What Wonders a Little Stability Can Do...

Hello lovely people who read these blogs (Hi, Mum),

It's been a while since I've written one of these posts, and it's been interesting to notice why that is. But before we get to that—yes, another deep thought process from yours truly—let’s start with a little update on what’s been happening since my last post.

Since coming back to Australia, I’ve found myself in a very blissful state. This may have something to do with spending two months of my time here in South Australia, tucked into the Adelaide Hills, staying with a lovely friend’s parents in their self-constructed home surrounded by beautiful native flora and fauna near Stirling, which, in my humble opinion must host the best pub in the country.

My time there was vital: calm, grounding, and offering a stability I haven’t really had the opportunity to experience since beginning this chaotic freelance… whatever-it-is lifestyle.

Those two months in Adelaide were full: being surrounded by friends, finding the first real routine I’ve had in ages, enjoying rehearsals for Merry Widow and Roméo et Juliette, exploring Adelaide’s finest cafés, discovering the new phenomenon that is a “Magic” coffee, and experiencing asthma attacks on the algae-ridden beaches of Henley and Glenelg (10/10 would NOT recommend). I got to be around for baby showers, BBQs, and more—plus thrown into the mix were a couple of well-received auditions, the first I’ve done since leaving Australia three years ago.

All this followed by a month in Melbourne, being with family and old friends, reconnecting with people I’ve missed, and enjoying the novelty of having a life that felt somewhat settled again. Let’s just say there were some very lovely additional moments, and we’ll leave it at that.

What really stands out from these three months is how much routine, stability, and familiarity can shift a person. I don’t think I realised quite how much I’d been operating in survival mode the past few years: the constant movement, the precariousness (fun, sure, but precarious), the culture differences, the lack of long-term friendships in close proximity, the financial roulette of freelance life… all of that fades a bit when you’re suddenly surrounded by a familiar culture, a familiar language, and people who’ve known you longer than a visa extension.

It was a bit of a shock to the system, in the best way, to be reminded of the benefits of stability. It’s given me a renewed drive to find a proper base in Europe and end this ongoing floating-around-ness I seem to have made into a personality trait.

And from a career perspective, something else really struck me while I was home. This was the first time I’ve properly seen how people back in Australia and New Zealand respond to singers who’ve gone and done the Europe stint. There’s this interesting shift that happens — suddenly you’re spoken about a little differently, treated with a bit more curiosity, maybe even a touch more seriousness. It’s not that you’ve magically become a better singer by getting on a long-haul flight, but there’s this industry-wide understanding of what it means to pack up your life and try to carve out something in a completely different artistic ecosystem.

It’s almost like Europe becomes this unofficial stamp of commitment. People assume you must be working hard (you are), must be hustling (definitely), must be growing in ways that only come from being thrown into unfamiliar systems (true), and that somehow this proves something about you. There’s a certain validation that seems to come with it — not necessarily from ego, but from how people engage with your work once you’ve made that leap.

What’s funny is that when you’re actually in Europe, you don’t feel particularly special. You’re surrounded by hundreds of singers doing exactly the same thing, and everyone’s just trying to survive the same audition circuits, the same language barriers, the same early-morning trains to theatres in towns you can’t pronounce. But back home, there’s this sense of, “Oh, you’re really doing it.” It’s not romanticised — people in the industry know it’s hard, know it’s unstable, know it’s often a bit ridiculous — but they still recognise it as a sign of seriousness. A sign that you’ve stepped into the bigger pond and are willing to swim, even if it means swallowing half the water along the way.

And seeing that perspective from the outside for the first time was oddly grounding. It made me realise that, despite all the chaos of the last few years, something about this path does resonate. The effort doesn’t disappear into thin air. People notice. Maybe even appreciate it more than you realise while you’re living it.

It doesn’t change the day-to-day reality, of course, but it does add a layer of meaning to the whole “float around Europe until something sticks” phase. It reminded me that the experience itself — the fact of going, trying, learning, failing, trying again — carries weight, not just overseas but at home too. And that’s been a strangely comforting thing to recognise.

Well, thats that! Off to get my bag checked in for my flight - next stop Zurich followed by a very busy December taking me to Bern, Paris, Bordeaux, Nantes, Mirepoix, Perpignan, Toulouse and who knows where else!

Thanks for sticking around for these ramblings. More soon (probably).

Z