From Two Suitcases to Ten Years

Photo: Manly, June 2016. Our first week in Australia.

This Saturday marks exactly ten years since we landed in Australia.

A few days earlier we’d been at a huge family braai in South Africa, saying goodbye to everyone. We arrived in Sydney a little tired, a little hungover, and with no real idea what the next decade would hold.

We stayed at my mate Tris’ house while he was away, which felt strangely reassuring because we’d stayed there before. Better still, he’d left us his car.

Those first few days were spent doing all the ordinary things that suddenly become important when you’ve moved across the world. Opening a bank account. Getting a phone plan. Learning where things were.

On our first evening we drove to the servo in Balgowlah to buy chocolate.

I had no idea I’d still be calling it a servo ten years later.

We spent that first week mostly around Manly, trying to shake off the jet lag and get our heads around the fact we’d just moved to the other side of the world.

At the time it felt like we’d simply moved countries. For years we never quite allowed ourselves to believe we were staying…

We bought a car. We bought furniture. We got on with life, but quietly kept one eye on what might come next. We even explored moving back to Bermuda and looked seriously at Canada when the visa rules seemed to be changing.

Then Permanent Residency came through.

It wasn’t just a visa. It was permission to imagine a future.

By then, temporary had become normal. I’d spent nine years on a work permit in Bermuda, a year travelling, and nearly five more on visas in Australia. We’d become used to building lives that always felt provisional.

Within days we were looking at houses.

That wasn’t a coincidence. Buying a home is difficult on a temporary visa, and while we waited, house prices seemed to keep climbing. Permanent Residency didn’t just give us certainty, it gave us the chance to stop watching from the sidelines and finally put down roots.

Somewhere around then, Australia stopped feeling like somewhere we lived and started feeling like home.

Our son was born here, but now he could officially stay here. We bought our house. We’ve made lifelong friends.

Some of the things I’ve come to love are exactly what you’d expect.

The beaches.

The weather.

The feeling there’s always another corner to explore.

Some weren’t.

If you’d told me ten years ago that one of my favourite Australian memories would be running through snow in Kosciuszko, I’d have assumed you’d got the wrong country.

Or that I’d still be playing rugby into my forties and celebrating another grand final.

Or that I’d rediscover football after years away from it.

Or that, somewhere along the way, some of my closest mates would be Australians rather than fellow expats.

Those things happened gradually.

Which, I suppose, is how belonging works.

Christmas in summer still feels strange.

When someone mentions Victorians, I still picture Queen Victoria before I think of Melbourne.

I’ve started saying “g’day” without noticing, I’ll happily pop to the bottle-o, and I’ll cheer on the Wallabies unless they’re playing England.

I’m still not calling them thongs.

Being English and married to a South African meant we never naturally fell into one expat crowd. At times that probably made settling harder. Looking back, I think it also encouraged us to build friendships based on where we were rather than where we’d come from.

Professionally, Australia meant starting again.

I’d already built a career. What I hadn’t built was a reputation here.

Your experience comes with you. Your reputation doesn’t.

For a while I compared myself with people who’d spent decades building one career in one place.

Eventually I realised we hadn’t been running the same race.

Nine years in Bermuda is where I met my wife.

Australia is where we’ve built our family.

Some career decisions probably looked untidy from the outside. From the inside, they reflected where we were trying to get to, not just professionally, but as a family.

Sometimes I forget my Australian career is only ten years old.

Then I remember the years before weren’t lost.

They were the foundations.

Today I spend my time helping organisations work out what AI means for them. Looking back, that feels less like a change of direction than another chapter in a career that’s always been about helping people navigate change.

I’m still English, and I always will be.

But my passport now says Australian too.

Our son is Australian.

This is home.

I still think Christmas belongs in winter.

But I’m very glad we got on the plane.