Music and Mood

A friend wrote this blog post, and asked me to post it anonymously. I posted it on my other blog, ‘The Art of the Session’, because it talks about how making music  (particularly with other people) can lift mood. But it belongs here too, because for this friend music is a ‘place’ they can come to for empowerment, encouragement and enjoyment to help combat depression. I’m inspired by this story, and honoured that my friend chose to share it through my blogs. I hope these honest and thoughtful reflections resonate with you too.

I suffer from depression and learning to play guitar and sing has made a significant improvement in my quality of life as a result.

Mostly my struggle with mood is low level and being the constant companion that it is, I’ve learned to recognise its onset all too well. When I can feel the black dog of depression nipping at my heels, I’ll pick up my guitar, play and sing a few tunes and almost invariably feel a lift in my mood.

It doesn’t seem to matter what the songs are, or what they are about, I just feel better afterwards.

Others who suffer from mental illness have related to me that it’s saved their life. I’m fortunate, thanks to cognitive behavioural therapy, medication, exercise and counseling with a qualified psychologist (there’s a lot in this sentence for good reason), I rarely have suicidal thoughts. I must say I can wholeheartedly relate to its life saving power.

One of the challenges with depression is rumination. And when that rumination becomes a vortex of inner thoughts, spiraling worse and worse, music is a great distraction. For me, the guitar works out well because I choose more complicated pieces to play, and I memorise fully all the songs I learn. The combination of these is intricate enough to take my mind off the ruminations, once that cycle is broken, it’s a lot easier.

I’m the accidental singer. I never expected to sing when I started playing, I thought it was too hard, I didn’t have the voice, etc. etc. My wife sang along to the first song I learned. She would have sung it 50 or more times when quite by accident I found myself singing along to the chorus and thought to myself, this isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Now singing is as pleasurable as the playing of the guitar and that’s quite an accomplishment.

I exercise daily (walking) and a bit over a year ago I decided to start singing while I walked. That damn rumination thing again. It’s been a fantastic experience. It forced me to get out of my comfort zone and keep singing even when others in the neighbourhood were nearby and interestingly that’s been an encouraging experience in the positive affirmations I’ve received about how others enjoy seeing someone willing to sing in public.

The best part of singing out loud while exercising is it stops me thinking about the day, the problems to solve, the unresolved things, the worries, the fears, the complications, all that.

My advice, don’t just play, sing! Sing loud! Sing strong. It’s fun.  And it’s good for your voice as well.

Another aspect of music and mood is the social side of music. We are amazingly fortunate in the SE Queensland area to have an active community of music clubs and musical gatherings. My overwhelming experience with engaging with others is a strong ethos of enthusiasm and encouragement. Making live music with others is FUN.

I remember the first time I led a song at a jam session. I was full of nerves yet excited to be progressing to playing in front of others. I got about three measures into the introduction of the song and stuffed it up and had to start all over. Then I made it about four measures before I had to start all over again. On the third go I made it all the way through the song. The others in the room were full of nothing but enthusiasm and encouragement to me. Hallelujah!

With clubs, gatherings and festivals, there are many opportunities to be involved in the local music community.  The festivals have a real family atmosphere, kids running and playing, often pets are around, and you don’t have to walk far to hear music being played in the camp grounds.  It’s a throwback to a feeling of village / community.

Many of these events are run by community groups and volunteers. This provides lots of opportunities to socialise and that helps you feel better about yourself. One club I’m involved with has a group that does music dementia therapy, playing to dementia sufferers in nursing homes. I can tell you it feels very good to know my volunteering for the club contributes to such philanthropy.

My wife has commented many times how glad she is that I picked up the guitar. The places it’s taken us, the people we’ve met, the experiences we’ve had all enriched by that decision.

With all those positives, surely there’s a downside?

It takes a bit of effort. Not that much really, but effort all the same. I started playing 15 minutes a day. My fingers hurt so much I couldn’t play for more than 5 minutes at a time, damn steel strings! So I’d play while waiting for my cup of tea to steep. I like my tea strong!

It took a few months of stick-to-it-ive-ness that wasn’t enjoyable. Once I got to where I could play a song all the way through fairly well, it started to become enjoyable and before long I was able to practice a half hour, and more daily.

If the guitar is too hard, consider a ukulele. Much easier, nylon strings are nowhere near as painful and the chords are so easy. And they have such a happy fun sound. Plus so much of what you learn can be transferred to the guitar.

Back story on my depression

Until I came down with depression some 15 or so years ago, I thought it was just a matter of the depressed person thinking differently, they just had to snap out of it with happier thoughts.

How wrong I was. I suffered from a major depressive episode as a result of my exposure to a toxic work / corporate project and just wanted to curl up in a ball and stay away from all other people. At that stage I was barely functioning in my work and personal life.

Unfortunately workplace discrimination towards those suffering from mental illness is alive and well in this day and age, hence my decision to keep this posting anonymous. It’s important the subject is discussed as openly as possible more and more as we progress in society.

Thankfully, with the help of my loving family and a qualified psychologist, not to mention medication, I was able to recover full work and family functionality.

Mostly now I suffer from low level depression. I’ve had another significant depressive episode after surgery for a life threatening illness in recent years which has resolved back to low level depression.

Besides music, one other approach I’ve learned about depression that’s made a big difference is as follows…. People often catastrophise bad moods to their detriment. We can be guilty of imaging our whole life is a failure just because we are struggling with one narrow aspect of it.

Look at how you deal with your best days, we tend to say things like “I’m having a great day”.  Yet when it’s a bad day, exaggeration sets in.

For me, learning to limit my bad day to just a bad day has helped a lot. I’ll say to myself “I’m having a bad day”. And I leave it at that. No catastrophising, no exaggerating. Vocalising it aloud, and to loved ones, helps as well.

Back story on my musical ability

It had been a life-long dream of mine to play the guitar and a bit over five years ago I decided to pick it up and it’s become a mainstay of my life since. I play every day and have progressed from absolute beginner to playing a variety of open mic performances at clubs and festivals.

My last encouragement to you is don’t focus on how long it will take you to learn to play.  That time will go by whether you pick up a guitar or not. Keep your goals specific and simple.

Has learning to play music cured my depression? Not at all. If only. Mental illness is complicated and more is being discovered about it all the time. Depression is a struggle. Thankfully music has made that struggle far easier for me.

Hope to jam with you soon around a campfire!


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Quests and voyages

It’s a truism that we travel, not only to encounter magical places and astonishing people, but to encounter ourselves anew – to deepen our understanding of who we are. Travel is always an exploration of the self, as much as the world.

I’m delighted to be collaborating with Createplace and the Queensland Writers Centre to run a workshop on travel memoir, as part of the Writing for Wellbeing series. I’ll be introducing techniques that I use regularly as a memoirist and travel writer, and encouraging participants to delve more deeply into their own stories of travel and adventure.

The workshop is called ‘Quests and Voyages: Writing about where we’ve been and what we’ve learned’. It will be held in Brisbane, at the State Library of Queensland, from 2-5pm on Sunday 8th October. You can book, and/or check out the other workshops in the series, here.

Wishing you all the best on R U OK Day? 2017.

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The Nature Conservancy Essay Competition

The Nature Conservancy is offering its fourth biennial nature writing prize, closing 27th January. The Nature Conservancy generously publishes the winning entries on its website. I highly recommend checking them out.nature-writing-prize_the-nature-conservancy-australia-banner


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Travel story – Isles of Scilly

Hey all, the October issue of TravelTalk is out, with my story on the Isles of Scilly. Worth reading the story just for the photos – yes, the place really is that beautiful. Scilly Seal Snorkelling

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Walking the Eco Talk

It’s the biggest dilemma in environmental tourism: how not to destroy what you’ve come to enjoy. People learn to appreciate and value the natural world when they experience it; but creating  infrastructure and hosting visitors potentially puts ecologies at risk. Coral

Eco-tourism might sound like the answer – carefully minimising human impacts on wild places.  But how do you know if a so-called “eco-lodge” is as environmentally friendly as its advertising makes out? In Australia, the answer’s simple: accreditation.


Ecotourism Australia is a non-profit organisation which aims to inspire environmentally sustainable and culturally responsible tourism. According to Ecotourism Australia:

“Ecotourism is ecologically sustainable tourism with a primary focus on experiencing natural areas that fosters environmental and cultural understanding, appreciation and conservation”.

Advanced Ecotourism Accreditation is awarded to Australia’s most innovative tours, attractions, cruises and accommodation – those that lead the way in contributing to the conservation of the environment, and helping local communities.

To learn how a business achieves Advanced Ecotourism Accreditation, I visited Bloomfield Lodge in the Daintree rainforest. Nowhere else in the world do two World Heritage sites sit side by side: the Lodge is surrounded by the Daintree Rainforest, with the Great Barrier Reef just across the bay. Eco-friendly practices are vital here, and Bloomfield Lodge sets a high standard of thoughtful, sustainable resource management.

aerial view of Bloomfield Lodge small


Due to limited space, solar power isn’t viable yet for the whole Lodge, though it’s used to heat the pool and run the phone system. Energy use is managed as efficiently as possible by employing energy-efficient light bulbs, and path lights with movement sensors. The main Lodge lights are turned off at night. The accommodation has been carefully designed to take advantage of the natural shade provided by the rainforest canopy, and to capture sea breezes, so there’s no need for air conditioning. Breezy veranda small

Veranda view I small


Emissions are monitored using a calculator provided by the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority. Vehicles and vessels are serviced regularly to maintain optimal fuel efficiency. Vessels use low-emission four-stroke outboard motors. Guests are encouraged to offset their travel emissions through organisations such as Climate Friendly, and to support tourism operators who have achieved Ecotourism Australia accreditation.


Bloomfield Lodge isn’t connected to mains water. Water is provided by eight rainwater tanks with a capacity of 500,000 litres. Additional water is drawn from an onsite bore, with a licence issued by the Department of Natural Resources and Mines (DNRM).

Pool area Bloomfield Lodge midday smallGardens are mulched and managed so that no irrigation is required. In a recent refit of bathrooms, low-flow showers, dual toilet flush and tap aerators have been installed. Guests are asked to conserve water where possible. Linen is changed at guests’ request only, to minimise unnecessary washing.


The Lodge has a policy of recycling everything that can be recycled. Kitchen scraps are composted, garden matter is mulched. Glass, cans, plastic, and printer cartridges are recycled through the appropriate channels. Old newspapers go to the Young Animal Protection Society for animal bedding. The Lodge reduces paper consumption wherever possible: key marketing activities are conducted online. Outgoing emails carry a no-print email footer, and the office uses recycled paper.


Bathroom I smallerBloomfield Lodge uses environmentally-friendly cleaning products which are compatible with the waste water treatment system. Spa and pool water treatments are chlorine-free and environmentally safe.


Rainforest walks are restricted to narrow trails, clearly marked. Visitors on walks are usually accompanied by a guide, who provides education about native flora and fauna. Guides are deeply protective of the environment, and encourage guests to be sensitive to their surroundings at all times.

Tree with purple flowers smallerRainforest bridge


Lodge staff play an active role in monitoring change and the general health of the Great Barrier Reef, reporting anything unusual to the Marine Park Authority. All touring, fishing, snorkelling and whale-watching activities are carried out in line with Great Barrier Reef zoning regulations and relevant codes of practice.

Green turtleGuest education

The guides are thoroughly informed and entertaining presenters, and the library is well-stocked with reference books should guests wish to enquire more deeply into specific environmental questions. Guests can also choose to support the local Turtle Conversation facility. It’s the aim of Bloomfield Lodge that all visitors leave with a greater understanding and appreciation of the natural environment, and how to protect it.

Guide on rainforest walkLandscape darter medium

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Pilgrim to Skellig Michael

Steps and ocean smallTo be honest, munching white pudding for breakfast in Moorings and contemplating my imminent visit to Skellig Michael, I wasn’t thinking about sixth century monks. I was thinking about my head for heights – or lack of it. Six hundred steps doesn’t sound too bad but I’d seen pictures – the “steps” looked more like rock ladders, heading straight for heaven. A sign on Portmagee pier warned visitors to consider the climb “mountaineering” and not to attempt it in wet or windy weather.  The statement, both bald and vague, that “There have been fatalities” was chilling. Was I up to this?

At the next table four Irishwomen were discussing their visit the day before. “Look at your feet – not up, not down,” they advised. One gave me the staff she’d had the forethought to take. “It’s worth it,” she assured me, scanning my face and patting my hand.

The island of Skellig Michael, about 12 kilometres off the Iveragh Peninsula, is part of the mountain range that makes the Ring of Kerry so spectacular. Skellig Michael is the pinnacle of an underwater mountain – and that’s exactly what it looked like as our boats converged on Blind Man’s Cove, one of only three landing-places among the sheer cliffs of the coastline. Despite the sunny almost windless day and calm sea it took all our boatman’s concentration to bring Shelluna safely alongside the concrete pier.

Boat journey leaving Skellig Michael small“It’s a mountain,” agreed Katherine the guide, meeting us at the foot of the South Steps. “Treat it like one.” She had two priorities for us: safety, and understanding the place we’d come to. “Pilgrims came here for hundreds of years. You guys are pilgrims too.”

As I started up the South Steps I began to understand what she meant. My fellow-visitors were buzzing: eagerness mixed with awe. The mountain demanded respect. The steps were every bit as steep and exposed as they looked in the pictures: rough, uneven, each slanting in a different direction. I tried to imagine the monks carrying these slabs, or standing precariously on the almost-vertical slope to hack at the bedrock. The steps are maintained by the guides but there’s only so much you can do in the interests of safety without destroying history. Hand-rails on the most exposed sections helped, but I was careful to follow the advice of the ladies at breakfast: sitting down was the only way to appreciate the view.

Steps to nowhere smallIn every direction it was dizzying. The ocean, breaking against cliffs far beneath my feet, sparkled in the sun and stretched forever. The crags overhead, lichened boulders springing from beds of short green grass speckled with yellow and white flowers, loomed against the blue sky and seemed to tilt eternally forward.

I had the panicky sensation that in this place gravity wasn’t strong enough. Any moment my body might leave the ground, free-floating as an untethered balloon, and be blown into the sky – or dropped into the sea. This was true vertigo – the familiar irrational urge to jump from a bridge onto a moving train or the spinny feeling of looking down a spiral stairwell paled in comparison.

Monastery cell on the edge smallKatherine had warned us, “There’s something about this place. Experienced mountaineers get disoriented here.” And I wondered if this vertiginous sensation was the real appeal for the monks – maybe it confirmed the place as truly close to heaven. They wrote accounts of “angels and demons fighting overhead” which modern-day scholars interpret as mere metaphorical descriptions of wild Atlantic storms. But gripped by the spooky sense of unseen forces pulling at my mind and body, even on a sunny day, I wasn’t so sure.

I remembered a fascinating anecdote from a guidebook The Skellig Story. In 1945 two friends visited Skellig Michael. One climbed down to visit the lighthouse while the other inspected the monastery. The lighthouse keepers flatly refused the visitor’s request to stay the night, telling him the island was haunted. When he rejoined his friend at the monastery he found him shaking and anxious to leave, claiming “something” had tried to push him over the cliff below the oratory. Without believing in ghosts, I was also now doing battle with “something”.

Fortunately Skellig Michael is well-provided with one thing guaranteed to distract an anxious climber from the struggle with vertigo: comical seabirds. “Hope you see lots of pumpkins,” a well-meaning lady had wished me, in the Limerick bus station, when told I was heading for Skellig Michael. “Pumpkins?” I asked, puzzled. “Little birds that eat fish,” she nodded.

It was nesting season for pumpkins (aka puffins) so whenever I passed a hole in the ground it would emit the sound of a small lawnmower. The nesting birds might growl to warn trespassers away, but those outside posed calmly enough for close-up photos. Their triangular eye-markings made them look friendly, mournful and bewildered all at once.

Best Puffin Shot smallThree puffins small

Monastery Four Cells smallPuffins aside, it was a relief to gain the safety of the little monastic enclosure. This ledge of comparatively flat ground is artificial – again, back-breaking work by the monks created the terraces which allowed them to build here. Despite its elevation the monastery is the most sheltered spot on the island – the massive summit, towering south-west, bears the brunt of the prevailing winds. A drystone wall, built without mortar, surrounds a number of “beehive” structures in a remarkable state of preservation.

“The sea’s protected them,” explained another guide. “On the mainland, similar monasteries have been knocked down, ploughed over, the stones reused as building material.” You’d have to be pretty motivated to raid this place – though the Vikings did it several times, on one occasion carrying off the Abbot and starving him to death.

Church and graveyard small Cell doorway smallerDucking in and out of the five stone huts, believed to be where the monks slept in twos and threes, I marvelled again at people choosing to live in such an inhospitable place. In winter especially it must have been cold, dark, and wild. A tiny graveyard like a raised garden bed marks the last resting place of at least thirty monks. A relatively modern gravestone lies within the nearby remains of a much later medieval church: Patrick and William Callaghan, sons of a lighthouse keeper, were buried here in 1868 and 1869 aged two and four. The grave is another reminder of the loneliness of this island, where lighthouse men and their families lived until full automation of the Skellig light in 1987.

Monks and lighthouse keepers, it occurred to me, had a lot in common. Both subjected themselves to the privations of life on this island for the good of others. “The monks felt themselves to be at war,” explained the guide. “They were praying for humankind, trying to defeat the forces of evil. As spiritual soldiers mere physical hardship was irrelevant.”

Oratory smallMonastery high cross smallCertainly nothing about the monastery seems designed for comfort or decoration. A larger hut, probably the communal kitchen and dining room, faces a boat-shaped oratory, built over an earlier shrine marked with a high cross. Outside the main complex are a smaller oratory and various outbuildings. A lower terrace, known as the Monks Garden, was where peas, beans and vegetables were grown. Elsewhere on the island are the remains of single-person hermitages: apparently for some ‘Exiles of Christ’ their monastery, 12 kilometres from land and 200 metres above sea-level, wasn’t remote enough!

The guide was keen to make us understand the cosmological worldview that sustained this monastery and others like it throughout the British Isles. He explained the Celtic concept of liminality. Sacred places were those where two worlds met: water and land (islands and beaches), land and sky (mountain tops and cliff edges), surface and underground (wells, springs, caves). Celts believed at liminal places like these the veil between worlds was thinner than normal. Pagan beliefs flowed into Christian ones, and the mysterious “other realm” of spirits and fairies became the heavenly realm of God and His angels.

Little Skellig with Skellig M and breaking wave small “Early Christians in Ireland were aware of the Desert Fathers – people like St Anthony of Egypt, who spent his life as a hermit in the desert,” said the guide. “Ireland’s desert was the sea. In the sixth century Skellig Michael was the edge of the known world, so the monks were pushing the boundaries – leaving behind the comforts and distractions of human society, to get closer to God.”

It occurred to me that today’s guides, like the monks and lighthouse keepers before them, live and work on the island, and experience its loneliness and stark beauty when the visitors have gone. Being custodians of the monastery puts them in another liminal spot – between past and present. I asked what that was like. “It’s a special place,” the guide said simply.

I remembered the waitress at Moorings rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t catch me spending one night on that spooky island,” she said emphatically. “But the guides are like the monks – they’re all into meditation and that.”

Seagull on a wall smallIt was time to leave the guides to their solitude: we’d been firmly instructed to be back at the pier by 1:30pm and to leave plenty of time for the perilous descent. Pressing my gift staff into active service and pausing frequently to snap puffins voguing in burrow doorways, I regained the safety of Lighthouse Road in half an hour. Wandering back to the boat I chatted with fellow-visitors and Office of Public Works workmen. Everyone used the same quiet, inadequate words: “It’s a special place.”

Little Skellig serious gannets smallAfter the heart-thumping ascent and the sense of accumulated centuries in that village of sunlit stone, being back on the boat felt anticlimactic. Nearby Little Skellig put on a wildlife show to rival the puffins, offering nesting gannets in their thousands, a trio of basking seals, and a magnificent sunfish waving a lazy fin above the water. But as the boat skimmed back to Portmagee I felt like a pilgrim: I’d been to a place between worlds, and could never be quite the same again.

Steps old womans face smallerSunset Portmagee small

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Traveller or tourist?

As a travel writer, I’m acutely aware of the different connotations of travel versus tourism.

The word “tTacky-Tourist-Costumeourist” conjures up visions of harried and camera-bedecked list-tickers, scrambling on and off buses, madly snapping self/friend/partner in front of The Famous Sight before rushing to the next stop on the itinerary.

Travel, by contrast, is not about the tales you tell and the pictures you show when you’re safely back home. It’s about bringing your whole self to a place – who you are, the sum total of your experiences so far – and being willing to be changed by this journey. Embracing the place with all your senses, not just registering the photogenic surface. And being conscious of how your presence changes the place too: in a small way or a large one, temporarily or for good.

The demands of travel writing, however, don’t always include personal reflection, consideration of the bigger picture, or a real communication between writer and reader about the experience – beyond what the accommodation’s like, what the food’s like, and what activities are on offer.

So I’ve decided to embark on a series of posts about my recent travel experiences, from a more personal perspective than my published articles generally allow. I hope these posts will be interesting and enjoyable for readers, and that you’ll feel free to comment and share your experiences – of the same places, geographically speaking, and of similar experiences in different places.

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The Next Big Thing – I answer 10 questions

Hey, pop over to Fictioncraft to join in the fun of The Next Big Thing. I was tagged by Kathy George, and have in turn tagged Kate Zahnleiter. Authors answer 10 questions about their current or upcoming novels. I’m talking about my YA novel, Still Water. Enjoy!

Ocean channel between mossy rocks

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West Cork Literary Festival

Cover of WQ Magazine Feb 13I’m back! Much of the latter half of 2012 was spent travelling – first on Duyfken, then to Ireland, then South Africa. While in Ireland I was privileged to attend the wonderful West Cork Literary Festival, where I fell under the spell of poet, voyager and travel memoirist Theo Dorgan. Check out my festival review in the February edition of WQ, and fall in love with Theo here.

“Bantry, a small harbourside town in the far west of Ireland, may not be famed in song and story like Galway or Tipperary, but it stages a spectacular annual gathering of readers and writers.

The story of how an international publishing house and world-class literary festival sprang in West Cork should inspire rural and regional literature-lovers everywhere…”

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Short fiction published in Islet online magazine

Hey folks, I’ve had a short piece published in Islet – check it out here.


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