I’ve spent so long away from SOTM and I have ideas coming out my ears but it’s taken some time to transition back to the inner kingdom of thought that enables me to wrangle them into a digestable format. That’s a novel way of putting it, you might think, but actually I’m stealing it from The Rose Field, the third Book of Dust by Phillip Pullman.

I’m at my family’s bach (holiday house) beside a lake. A place I’ve been coming to since I was a baby. A place my dad came to every summer from the age of 9. It is such a privilege to have a place like this in my history and in my heart. It’s fundamentally grounding. So many of my origin stories are bound up in this place.

We’ve made it. It’s taken me 3 days to write this because it’s December and I’m forty and I’m so. tired.

I’m finding this listicle marathon to be quite a cathartic experience. It’s actually a really nice way to reflect on your life. Highly recommend. Anyway, shit’s getting real now. We’re down to my foundations.

I’m back for night two of this trip down a nostalgic and oft traumatic memory lane. Let’s hit it.

I’ve been trying to narrow down the 40 things* I’ve loved in my 40 years of life. The best way to define “things” in the context of this listicle is: cultural artefacts - books, films, music, TV shows. I had a few games in there initially but they dropped off after I had an epiphany that games consume me, they don’t nourish me. What I wanted from this list was cultural artefacts that have given me comfort, escape, hope, joy, a sense of belonging, a thread of connection with other human beings and/or the world.

Most people who know me are aware that I’m a very committed Formula 1 fan. Committed enough that I’m up at 5am every second Monday to watch a race before work (Southern Hemisphere fans unite in sleep deprivation!) It’s funny being a motorsport fan as a woman. Men usually assume I’m in it for the drivers and don’t have any wheel knowledge. Meanwhile I’m poring over the telemetry and watching strategy deep dives — but don’t worry — this post isn’t about the baseline misogyny within male-dominated sporting fandoms. It wasn’t actually aerodynamics, engines, or babes that got me into F1. It was stories.

I’ve been playing a lot of chess instead of writing because this one has been hard. Whenever I sit down to write, something more pressing comes up, and yet when I’m doing literally anything else (making lunchboxes, walking the dog, showering), this unfolding story is all I think about. It’s infuriating.

I’ve had a full-on, kind of overwhelming week, but here are some things the internet has given me to make up for it.

Years and years ago, I went to an incredible talk by a woman named Sacha Judd called “what you love matters”. It really struck a chord with me, so much so that I still vividly remember parts of it 8 years later. You can read her full explanation of the talk here, but the gist is: people (predominantly young women) who participate in online fandoms have incredible creative and technical skills that the tech industry overlooks because they’ve been honed in service of something socially embarrassing. Think: One Direction, The Lord of the Rings, or My Little Pony.

I’ve had one of those weeks where Spotify just can’t get it right. Everything is off. My AI DJ sucks. My song radios are weak. My finger is tired from hitting the skip button and I’ve been thinking that either I’m in my luteal phase or the algorithm is dumber than I’ve been led to believe. Or both. I thought our digital overlords were supposed to be observing our every move and adapting in order to keep us plugged in?

I’ve been listening to the new Florence + the Machine album and it’s soooo witchy and intense and majestic that I wanted to know more, so I read this interview in the Guardian. There are many nuggets in the piece that I’m obsessed with, like, “I had a Coke can’s worth of blood in my abdomen,” and, “I was very interested in the Bible and Greek myths and Goosebumps.”

I’ve been dragging my feet on this story about Willa. It turns out not even the fact that it’s true, happening in real time, and I’ve already begun (and therefore made a kind of commitment to a hypothetical reader), is enough to make me productive. It’s so much easier for me to write my silly little cultural rabbit hole blogs than it is to practice the one thing I actually want to be good at. Sigh.

I finished Question 7, a book by Richard Flanagan, a few days ago. I don’t think I’ve ever been so moved by a book in my life. It left me shaken, weepy and filled with hope and awe. It sounds insane to make such a sweeping statement. I’ve read so many books, consumed so many stories, but this one gave me something entirely new. I held my breath throughout the entire last chapter.

I have an intense and introspective post on the boil but I’ve been distracted by the most chaotic 72 hours of BTS content since I joined the fandom, so I’m going to talk about that first. Because I make the rules here. Kim Seokjin, everyone’s favourite hyung (older brother) of BTS, did two encore concerts in Incheon over the weekend.

The first time I heard Golden and Soda Pop, the two global smash hits from the equally massive Netflix film, K-pop Demon Hunters, was before I’d watched the movie. I saw them climbing the charts. I knew the movie was on Netflix. I had a listen because I’m always curious about unexpected global popularity. The songs didn’t hit for me on first listen. I could tell they were good pop songs, but they felt too much like eating candy floss as pop sometimes does. Then my favourite Formula 1 podcaster posted that it was “the best movie ever,” on his Instagram story…

Today was my first new music release from a BTS member since I became a baby ARMY. Exciting. Even more exciting that it’s the one and the only J-Hope. Well technically it’s a Le Sserafim song with a J-Hope feature (they’re a K-pop girl group). In the past 2 months I’ve gone deep on BTS but not really broadened my cultural exploration to other K-pop artists. Maybe there’ll be time once I get through 13 years of BTS content…

I went to the Australian MotoGP on the weekend. My siblings and I took my Dad for his 70^th birthday. He’d watched the series for years but never been in real life. It was wholesome. As you get older it suddenly hits that your opportunities to sit and talk about nothing with your parents might be numbered. What a gift to have the time to let conversations meander between the past and present. It felt precious, a true moment of re-connection.

I may have found my story. It’s not technically mine, but I’ve been granted permission to share. It meets my two search criteria: a true story that’s happening in real time. Given this, I don’t know the ending yet. That’s a risk, but it has an intriguing, magic-adjacent beginning and a dream protagonist so 🤷‍♀️.

I think my first parasocial relationship was with Lucy Pevensie when I was six. After finishing The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, I opened every cupboard in every building I visited, convinced if I just believed it enough I’d find Narnia on the other side. The focus on Lucy was simply because I recognised myself in her: the diligent, earnest sibling, easily hurt by less considerate brothers and sisters. The one who was so ready to believe in magic. If Lucy was real, I was convinced we’d be best friends.