It took me until 25 to learn the lesson that every time you say ‘I’ve just gotta get through’ and truck along, your body takes that on like debt. Leaving my full-time role for the first time in my adult life, it was time to pay the piper.

You don’t believe people when they say burnout is this internal exhaustion, a tiredness that comes deep from in your bones. You imagine, in your own able body, doing self-care, taking a nap, a respectable 8pm bedtime. You imagine a week off on holiday, relaxation and reset. What you don’t picture is that there is a beyond that point, that looks like the inability to move your body. It looks like all your favourite things getting thrown away, and an internal craving for darkness, stillness and an inability to think.

When I pictured leaving my role, to find new endeavours and allow myself the chance to seek happiness and creativity as a first priority, I saw myself diving straight in, head first. I wanted to delve into song-writing, content, wider more fulfilling projects that I was yet to conceive. And here I am, on my couch, $9 in my bank account and a deep feeling that I have thrown every safety net away and made a horrible mistake.

Creativity.

When creativity is a part of your nature, it is easy to forget that it is a muscle to be exercised. No creative endeavour worth doing, will allow you instant gratification. In a world where that seems to be the key currency, following dopamine hits that don’t come in an instant is as easy to talk yourself out of as it has ever been in history.

For the entirety of my adult life my screen time has averaged at 10 hours. An estimate that should scare me far more than it does. I am writing this piece as a confession, an act of venerability. I have not written since I was in high school, something that as a child was a core factor of my personality. I loved to read and write, I loved to make music. It was an instinct that I couldn’t quit, it was something that poured out of me that I had to do.

As an adult, with responsibilities, creativity is active, not passive. It cannot be passive. You are far too consumed by adult life to allow anything that brings you joy to be passive.

So, I write music on Sundays with my drummer, Nick. An incredible friend and a creative collaborator who has allowed me the time to remember why I love what I do, to learn and improve at it, to allow it to be a pillar in my weekly schedule.

From here, I have learnt how to surround myself with the creatives who feed me, and allow me to understand my creativity on a deeper level.

Twice a week, if not more, I call Georgina. Georgina is an incredible inspiration to me, someone who sees her creative work as the centre of her universe. Who finds work that invigorates her and fulfils her, as well as pays her. When she talks to me, she sees me. More importantly, she guides and believes in me. She allows me ‘brain-dump’ and encourages me to follow the deeper more rewarding forms of dopamine with structure and excitement.

Holly reads, and sees language as an art. She writes for a living, and whether or not she knows it she has such a creative and incredible mind for the word. In our home, we write, we read, we discuss and we learn.

I could go on infinitely about the number of creative forces I am surrounded by, but that would become it’s own piece within itself. I am constantly learning, and taking what I learn from these people into my own solitary creative practices that I hope will fill my schedule, and that those 10 hours of screentime will become 10 hours of worthwhile.

Find connection, and learn how to train creativity like a muscle. Find inspiration outside of the digital.

The Album.

And so, we begin working on the album. The magnum opus of any musician. There is something about being at the beginning, your debut, that I know I will reflect back on for the rest of my life with an appreciation and better understanding. I want to look back and say, ‘you did it kid, thank you.’

I would say we are currently 4 or so months deep into the album process. Writing with intention. Discovering more about what we have to say, and what we sound like. Working with our incredible producer, Jono, who I will lovingly refer to as our trip sitter, but really is our mentor. Working with someone who is further along in their music journey who has a genuine appreciation for not only the craft, but the individual perspective of each artists, is so imperative to our process. We literally would not be anywhere if not for Jono, and for that I am forever grateful.

I don’t know when this album will be done, or even how deep we are into the process. I believe we’re further than I thought. What matters to be most is allowing ourselves the time and freedom to sink our teeth into what this world is and who we are, is time that I am so grateful I have finally allowed myself.

“We won’t put this out until we know that it’s something great” - a scary sentiment to some that may mean it never sees the light, but for us, a deep comfort. We know it will see the light, we have to get this to the world. It’s just a matter of allowing ourself the space and time to nail it, and be proud of it.

“Take something normal, and make it weird and unsettling.” - OH! Daisy’s guiding light for this album. Messily scrawled across the whiteboard in Nick’s studio, this is who we are. We want the messiest parts of feeling, we want music that makes you go ‘woah’, we want to take something mundane and make it us.

A Conclusion.

Am I sure why I’m writing this? No. I have sat down and written this in an hour. I will not revise this. This poured out of me. This is the beginning of me making flexing my solo creative muscles a part of my daily practices. This is me reclaiming writing into my life, out of love and out of a deeper need to say something. Anything. I am loud, it’s who I am. I’m learning to love that about myself.

Thank you for allowing me this space.