Gemma-Rose Turnbull

“A little fact is worth a whole limbo of dreams.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

I feel like I have lived the last couple of months in limbo. Waiting, suspended in a state of terror alternated with a deeply ingrained feeling that I was moving incrementally in the right direction. Late last year I decided a couple of things. Firstly that I wanted to move to Melbourne and run a project at St Kilda Gatehouse, teaching visual communication to the street sex workers who use their facilities. So I applied for a grant, vainly hoping it would be successful. And secondly that I wanted to move overseas, to study in New York. Some of the deep panic was due, of course, to cash. I decided to go ahead with the Gatehouse project whether or not I was successful in my grant application, even if it meant selling my car to fund it. I decided to go ahead with my New York application even though the thought of a) trying to summon up enough dollars to pay for an international education was overwhelmingly daunting and b) trying to do a good job in Melbourne on a really strict time frame was even more daunting. So I put the applications in and proceeded immediately into a state of limbo. Waiting. It was agony.

Then last week happened. Thursday morning an email popped into my account a week earlier than I expected. From the Australia Council for the Arts. Dread took over my stomach, settling like concrete, heavy and cold. “Proceed to your online account to check the outcome of your application” it said. I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. Though there are many virtues I do not possess, I am pretty good at making myself do things I don’t want. I attribute it to years working for newspapers and having to overcome your sense of dread to walk into funerals, and photograph car accidents and cheque presentations. So I made myself open it. I fumbled through a forgotten password and got to the screen. “Congratulations” it said in green letters “on your successful grant application”.

My heart stopped momentarily. I felt sick. “Um Lily” I called in a wavering voice to my flatmate, “Can you come and look at this please.” She verified that the green letters did not spell out the word sorry. Cue disbelieving hysterical laughter, a few tears and an extended period of walking around in circles totally unsure of what to do with myself. The screen informed me that I had been granted $30,000 (I still find it hard to type all those zero’s) to complete a six-month residency with St Kilda Gatehouse. From that point Thursday became a write off of adrenaline, phone calls and finally an exhausted, relieved slump that my dear friend June remedied with Earl Grey and chocolate brownies. With a clause that I had to keep my mouth shut about THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAD EVER HAPPENED TO ME until Monday (it was media embargoed so the official announcement could be made today).

Friday saw the sale of my car to a sweet Doctor Who fanatic, a wonderful ‘Goodbye Brisbane’ party and I felt excited and wiggly inside, like an overgrown puppy. Saturday was a family reunion and an envelope. White, thick paper with the logo of New York University embossed in the upper right hand corner. I approached it with trepidation. Now that the Gatehouse project was being backed financially I was nervous that the start date would make Melbourne rushed and stressful. And in the last couple of weeks I had started to have a niggling though keep popping up in an unscratched corner of my mind quietly suggesting that I might not want to spend two years doing my post graduate study in the area I had applied for.

I took myself to a quiet corner and like a band-aid I tore the envelope open quickly, hoping it wouldn’t catch too much on the hairs of my nerves. “I’m sorry”, it read. I waited for the disappointment to rush in and fill me up, hot and sore. I sat quietly and listened to my nephews play at the other end of the house, waiting. I kept waiting. A surprising emotion took its place. Relief crept in, tiptoeing quietly onto my shoulders. I fought it. “But I really want to live in New York” I told it sternly, “This is a disaster.” Relief shrugged, indicating it couldn’t help being there. “I could have fitted everything in,” I said. Relief shrugged again, suggesting it would be more pleasurable to take my time in Melbourne and really enjoy the project without the stress of deadlines and an impending international move. So I gave in. In the face of rejection from my NYU dream I felt profoundly, deeply relieved. Surprising, but my favourite mantra is to expect humans to be complex and inconsistent, and it appears that I am both. And to paraphrase my favourite jolly wise man, the Dalai Lama, sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.

I feel so thankful to all of you for helping me limp through limbo, particularly to my flatmate’s who calmly put up with the moments of panic you can usually hide from public view, to my family who are letting me go despite not wanting me not to leave, to Sally Tonkin, my friend and the CEO of St Kilda Gatehouse who has so graciously supported my project. And last but not least my thanks go to all of you have given me abundant words of love in my success, notably my beautiful Tess who was so delighted with my good news that she burst into tears of happiness when I told her. I’ve said it before and I will say it again; I can only do what I can do because of the people in my life supporting me. 2010 is unfolding in the most delightful way, and although my nerves are still strained with wanting this project to be a success I feel excited about where my life is heading. New York isn’t off the cards, but there’s no rush. The future is unknown, and that is my favourite part.