A Blog Post about Home, Change, Growth and the little things that ground us to who we are.
To Set the Mood:
Here’s a self-curated Kiwi playlist—some of the music I personally hold as quintessentially summer.
To Set the Scene:
I’m sitting at a turquoise-colored booth in Chocolate Days Café, Days Bay, New Zealand. It’s 2 PM. The sun is at full blast, seagulls call overhead, and good music plays in the background. A northerly breeze drifts through the open window, carrying the sounds of summer.
I’m back in New Zealand, and it feels surreal to be here, singing my first proper bel canto role, performing with past mentor, speaking on national radio, writing this blog about life, music, and whatever else comes to mind. It’s been almost exactly 12 years since I left—since a shy but quietly emboldened Southlander (as we from the Southland region call ourselves) stepped onto a plane and headed for the bustling laneways of Melbourne.
Twelve Years. Where Did That Go?
Well… I can probably answer that.
The “Who Am I?” Years (aka The “What on Earth Am I Doing?” Years):
Earn a Bachelor of Music in three years—basically a degree in screaming occasionally beautifully.
Spend a year touring regional Australia, singing G&S to enthusiastic townsfolk across QLD, NSW, VIC and SA.
Enter the world of banking (yes, you read that correctly). Start in a call center, move to HR, develop a worrying level of excitement about superannuation.
Youthful Relationship #1—cute, doomed and probably underscored by a moody jazz soundtrack.
Attempt No. 1 at moving to Italy. Romantic, brave, enlightening… and ultimately a bit of a logistical nightmare when Pandemic hit
The COVID Years (aka The “Character Building” Years, aka “Oof”):
Return to Australia (not exactly the Italian dream).
Relationship #2: Older, wiser, but apparently not that wise.
More banking (because nothing screams “opera singer” like working in Fin Crime).
Another heartbreak—more mature, less flailing.
Creative spark? Missing. Purpose? Also missing?
One audition. One job offer. A three year plan out the window!
The Actual “Who Am I?” Years (aka “Oh, So This is what you want” Years):
Europe, Attempt No. 2—this time, I actually stay.
Austria! Where everyone assumes I’m German and I pretend to know what they’re saying with copious ‘Ja, Genau’s’.
Chorus gig, auditions, an agent, a growing sense that this whole singing thing might actually be working out.
La Bohème in Canada—because nothing says “bohemian Parisian dream” like summer in Montreal.
Relationship #3: The one that felt like the real deal. Big. Thrilling. Full of life and potential but ultimately and unexpectedly… doomed.
Freelancing, auditions, self inflicted resilience bootcamp. My entire existence is now a mix of adrenaline, existential crises, and the odd smattering of applause.
Stay tuned for The “Am I actually an Adult Now?” Years….
Phwoar!
And now, here I am—sitting at a little table in a little Kiwi café, a half-eaten caramel slice staring at me, me giving it the side-eye back knowing that I shouldn’t have eaten it…a flat white beside it, waiting to head to a Sitzprobe for Bellini’s Il Pirata.
How can it be so easy to reduce a decade to a a few bullet points? It makes me think about how much has changed—not just in myself, but in my perspective, my social circles, my country even. So… lets dive a bit into that, shall we?
Then & Now
When I left New Zealand, I was 18, freshly graduated from James Hargest High School, a year and a half overdue in my desire to be out of school. I remember myself as a kid with no real style, a chronic sloucher, painfully conscious of the space I took up amongst those that were around me.
My wardrobe? A mismatch of ill-fitting jeans, bad t-shirts, even worse hoodies, and a haircut that looked like a cross between a hedgehog and a mini mohawk.
That kid made a last-minute decision to change his university of choice—from the New Zealand School of Music in Wellington to the University of Melbourne. The official reason? Better teaching, better university, better city. The real reason? A deep, unshakable need to start fresh, to be somewhere completely new.
Zachary. From quiet suburban Wilton Street, Invercargill. The boy who grew up within a ten-minute walk of all his schools. Who spent his childhood playing violin, piano, and singing. Who baked with his mum, begrudgingly helping his dad with gardening, used said homemade baking as bartering tools, the kid who stayed over at his aunts’ and uncles’ houses with cousins on the weekends, time spent wandering around the farmland of Southland and Wallacetown, biking around with friends, racing on his scooter that had a chronically wonky front wheel, with his cat Tigger traversing neighbourhood fences constantly beating him to the corner dairy on Salford Street…This boy, who had quietly, and with all honesty, subconsciously dreamed of a big life, made the decision that would shape his future.
He didn’t know it then, but the move wasn’t just about escaping the familiar—it was about stepping into the unknown with a quiet kind of bravery.
Now, Sitting Here…
I look up from my iPad and catch my own reflection in the screen. A man. Thirty. Not the greatest angle—full view of the hereditary Anglo-Saxon double chin and that one persistent nose hair that never seems to vanish staring back at me.
This man is dressed in comfy, travel-friendly clothing , all from one store - Theory—clothes he bought in a city he never thought he’d see, let alone be totally familiar with: New York. Wearing once-snazzy, now well-travelled white sneakers bought in Toulouse, a city he had visited on a trip in his early twenties thinking that would be the once and only time he’d go to France, now finding himself working in that city on multiple occasions over the next few years, and planning to LIVE a Parisian life in the near future.
But this guy—this guy is a man with a completely different mindset on life to that 18 year old.
Unbeknownst to him at the time, that 18-year-old made a decision that shaped the person I am today—and the person I am still becoming. And that decision? It was the first of many. The beginning of a pattern I would come to know well—the leap. The willingness to jump, even with fear and doubt, knowing that in the end, it would always lead me toward this big life that I am still striving to build.
Now, sitting here, listening to Bic Runga playing softly in the background, I see someone who, already, has lived, who has loved, who has lost. Someone who has built resilience through lockdowns, distractions, and delays. Someone who, despite everything in between, has emerged stable, solid, well-rounded, approachable, empathetic, open to change and growth, and excited to see and know more of the world.
Someone who still wrestles with inner shyness and embarrassment, who still doubts himself, who still compares. But… even now—at an age when we think we’re supposed to have everything figured out—I look at my life and see more disarray than I did at 18…but… am all the more together amount this chaos because of all the experiences that have led me here.
I had wonderful advice from a great New Zealand tenor Keith Lewis when I studied at the NZ Singing School in 2015:
“Stay curious.” he said
This simple piece of advice has been something that has stuck with me, like the Robert Frost poem, I often share this little jewel of wisdom with others in the hope of inspiring a similar thought. For me, that thought is of a life that is focussed on experiencing, learning, and growing. One that leads to depth, stability and endless curiosity.
Coming Home
Maybe that’s why coming home feels different now. Because it’s not about looking back—it’s about seeing how far I’ve come.
Having been quite a number of years since I returned to NZ, there are so many small things that I forgot. Who would have thought that a self service machine asking ‘Do you need any bags?’ in that bright, genuine New Zealand accent would put such a ridiculously large smile on my face. Or, the sound of crickets and cicadas (bugs that drew me absolutely crazy as a child, to the point I would spend the long summer afternoons trying to get the to leave our backyard alone), that when you go for a walk, everyone will make eye contact and say ‘Hi’ or ‘Good Morning’ and even more so… the Tui’s song and the nocturnal Morepork (a native and tiny owl from NZ) sending out its ‘Morepork’ at night…
There’s something about being a foreigner in another country—you spend so much time immersing yourself in the culture around you that you almost forget your own. I have to admit, I forgot that here in New Zealand, it’s perfectly normal to have a cheeky, quick-witted exchange with a stranger. That when someone asks, “How’s your day been?” they actually mean it—it’s not just small talk, but genuine friendliness. These simple parts of my culture, the ones that lovers and strangers alike have pointed out as unusual, are just second nature to me. It’s just how we are. It’s just home.
As a creative, I often forget to do this - despite being a chronic ruminator. A recent conversation with a new colleague here in NZ reminded me of it. We spend so much time frantically focused on what we aren’t—what we need to be, to do, to become. And that isn’t wrong necessarily—it’s part of the job, part of growth, part of how to utilise our critical thinking to push ourselves forward.
But, I feel it’s important to be able to step back, and be able to see the journey, and what it is we have actually achieved. This was one thing I learned from working alongside the Executives back in my days working at National Australia Bank - Having an eagle’s eye view of a situation is the only way to see what truly needs to change.
And the most exciting part?
I’m still on my way.
Great story