Fifty poems and essays on the quiet terror of crossing thresholds—creative, personal, inevitable. The maps end, the familiar tools fail, and what’s left is the old way: reading the currents, feeling your way forward. Not everyone goes. But if you do, there’s more out there than you think.

The Alchemy of Taste: Where Chaos Meets Craft

True creativity is a dance between wild intuition and disciplined execution. Mise en place—the sacred art of preparation—meets the untamed energy of the ‘atelier’.

A madman with a hammer, a sculptor with a vision, and the difference between divine inspiration and something merely built. In an age where distraction is currency, what endures? A reflection on Michelangelo’s Pietà, Laszlo Toth’s desecration, and the quiet fate of those who shape marble—or just pour cement.

The Roman bath at my gym is a perfect example of what I call a "fourth place"—a space where you exist alongside others but without the need for social interaction. It's not work, it's not home, and it’s not a place to meet friends or live out the "good life." It’s somewhere you can recharge, alone but not isolated, offering a quiet reprieve from the demands of daily life. Whether it's the hot tub, the bus, or even a post office queue, these spaces let us connect with others in a way that feels effortless and grounding

Modern cities often prioritise efficiency over beauty, but great architecture has always been about more than function. True civic wealth comes from structures built with vision—cathedral thinking that values long-term inspiration over short-term gains. A city that aspires to significance must embrace imagination, creating spaces that endure and uplift.

Many chase success while unknowingly silencing their deepest desires. In therapy, I guide clients to confront this misalignment—rewriting goals, embracing folly, and recognising where their ambitions serve or sabotage them. True fulfilment isn’t in external achievements but in honouring what genuinely lights us up. The cost of ignoring it is steep.

Creativity isn’t steady—it’s fractal. You can go from creating nothing to being prolific in a short time. This poem came from a moment in a French alpine spa, where I was lost in thought, unable to be present. A young man with Down syndrome, however, simply soaked in the sun, fully in the moment. That experience cemented for me that wisdom and intellect aren’t well correlated. Thinking and doing should always be subordinate to being. If you're stuck in your head, remember: feeling the sun on your face is a simple, profound joy. You don’t need the Alps for that.

This poem explores the inestimable value of true artistic vision—the ability to see and feel beyond the surface, to capture what words often fail to express. Inspired by Caitlin Winner’s work, it delves into the deep, almost psychedelic nature of childhood perception and the role of artists in preserving that wisdom. More than just an aesthetic object, great art functions as a portal, a heritage passed down through generations. This is why talented painters should price their work more than your average car- good paintings have the power to return us to ourselves. Long after the new shiny vehicle in your garage has been scrapped

Frank Hinder’s Flight into Egypt sparked this reflection on the deep, primal wounds we carry—father wounds, mother wounds, or both. True healing isn’t a shortcut to transcendence; it’s a brutal, necessary climb. Those who make it become Sherpas for others. Are you ready for the ascent?

The slow terror of beginning again isn’t in the first rush of return or the grind of rebuilding skill—it’s in the eerie moment when everything should feel right, but doesn’t. When making becomes mechanical, meaning drifts, and resistance whispers: you have nothing to say.

When intellect and willpower fail, transformation demands something deeper. Not more pontification from a psychologist, not more medication from a psychiatrist—but a visitation from your future self. Step into a psychological DeLorean, hit 88 mph, and see what’s ahead. A ghost of what’s to come, offering truth, warning, and direction.

In TACOBET, the story of Richard Russell’s unauthorized flight over Puget Sound offers a powerful glimpse into the human need for freedom and escape. As a baggage handler with no flying experience, he took control of a plane, performed barrel rolls, and crashed into the water. While the event barely made a dent in the news cycle, it captured something much deeper—a sense of longing, risk, and the allure of breaking free.

But the real story here isn’t just about escaping. It’s about what happens after we take the leap. Russell’s crash is a stark reminder that while it’s easy to burn things down, the real challenge is building something that lasts. Freedom isn’t just about flying away—it’s about creating something meaningful and enduring in the process.

Philip Larkin’s infamous poem cuts deep, but is it the whole truth? In this piece, I unpack the brilliance—and blind spots—of his words, particularly his final stanza. Fatherhood is messy, raw, and at times, infuriating. But it’s also one of life’s greatest teachers. Larkin never entered the fray, never stood in a Coles car park on the edge of losing it. His poem is a beautifully crafted defence mechanism, but I’ve seen parents break free from that cynicism. This is a call to reconsider: not everything is poetry, mate. Some things—like raising kids—are far more profound.

The good life and the deep life. Why do these things seem to be mutually exclusive in our beautiful land of Australia?

Australia offers an unmatched lifestyle, but beneath the sun-drenched ease lies a deeper cultural and spiritual void. While we've built a beautiful, functional society, we’ve neglected meaning. True wellbeing isn’t just about comfort—it’s about connection, history, purpose and a sense of the sacred. To thrive, we must venture beyond lifestyle and into something richer.

Men’s groups work in ways that are hard to explain until you’ve been in one. This post pulls from a real conversation where a bloke—wealthy, driven, but struggling—realised his ‘good childhood’ wasn’t so good after all. The group saw it before he did. That’s the power of these spaces: they cut through the bullshit. I talk about trauma, freediving, and how men can learn to go deep without drowning. Vulnerability isn’t optional—it’s survival. And it’s better done in the right room, with the right people, than spilling out at work, home, or online.

We don’t talk about death. Not really. We sidestep it, bury it under productivity, gym sessions, and Instagram highlights. But it lingers—whispering in the quiet hours, in the weight of a child’s sleeping breath, in the knowing that all of this, every perfect and imperfect moment, will end.

This piece isn’t just about mortality—it’s about what it means to live in its shadow. To resist the urge to numb or distract. To stare it down, not with morbid fascination, but with reverence. Because in accepting death, we might just learn how to truly live.

This month, I committed to posting a poem and essay every day, confronting the resistance and self-doubt that often accompany creative work. The process was challenging but transformative, teaching me the value of persistence and the discipline of showing up. Confidence, as I often tell clients, is built through action, and this daily practice became its own proof. Creativity isn’t about striving for perfection; it’s about engaging with the work and rediscovering the joy in the process

This poem reflects a dream about opening a champagne bottle, symbolising feelings of inadequacy and being an outsider. The dream's emotional essence reveals an inner child acting as a fearful, critical tyrant. Many carry such parts, often exhausted from roles they weren't meant to hold. Healing involves compassion, allowing these parts to rest and transform. The inner critic can evolve into a fierce advocate for creativity, with vulnerability and laughter acting as catalysts for this shift.