so many Melburnians are. 'I'd come here as a punter lots of times, whether it was to go to Cam's for a meal and a coffee or come to a farmers' market or come to a gig or a performance during one of the festivals. But I didn't really know the diversity of what happens here.' There's the bakery and restaurants, sure, but the venue is also home to a radio station, a Steiner school running from kindergarten to year 12, and the grounds are also where the Australian National Academy of Music has settled while its South Melbourne premises undergo renovations. Then there are the 130 creative tenants who make their art there. 'The other thing that most people don't realise is it's a social enterprise. It's not funded by government,' says Hyde. Ninety per cent of the Abbotsford Convent's revenue is self-generated, with only 10 per cent coming from grants or philanthropy. 'Normally, it's the other way around.' Loading That unusual set-up is the result of an equally unusual origin. Two decades ago, the convent and its surroundings were set to be transformed by developers when a grassroots community campaign convinced the state government that it deserved better. The government purchased the land back from those developers and allowed the newly formed Abbotsford Convent Foundation the right to manage the place on behalf of the public. (The Convent is currently fighting a proposal to build a four-story retirement village on the historic site, which Hyde says would be 'excessive and imposing'.) Further back in time, however, the convent has a bleaker back-story. It was established in 1863 by an order of nuns from France whose philosophy revolved around hard work and industry. What that looked like in practice involved setting up an industrial-scale laundry adjoining the convent 'that was used to imprison young women who were either pregnant or destitute or orphans or criminals, and to put them to work as slave labour, basically.' The nuns ran a very successful operation for a century, servicing the wealthy families and hotels of Melbourne, 'all off the back of the labour of these young women,' says Hyde. TAKE 7: THE ANSWERS ACCORDING TO JUSTINE HYDE Worst habit? Being too easily persuaded to say yes by my children. Greatest fear? Where to start: the crisis in arts funding, environmental collapse, the erosion of hard-won civil rights for women and the LGBTIQA+ community, huntsman spiders. The line that stayed with you? 'I'm telling you stories. Trust me.' – The Passion by Jeanette Winterson, who I was lucky enough to see speak recently in Melbourne. She even quoted this line. Biggest regret? Not getting to meet Jane Fonda when she was having lunch at Julie Restaurant at the convent recently. What a living legend! Favourite book? How To Be Both by Ali Smith. The story is told from two perspectives, one contemporary and one in the Italian Renaissance. Two versions of the book were published simultaneously, one in which the contemporary story appears first, the other in which the Renaissance story comes first. You can read the novel starting from either perspective and ending with the other. Smith is simply brilliant. The artwork/song you wish was yours? It's a piece of writing about an artwork: 'Smote, or when I find I cannot kiss you in front of a print by Bridget Riley' by (British author) Eley Williams. If you could time travel, where would you choose to go? 1970s Manhattan for a queer adventure into the art scene and a night at Studio 54. 'I think it's really important to acknowledge that history and engage with it head-on. What I find really fascinating is you come to this site and when you walk through the gates, it has quite a peaceful, embracing feeling. Which is not what you would expect from a place that had been an institution.' Before the nuns arrived, the area now housing the convent was an important meeting place for Wurundjeri and Kulin nations for a long time. 'I don't think we do as well as we could in terms of acknowledging and celebrating that pre-colonial heritage, and that's something that I'm really keen for us to do better,' Hyde says. Loading To that end, her next big project has been formed around the Wurundjeri seasonal calendar. Winter LIVE sees the convent's many spaces taken over by live music, dance, a cinema and other events. It's a mini-festival aimed at warming up the precinct over the cooler months, with Saturday's winter solstice acting as its heart. Hyde is clearly proud of both the convent's recent history and the plans she has for its future. Wandering through the grounds with her, it wasn't hard to see why she looks forward to arriving at work each day. Music floated down from an open window while kids darted about outside their school. The bakery was buzzing, locals walked their dogs, and down the hill towards the river, sheep and horses grazed. 'It feels like being the mayor of a village sometimes,' Hyde said. 'It feels like the kind of place that you're going to walk into on any day and, through serendipity, happen upon something interesting and unexpected, which is part of the appeal of the place.'
The Guardian
12-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Ancient example of printed text to be displayed in Melbourne: ‘It unites us all'
One of the world's earliest recorded examples of printed text will go on display in Melbourne this month, to mark the 20th anniversary of a long-running exhibition celebrating the evolution of the book. The historical printed matter – known as the Hyakumantō Darani – dates back more than 1,250 years, when the most powerful woman in Japan, the Empress Shōtoku, ordered the creation of one million paper scrolls bearing Buddhist prayers. Each was to be encased in its own miniature wooden pagoda, though it is unclear if the ambitious decree ever reached its target. Today, about 44,000 of the Hyakumantō Darani are thought to be in existence, including one acquired by the State Library of Victoria last year. It's part of the institution's blockbuster World of the Book exhibition, which has so far attracted five million visitors over two decades. The acquisition of the Hyakumantō Darani marks a rare example of printed text's origins in Asia, about 700 years before the Gutenberg printing press democratised literacy across Europe. 'I would say it's the most exciting acquisition that's been made in the library in my time,' said Dr Anna Welch, the library's principal collection curator. Sign up for the fun stuff with our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning The history of the book is global and unites us all as humans, she said, and the Hyakumantō Darani is the epitome of that ideal: it is a Buddhist Sanskrit text, originating in India, printed in Japan, in Chinese characters. Small and extremely fragile, the scroll has been protected in its ornamental casing for the past millennium. Library curators unrolled it briefly to digitise it and make a facsimile, which will go on display next to the pagoda, with the original remains shielded from modern lighting which would cause it to deteriorate rapidly. Significantly more robust in nature is another ancient object in the library's rare book collection: a 4000-year-old cuneiform tablet dated circa 2050 BC. 'It's a remarkably solid and stable form of data carrier, and a great way … to show the beginnings of the story of the written word,' said Welch, of the clay tablet hailing from the Sumerian empire in southern Mesopotamia (modern day Iraq and parts of Iran). The ancient symbols of its cuneiform script – used by people from multiple language groups throughout the bronze age and into the dawn of the common era – are surprisingly prosaic. Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion 'You might have hoped that it says something very beautiful and poetic – a remnant of the ancient past, or voice reaching out to us,' said Welch. It is, in fact, a receipt: a record of taxes paid for the purchase of sheep and goats. 'But that's where writing began – as a tool for government bureaucracy.' Along with the Hyakumantō Darani, another recent acquisition will go on public display for the first time in the rolling exhibition. An ancient precursor to correction fluid, the medieval scribe's knife is thought to have originated in the 15th century. It was used to scrape typos from prepared animal skins known as vellum – the material most books were made from before the printing press ushered in the era of paper in Europe. 'What's really beautiful about it, apart from the rarity of having an object like this in Australia, is that its handle … is carved into the shape of a book,' said Welch. 'It was a tool for a scribe who obviously very much loved their job.' The new edition of the State Library of Victoria's World of the Book exhibition opens on Saturday 31 May at its Dome Galleries
Buzz Feed
11-05-2025
- Lifestyle
- Buzz Feed
I Burned Out, Quit My Job, And Spent 6 Months In Asia — Here's What I've Learned
I can directly pinpoint the moment that triggered the unraveling of my tightly woven work identity. I was 26 years old, saying goodbye to my grandfather's 88-year-old brother for the last time in his kitchen in Melbourne, Australia. I'd visited him and his wife three times in total during my month-long stay, each time listening to stories of my grandfather, who owned restaurants in New Jersey and could never take time off to return to Greece or visit Down Under. Ironically, I'd spent my own first week 'off' at the State Library Victoria, working on articles I hadn't finished before I left. "Are you going to be okay when you go back?" he asked me as we got up from the table. "Yes," I reassured him. "I told you I'm using PTO. I'll just go back to work when I return." He nodded once before adding, "Don't work too hard; they'll just replace you when you die." I didn't know it at the time, but that was the first thread pulled. One year later, at the age of 27, I quit my job at BuzzFeed with a five-hour notice while munching on McDonald's — feeling neither excitement nor anxiety. Not long after, I found myself sitting at a café in Chiang Mai, Thailand called Melbourne Story (unemployed and training seven hours a day in Muay Thai) when I noticed a familiar building in a photo on the wall: the State Library Victoria. The irony wasn't lost on me. In fact, it felt serendipitous in a way; I had traveled thousands of miles only to end up looking at the same building — but this time without a laptop open in front of me. Throughout my 20s, I was your classic workaholic — the ideal capitalist. I had been working in corporate America since I was 22. Don't get me wrong, I did my share of traveling — spending months in Honolulu, Vancouver, Austin, Chicago, Montreal, and more — but I rarely took time off, working in the backseat during roadtrips or checking my email while walking between clubs on nights out. On paper, it seemed to pay off. I was promoted just about every year, working my way up from being an assistant to managing people. But instead of feeling increasing pride or accomplishment, I began feeling the classic, hubristic hero's disconnect of stagnation and emptiness. My relationship with myself and my friends seemed to have fallen to the wayside, and I think I even developed some level of social anxiety from going out so infrequently. A couple months after my 26th birthday (one year past the age by which my friends told me I'd have a heart attack because of how obsessed I was with my job), I sat in a Starbucks in Miami on a video call with my manager while my friends swam in South Beach. HR had just denied my request to work remotely from Melbourne, Australia for a month, suggesting I instead use some of my 200-plus hours of PTO. Reluctantly, I agreed. Even then, I still had tens of hours left over, and even more paid out when I quit. Now, at 28, one year post-resignation, I barely recognize that version of myself. I've spent six months wandering through Asia, unraveling everything I thought I knew about work, success, and identity — not in an Instagram-filtered 'finding myself' montage, but in the messy, contradictory, often uncomfortable way that real transformation happens. That said, here are six truths I've learned — after quitting my corporate job, solo-traveling across Asia, and slowly dismantling the scaffolding of my work identity — that redefined how I think about work and life. Fear Is (Usually) the First Step Months before quitting, I was haunted by the fear that I was falling for an escapist fantasy and would end up desolate and broke, having traded biweekly paychecks for crushing regrets. I'd lie in bed at night, my phone suspended above my face, as my fingers automatically typed "quit job due to burnout" and "quit job to travel" into Chrome for the hundredth time. My right thumb had perfected the routine: scroll, click, skim, back to results, repeat. I was searching for permission that no one could really give me. By the time I finally sent my resignation email, I was emotionally depleted. I had a stable income, health insurance, and a clear career trajectory — all the things we're conditioned to value above our sanity and well-being — yet I felt nothing as I walked away. Not even a twinge of anxiety or relief as I deleted Slack from my phone. There were many moments of fear, paranoia, uncertainty, and loneliness leading up to the moment I quit — and even after — but they seem inconsequential looking back. It's funny how the mind smooths those things out in the end, like the static of an old movie. I went from being so frustrated with work to roaming the streets of Chiang Mai alone wondering, 'What now? Who am I now?' And yet, it seems so straightforward in hindsight. I loved my job. Then I got curious about going part-time. Then I hated it. Then I wanted out. But it was by no means some impulsive or easy decision. In actuality, it took months of painful untangling and disengaging to even consider quitting, let alone follow through. And it happened in the small moments — forgetting simple things, zoning out mid-conversation, feeling detached from experiences I knew I should be enjoying. I'd sit at my laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and feel nothing. That scared me more than the exhaustion ever had. During time, I saw multiple mental health professionals and tried even more prescription meds in an attempt to deny that I was fraying and smooth down the edges. Was this job worth medicating myself for? Now, I feel like a fuller version of myself. I still remember looking out over Bangkok from a rooftop bar with two friends from my hostel, and it really hit me that I was doing this. Suddenly — as cliché as it sounds — I was dancing at drag shows and exploring night markets instead of crafting corporate emails. The anxiety never fully disappeared, but it transformed into something kinetic — something that made me feel part of the world, not just of it. Time Moves Differently When It's (Actually) Yours In (corporate) America, everything is a commodity — even, or rather, especially time. I was always running out of it, could never seem to get enough of it and measured everything by it. If I didn't have enough, I'd buy more, paying for my food to be delivered to me or calling an Uber to avoid public transit. Obviously, those are still privileges that I could afford, but I mean to say I was simply trading one for the other. When I was 24, I spent three months living in Hawaii while working remotely. Each morning, I'd wake up to the sparkling Pacific Ocean through my 19th-floor window, only to immediately open Gmail on my corporate-issued 2015 MacBook Pro. By 6 a.m. Hawaiian time, I was furiously typing Slack messages as the sun rose behind me, just outside my balcony doors. "Is it okay to message you now? What time is it for you?" colleagues would ask. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm working," I'd dismiss before googling how to turn off Slack's time zone feature. Even in such a beautiful place, I had commodified my time. When my friend came to visit, I couldn't understand why she couldn't understand that I'd taken on three projects in February — an already shortened month — so I wouldn't be taking a day off just because she was staying with me. Instead, I acquiesced to giving her one day in March if she was still around. By the time I left the islands, I had taken exactly two days off. During my travels, I discovered what time actually feels like when you're not selling it to someone else 40-plus hours a week. A day in Siem Reap or Hanoi or Hong Kong or Korea contained multitudes compared to my former days at the office. I could do a sunrise tour (of Angkor Wat), have multiple meaningful conversations with strangers, get lost in a night market, read for hours in a café, and still have time to journal about it all before bed. Time expanded in ways I couldn't have imagined. I Didn't Feel Successful Until I Stopped Trying to Prove It Before quitting, I measured my worth in metrics, KPIs, and performance reviews. Even when I was objectively performing well, I felt hollow inside. I struggled to see myself beyond my accomplishments, and even then I downplayed them incessantly. I constantly told myself I'd buy something — a perfume, a bag, whatever — when I got promoted to celebrate. And yet, each promotion just left me waiting for the next. Six months of traveling redefined success entirely. Suddenly, it was about moments of genuine presence: learning to make a traditional lantern at a family workshop in Hoi An, exploring the Cloud Forest at the Gardens by the Bay in Singapore, sliding down sand dunes in Mui Ne, and wiping out so spectacularly I still have the scars. In fact, on my 129th day of traveling, while in Macau, I did something I never would have imagined myself doing. Standing on a platform 764 feet above a concrete parking lot, I bungee jumped off Macau Tower — the tallest commercial bungee jump in the world. I had woken up that morning in Hong Kong planning to visit some casinos, but when I saw "World's Highest Bungy Jump" listed as an attraction, something in me just knew. And when the countdown hit one, I didn't hesitate. I jumped. Success, it turns out, isn't something you can only achieve — it's something you can experience. As I sat at a coffee shop in Vietnam, I realized that I finally had more of a vision of not only who I wanted to be but also how I wanted to be. Your Identity Isn't Your Job Title "So, what do you do?" It's one of the first questions you're asked in America — and for years, it defined me. I built scaffolding around my professional identity, confusing my title with my value. It gave structure to my days, decisions, and sense of worth. I feared that, without it, I'd somehow (cinematically) realize I'd been drinking the corporate Kool-Aid and resign myself to working to live, abandoning my ambitions. In Australia, before I'd even quit, I noticed something striking: Nobody ever asked about education, let alone work. Instead, my friend and I stared in surprise at hastily taped notices on locked doors of Melbourne storefronts — some handwritten, others printed in default Calibri font — all sharing the same message: "Closed for summer break." Not for a day or two but for weeks. These shop owners seemed to value their time more than their income, a concept that felt foreign to my American sensibilities. After I completed my exit interview and logged out for the last time, I felt lost. Who was I without my company email signature and LinkedIn headline? As it turns out, I'm a whole person I hadn't fully met yet. At a Muay Thai camp in Chiang Mai, I reconnected with my body, having started martial arts at age 9 and stopping at 16. In Vietnam, I (at first reluctantly) trusted locals to guide me, hopping on sleeper buses for 16-hour trips knowing nothing but the name of the next town. In Hong Kong, I visited the tallest rooftop bar in the world. In South Korea, I reflected on my grandparents' experiences as I visited the Korean War Memorial. And yet none of these things had to do with a job or title. As obvious as it seems to say, the more I traveled, the more I realized that people outside the American bubble rarely defined themselves by their occupation. They were fathers, sisters, adventurers, martial artists, storytellers — full human beings whose value wasn't determined by a company org chart. And slowly, I began to see myself that way, too: not as a former editor, but as someone with curiosities, talents, and connections that existed completely independent of any work identity. Loneliness Can Be Both Excruciating and Transformative There were nights in hotel rooms when loneliness hit with physical force. Without the constant distraction of team meetings, happy hours, and Slack notifications, I was left with myself and the deafening silence of my own thoughts. At first, it felt deeply uncomfortable. I was constantly exhausted from the burnout, but still felt restless, unable to shake the idea of productivity. During my first few months in Thailand, I trained in Muay Thai. The gym gave me a sense of structure and community — we trained, ate, and lived together. It felt stable. But in a way, it also allowed me to avoid processing everything after I quit. It was all so demanding and exciting that I just transferred all of my energy into training and socializing instead of sitting with my resignation and disillusionment. As a result, leaving carried more weight and emptiness than it would have otherwise. When I left for Cambodia alone, I finally had to face myself. And honestly, I really struggled with it — despite being someone who has happily moved to unfamiliar cities completely alone for months at a time. I felt an undeniable sense of loss and exhaustion. Part of me yearned to go back to Chiang Mai, or even just fly home. But another part of me knew I needed to sit with why I took the trip in the first place. In my stronger moments, I accepted that it was all part of the dichotomy of the experience. Eventually, the sadness and loneliness came in waves that I could ride instead of a rip current that dragged me out to sea. And in that uncomfortable solitude that followed, something shifted. Long bus rides became small sanctuaries — 16 hours with no pressure to perform or be productive, just quiet time to stare out the window and exist. These small surrenders felt like a new kind of freedom. I also found connection in fleeting encounters — ones that held no networking purpose. A homestay host who drove me to the bus station on his motorbike. A tailor who laughed when I told her I wanted the clothes to help me look thinner, but keep the ass. An old man on a sleeper bus who hid my earbuds during a pit stop so they wouldn't get stolen. Bartenders who comped my drinks just because as we talked about life. I was often alone and couldn't always speak the language, but these interactions touched me the most and reminded me of our shared humanity. Yes, the loneliness was sharp — but it made these spontaneous, sincere connections stand out and light up my trip as much as the new constellations I saw. When I Let Go, Life Didn't Collapse — It Opened This realization wasn't depressing like I'd feared — it was liberating. I had spent years in what Albert Camus might call 'the motionless world of hopes,' where everything felt coherent inside the corporate bubble. But with distance, that coherence unraveled. From a café in Singapore or a cable car in Vietnam, the rituals of American work culture began to look absurd: the relentless pursuit of promotions, the sacrifice of health for performance reviews, the recurring Sunday-night dread. If the world kept spinning without my constant attention to emails and Slack threads, maybe I could build a life that didn't orbit around urgency and artificial deadlines. After all, they'd just replace me when I die. That doesn't mean I've abandoned ambition. I've simply redefined it. I still work — intentionally, on my terms. I've built a freelance career that allows for freedom and focus. I no longer measure my worth by hours logged or emails answered. And while my old workaholic instincts still flicker, I can see them now for what they are: echoes of a system I've acknowledged and outgrown. While I used to fear that quitting would drain me of drive, I've since realized it's simply clarified it. Structure and routine still matter — not as tools for productivity, but as scaffolding for a life I want to live. They allow me to direct my thoughts instead of constantly chasing or avoiding them. Before, even in burnout, I'd just say yes to everything, from invitations from friends to deadlines for work. I'd fend off sleep in a desperate effort to bargain for more time. I was overwhelmed, and I'd ultimately lose myself in those moments. Now, I've reclaimed the quiet. In fact, some of my happiest memories abroad weren't grand adventures, but small moments: the sun warming my face after doing crunches at the Muay Thai gym or sitting at a restaurant in the mountains, the sudden realization that I felt no guilt or urgency — just the quiet, almost childlike feeling of being alive. My Biggest Takeaway: Don't Regret Not Doing Something! It's been about a year since I left the US with a one-way ticket to Asia. I won't pretend returning to 'real life' was seamless. Reverse culture shock hit hard. My savings dwindled, and eventually, I had to figure out income again. But even now, when I'm 'back' in North America, I find myself living differently. I spent my summer and winter along the St. Lawrence River, only rejoining life in the States for the fall. Because once you see the fragmentation of what you thought was whole — your identity, your relationship to time, your idea of success — you can't unsee it. When I was afraid of quitting, I was more driven by the thought of being 45 and bogged down with responsibilities, regretting not having quit more than regretting having quit, even if I ended up broke and on my ass. Naturally, this kind of advice necessitates a level of trust in yourself and acceptance of not having everything figured out. But if you've got those two things down enough, then it's a perspective that embraces passion, risk, and proactivity. It challenges you to think beyond your immediate fears and envision how you'd feel in the future if you let opportunities slip by. Of course, I also recognize that I was fortunate to be able to choose this for myself — not only financially but personally, without the responsibility of caring for dependents. Before I decided to quit, I read countless articles about burnout that offered practical advice in a capitalist world. While some provided insight into how they saved up enough money to quit, others shared snippets of general overwhelm from their jobs that led them to make the call. I felt mildly comforted by the few that touched upon their lack of social life and deteriorating mental health. And no matter the angle, the articles unanimously concluded that quitting was not only the right decision but a necessary one. I related to them all on some level — perhaps unsurprisingly so given that nearly a quarter of employees in the US rated their burnout levels as high or extremely high in 2023 — and maybe that was the problem. I already knew what they were telling me. I wasn't looking for confirmation that I had enough savings or that the decision to travel would be the best I'd ever made. Really, I just wanted to know that I'd done everything right and that it was only natural to burn out at 27 and that it was okay to give up a stable career in an era of mass layoffs (four of which I'd already survived). So if this resonates, I hope it helps you feel a little less alone. Sometimes I wonder if my six months in Asia were an escape from life — but honestly, I think they were a crash course in living it. If nothing else, I've gained clarity around who I want to be and how I want to be. Maybe that sounds philosophical or naïve, especially in this economy. I still stress about money. But for the first time in a while, I feel grounded — rather than unsure or forced. Maybe I'm just growing into myself. Throughout the last year or two, I've often said that I've felt like a caterpillar entering my chrysalis, my body dissolving into the goo of the pupal phase in hopes of transforming into a butterfly… And lately, I've seen a lot of butterflies. Have you felt burnt out or quit your job before? Have you considered it? I'm really interested to hear your thoughts in the comments below! Thanks for reading! Check out more AAPI-centered content by exploring how BuzzFeed celebrates Asian Pacific American Heritage Month! Of course, the content doesn't end after May. Follow BuzzFeed's A*Pop on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube to keep up with our latest AAPI content year-round.
Sydney Morning Herald
26-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
Your guide to fab (and budget-friendly) events in Melbourne in May
Nestled in the lower floors of a 19th-century brick building in Flinders Lane, not-for-profit gallery and theatre fortyfivedownstairs is hosting several free exhibitions over the course of May. Analogue by Jamieson Miller is a riposte against the imposition of the digital world and highlights the idiosyncrasies and imperfections of being a carver. Out of the Orchard by Cecilia Cairns celebrates her 60 years as a teacher and artist who grew up on an apple orchard in Merricks on the Mornington Peninsula. Edward Coleridge's oil paintings in Letterbox Landscapes capture the beauty of the Victorian countryside and cities, while multidisciplinary artist Hamish Tobias' paintings, drawings and sculptures in I've Been Curious About Daffodils Lately explore the effects of warped self-perception on mental health, and challenges conventional beauty standards. SERWAH ATTAFUAH: THE DARKNESS BETWEEN THE STARS ACMI, all of May May is your last opportunity to enjoy the work of multidisciplinary artist and musician Serwah Attafuah as she weaves past, present and future into an Afro futurist vision of resilience and reclamation in The Darkness Between the Stars at ACMI. Across five screens, female warriors rise from burning slave castles and shipwrecked colonial vessels, their glitch-patterned kente cloth celebrating Ghana's matrilineal traditions. This visually sumptuous exhibition uses visual effects, animation and 3D modelling to critique the historical and modern exploitation of Ghana while envisioning a liberated future and highlighting the strength of West Africa's Ashanti people. WORLD OF THE BOOK State Library Victoria, until May 18 What better place to chart the rise and restyling of the beloved book than in this one-of-a-kind exhibition on the history of book design, production and illustration from the Middle Ages to today? Among the 300 rare, remarkable and historic items are first editions by highly vaunted Japanese author Haruki Murakami and Nobel Prize winner Toni Morrison, signed first editions by fantasy behemoth Philip Pullman, and the world's first novel – penned during the Edo Period. World of the Book is refreshed each year to showcase the extraordinary riches of the library's collections, but you have until May 18 to see the current iteration, after which the 20-year-anniversary edition launches on May 31. Golden Square Car Park, May 2–4 Descending on to Chinatown's famed multi-level carpark which has hosted many an arts activation is the annual three-day-long festival commemorating Buddha's birthday. Choose from any number of activities at this free public event: Ba Duan Jin meditation, calligraphy workshops, tea ceremonies, dance classes, wellbeing lectures and cultural performances from several different faiths. Step into the Lotus Flower Sanctuary, filled with illuminated-four-metre-tall flora, or the Lumbini Garden, a peaceful haven inspired by Buddha's birthplace where you can take part in the symbolic act of bathing an infant Buddha statue. The Children's Wonderland offers engaging puppet shows and face painting, and be sure to stay until dusk to see the digitally animated five-storey-high Bodhi Tree Mural come alive through projections. SRI LANKAN FESTIVAL Queen Victoria Market, May 4 Bringing to life the rich cultural traditions of Sri Lanka is a one-day festival celebrating the Tamil and Sinhalese New Year. Enjoy an assortment of Sri Lankan cuisine – sizzling kottu rotis, fragrant curries, crisp hoppers and deep-fried rice flour kokis – while enjoying the array of live dance performances, music and interactive workshops. HAWKER 88 NIGHT MARKET Queen Victoria Market, May 7 Wednesday, May 7 is the last time this season you'll be able to enjoy the spoils of this recreated Asian hawker centre. Choose from over 20 food stalls – boasting the likes of popular Chinese sugar-coated fruit snack tanghulu, Nepalese momos, Korean gold coin pancakes, Filipino street food and Japanese rice burgers – or watch the finals of a beer pong competition. It's all happening for one last time at the Hawker 88 Night Market before the Winter Night Market takes over. MELBOURNE DESIGN WEEK Venues across Melbourne, May 15–25 Much of Melbourne Design Week is free to attend, though bookings are occasionally required. Transpiring over 11 days across more than 350 events, exhibitions, talks and installations, Australia's premier design festival celebrates the depth and richness of talent in the region – from emerging talent to the industry's renowned professionals. Wander through a 20-year retrospective exhibition honouring eminent lighting designer Volker Haug or immerse yourself in 100 Lights as it illuminates the Meat Market Stables in a visually spectacular display of 100 artists' lighting designs. Visit Deep Calm, the culmination of a year-long research project into how architecture can cater to neurodivergent audiences, or Catch: Tales of First Nations Fishing, which highlights the design ingenuity and legacy of First Nations designers, among numerous other events such as the Melbourne Art Book Fair. LOCAL LUNCH CLUB Kathleen Syme Library, May 17 Join City of Melbourne Libraries' Local Lunch Club and connect with like-minded people at this community gathering that fashions surplus food into a delicious free vegetarian lunch. Hosted by Open Table, the event features live music, board games and talks from community groups on how you can better enmesh yourself in your local neighbourhood. The event is part of a lunch program series that originated in 2023 and incorporates community information sharing and skill-building through workshops on nutrition, minimisation of food waste, sustainability, grocery budgeting, cooking with limited kitchen resources, and pickling vegetables. Fed Square, May 24–25 The two-day, family-friendly Korea Festival celebrates all things synonymous with Korean culture. Popular Korean children's games made internationally famous by Squid Game but without the violent repercussions? Tick. K-pop showdowns where high-energy performances and powerhouse vocals come head to head? Tick. Kimbap-making classes? Tick. Coinciding with the festival is the Korean Film Festival, taking place at ACMI over two consecutive weekends and shining a spotlight on world-leading Korean cinema. Shows by male breakdancing troupe Saengdonggam Crew, taekwondo demonstrations, Korean cosmetic booths and food stalls selling the full gamut of Korean food, from fried chicken to tteokbokki, round out the festivities.
