I started on the sharemarket when I was 20 years old. I had $2000 I’d put away for a rainy day, money I earned when I worked full time and was yet to go to university. I asked my Dad for some recommendations – he suggested I buy in iron ore and an engineering firm. Both were volatile, but had the potential to deliver major returns.
Unfortunately, neither share delivered and I lost a small amount of money when they stopped trading on the sharemarket.
However – nothing ventured, nothing gained. It was my first taste into creating passive income and a good learning curve. If you have the desire to get started, here are my tips.
Save some money and find a stockbroker
A little goes a long way. $100 per fortnightly pay yields $2600 in a year, which is more than enough to have your first attempt at trading. Good ‘ole Doctor Google can also put you in touch with stockbrokers. They charge small amounts to buy and sell shares in your portfolio.
Find something you are interested in.
For me, I am super interested in education, medicine, psychology, and oddly, airlines. I read a lot about different airlines; their safety records, the airlines that perform versus the ones that don’t, whether an airline has gone bust and why? I read a lot about Ansett and Qantas, just purely out of interest.
Find a share that relates to that interest and check on it daily.
Because of this niche interest in airlines, I started researching airlines on the stock market. Every day, I would type ASX: QAN into Google. I pressed ‘max’ to see how high the share had traded in its history, and also to get a sense on the price of the share right now versus its potential peaks.
Buy low
I did not buy Qantas shares as soon as I became interested in them. I watched and waited. When Covid-19 hit its worst period and we went into a lengthy lockdown, the shares that usually traded at about $5 or more per share, suddenly dipped to $3.61 per share. Because I was more experienced, I had $10,000 in the bank and spent that whole amount of shares.
Sell high!
Keep watching the share daily. When it hits a reasonable price and you will make money, sell!
There is obviously a lot more to it than this, but this is a good way to get started.
I have finally finished my 3700 word literature review. I have reviewed the research thoroughly and now have a question, as well as firm reasons for exploring it. Here’s what I came up with…
The situation around LGB teachers and their experiences presents a lack of equality. There is a gap in the literature, with minimal research focusing primarily on lesbian primary school teachers in Australia. The direction of this research project will investigate the lived experiences of lesbian-identifying primary school teachers. The objective of this study will be to explore the lived experiences of these teachers to determine the extent to which they choose to be visible (or not), their reasons underpinning this, what (if any) identity management strategies they use and why, including to better appreciate if there are any differences in experiences between public schools and private schools. As such, the research question that will guide this work is as follows: What are the lived experiences of lesbian-identifying primary school teachers, and what school-environment factors influence these? It is hoped that by adding to the knowledge base, more awareness will be formed, and anti-homophobic policies and affirmations will become more widespread.
I have recently started preparing for my masters project, which I am intending to start next year. I am currently doing a literature review around my researchable problem.
I first became interested in the identity issues around gay and lesbian teachers in 2013. I was in my final year of university. At the time, Bernard Gaynor stated that parents should have a right to ensure their children are not taught by gay teachers. I wrote an article at the time that went quite viral, and was published in MX Newspaper.
I became more interested in this researchable problem when I gained a teaching job in a Christian school. I noticed that I needed to be closeted, but teachers with other so-called ‘sins’ in their lives were allowed to freely flaunt them – such as living with their boyfriend or getting a divorce.
I lived in fear every day that someone would find out and I would lose my job, or be forced to work in a very hostile environment, all because of my relationship status.
I think the way that gay teachers are treated in the teaching profession is largely problematic.
People expect teachers to be the high watermark of morality. Married with children, no drinking, no swearing, no partying. No outward political opinions. After all, we are role models.
However, I am concerned with the fact that if a gay teacher is encouraged to be closeted, what message does this send to young gay and lesbian students? Or students who have gay parents? Or even heterosexual students?
It sends the message that who we are is shameful and wrong.
Therefore, my masters project is going to centre around exploring the lived experiences of lesbian teachers within the primary setting in Queensland. I am going to use ethnographical, semi-structured interviews to gain insight into whether lesbian teachers are out in their environments, how they form (or do not form) authentic relationships within their communities, and the reasoning behind their being out or closeted.
In my last year of high school, I was lucky enough to have an out, lesbian teacher. The administration of the school made it incredibly difficult for her, and they made it difficult for me too. The way I viewed that teacher changed the way I viewed myself. Here was a very normal, successful woman with a long term relationship, dogs, and a mortgage.
That was all I really wanted – was to be normal. To have a life like everyone else. A white picket fence, a wife, a child, higher education, and a job I enjoyed. I wanted a happy home. Through viewing this teacher as a role model, I came to understand that this would be possible for me.
This is why this research is absolutely essential and I can’t wait to continue sharing it with you all.
When I was pregnant, everybody asked me if we knew what we were having.
Um… a baby?
In all seriousness, for the longest time, I thought Soren was a girl. Even right up until the delivery. Even after seeing clear testicles on an ultrasound still.
A lot of people would say to me, ‘Aw, if you get a girl, you can do ballet lessons! SO cute!”
I loved the idea of baby ballet. The calming music, the listening skills, the flexibility, and the gorgeous outfits.
But – I felt that I could enjoy that with a little boy, too. So when I realised I could sign him up at Queensland Ballet from the ripe old age of one year, I did exactly that. I thought it would just be an easy class with some sing-alongs and a bit of “dancing”, facilitated by the parents.
I thought there’d be time to chat and relax with the other Mums.
When I turned up, the class was full of two-year-olds who could already jump, spin, turn, and follow instructions.
So here I was with my 13kg chunk, jumping like a kangaroo, twirling like a jellyfish, sleeping like a dingle dangle scarecrow… definitely not relaxing or chatting.
It turned out to be a workout for me as much as him! Which was fine, because he absolutely loved every second of it… until he was asked to sit still on his dot.
Because the rest of the students in the class had proper leotards and shoes, I decided to go shopping to get him the outfit so he could look the part. I had to research quite a few shops to find shoes small enough, and when I got there, I noticed that there was floor-to-ceiling displays of everything dance – and everything hyper-girly.
Shoes, bags, outfits, hair accessories… the lot. Then I looked over to the corner. The boys’ section had been relegated to one tiny place in the store.
Unlike the girls’ section, which offered hundreds of products, the boys’ section had just a small offering.
Not one to be discouraged, I dressed Soren up and he started shaking his bum as soon as he was in the outfit.
His joy did plant a thought in my head, though. It is so challenging to be the only one doing something. He is likely to always be the only boy in ballet class. It would be a shame if he ever gave it up, just because it’s not popular with boys.
I wish I had the answers. I just hope and pray that as he gets older, he sees his uniqueness as a strength rather than a weakness. I can only keep on encouraging him and hope he remains true to what he enjoys doing.
“She’s so messy. If you open up her desk, it’ll swallow you whole.”
That is what the girl next to me in Year 4 once said, and she was right. My desk was a maelstrom of snapped pencils, drawings, lots of bad handwriting, and dried up pieces of glue.
A few years earlier, my Year 1 teacher pulled my mother into the classroom after school just to watch me try to organise my things from afar. I would become so overwhelmed by all of it, that I would kind of just step back and forth in a dance.
“See? She can’t organise herself.”
In Year 12, I sat an English test. I had to write a monologue for a specific character in a book. I knew exactly what I wanted my character to say, and my fingers couldn’t spew the words out as fast as my mind wanted them to.
At the end, my teacher was splitting hairs about marks that she “could have” given me, pointing out to me smugly that, “If there weren’t three gaps in between the parts of this word, I would have known you meant ‘educated.’ Can you see now why I marked you down?”
Yes, lady. I can see now why you marked me down and I don’t care.
Now that I’m nearing 30, you only ever see small glimpses of this past-self in my current life. For instance, I have this process where I need to leave my laptop and school bag out on the bench so I know to take them in the morning. If I don’t, I will get halfway to work before realising that I don’t have my belongings.
It drives my wife mad because it’s mess and clutter.
But – my Tupperware is perfectly organised, my handwriting is neat, my bench is clean, and my books are organised. I work to perfect to-do lists.
Why is it that I struggled so much to do those things in the past, yet I am now a neat perfectionist?
I guess the difference is that back then, I felt like it didn’t count. It was easy enough to coast through primary school without a care in the world, and once I got to high school, the divide I felt between scribbling out the fictitious monologues and the exams and the actual real world where you turned up for work, ate your vegetables, and paid taxes just seemed so far.
Put simply, I felt that there was no ‘buy in’.
I had spoken at length with the careers counsellor and I had no idea what I wanted, beyond wanting to be educated, but the longer I sat in the four walls of my high school, the less educated I felt, the messier I became, and the more I failed.
It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Now I have one and a half university degrees with distinction (I’m sure that means something to someone, somewhere), a minimalistic, organised apartment, and a crisper full of vegetables.
I am neat. I am successful.
I got all of those things because they became things I wanted, so I figured out how to strive towards them. I tidied the handwriting. I learned to study. I became ruthless with clutter. I watched hours of YouTube videos that taught me how to cook.
Yet, I see adults scowling at the messiness of today’s youth, hanging them by the threads of their inattention, the untied laces of their dress style, their schoolwork, or even their handwriting, and I cannot help but wonder….
Maybe they want it all, but just not now.
Maybe a lot of us are artworks in motion and the best is yet to come.
As a new parent, this is the question I am asked the most.
Yes, Soren is a good baby. But you know what? All babies are good babies.
In fact, I would suggest that all children are good children. Some are born with challenging traits or placed into situations that ultimately lead to the development of less adaptive coping mechanisms, but that does not make a child ‘bad’.
They are a product of their genes and environment, both of which are out of their control.
They are coping with the situations in their lives, with the brain wiring they were given at conception.
For example, some babies seem to sleep well from day one, whereas some babies are all-night ragers.
Some babies and children need a lot of reassurance, whereas other babies need less, or ask for it in different ways.
Some babies cry a lot, others don’t cry unless they’re completely overwhelmed.
‘Well, what’s wrong with saying he’s a good baby?’
When we think about good versus (bad?) babies, it’s important to think about our language. “Good” implies that a baby or child is capable of making considered, moral choices. The opposite, of course, is “bad.”
This has never sat comfortably with me.
In my studies last semester, I completed a unit on child abuse and neglect. One of the core aspects of the curriculum in this area was about risk and protective factors. In the first year of life, one of the most significant risk factors for child abuse and maltreatment is the child’s temperament.
So – a high-needs baby with colic and a need for reassurance is more likely to be physically harmed, ignored, shaken, or emotionally maltreated.
They are vulnerable.
This doesn’t mean it will happen, but the higher stress levels brought about by challenging temperaments and behaviours can create conditions where maltreatment is more likely.
In my mind, to then label babies as ‘good’ places the blame on an infant for stress brought about by higher needs. In a very small and implicit way, it blames a child for how others respond to them.
In any event, babies just need our love – and when they challenge us, they need it even more.
Ever since I can remember, I have had the travel bug. It probably started the first time I watched Madeline; I always had a deep desire to stretch my wings and walk on the roads less travelled.
As I grew towards my adult life, my parents encouraged me to ‘wait until I had friends who wanted to travel.’ As I started to meet new friends, I realised that our styles would be completely incompatible. My friends wanted to drink and party with Contiki, I wanted to travel at my own pace and to do so quietly.
When I was 20, I booked my first trip alone to Tokyo, Japan. My parents begged me not to go, but I did anyway.
My only big mistake was that I nearly missed the flight back because I assumed a flight from Tokyo – Osaka – Brisbane started as a domestic flight, therefore, I only had to be there a half hour early.
Oh, well. I made it in the end.
The next year, I took a teaching trip to Hangzhou, China and visited Beijing and Shanghai when I was done. After that, I thought I could conquer the world….
…. then I visited India. At the ripe old age of 22. Probably one of my poorer life decisions, but I have no regrets.
I did the golden triangle – Delhi, Jaipur, and Agra – where I saw rats the size of cats, experienced real Indian accommodation ($7 a night and no running water), and had gastro out of both ends.
I also had a taxi driver who tried to scam me out of money after I’d run out, so I had to distract him and run into a hotel.
Smooth.
In 2012, I came out of a three year relationship so I spent the slush fund I’d had tucked away for a European jaunt with my ex and spent 3 months travelling in Greyhound buses on the west side of the USA, Canada, and Mexico.
Some highlights included couchsurfing at Richmond Arquette’s guest house, meeting survivors of Jonestown, and hanging out with lots of internet friends.
I had the time of my life.
Greyhound Buses – where hope goes to die
Before I left, so many people got busy telling me why I shouldn’t travel alone, but I did it anyway. The only downside was when I got bronchitis in Las Vegas on New Years’ Eve and ended up spending it in Sunrise Hospital, Nevada. So many drunks.
Good times.
Christmas Day was good, though. Spent the day skiing and nearly crashed when I stupidly took on the steep mountain.
Right before Soren was conceived, I travelled to Sri Lanka, Qatar, Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Armenia on my own.
Sri Lanka was an adventure from start to finish, with dirt-cheap Air BnBs, crowded trains, hot weather, and about 21km of walking most days.
The high point was when Natalie joined me for Christmas and we spent the day surfing.
From there, I left my love and went for my first trip to the Middle East – Qatar.
Obligatory camel photo
It was there in that dusty corner of the world that I learned the value of drinking tea, enjoying extravagance, and being left alone.
On New Years’ Eve, I boarded a flight to Azerbaijan. Most people I spoke to would raise their eyebrow and say, ‘Where the f#*k is Azerbaijan!?’
In case you wanted to know, it is part of the far-Eastern-European part of the world and a former Soviet nation. It is untouched by tourism, full of stray cats, and cold as anything in January – so much so that it started snowing flurries when I went for a run. The highlight was definitely catching two buses to a place out of town and finding an eternal fire – very valuable in the cold weather. You can also buy 75c Russian vodka in the supermarket – also good for keeping warm.
From Azerbaijan, I took the no-frills overnight train to Georgia. It was somewhat confronting to cross a border in the middle of the night, especially when the uniformed customs officers spoke very little English.
In Georgia, I got a $50 tattoo and also ended up in a bath house after catching a random bus. I had no idea what was going on when the lady running it took me into a locker room and told me to ‘strip!’ I obliged, and she took me into an underground shower room filled with 20 other naked ladies, all different ages. The water came from the Earth and was boiling hot. In the corner, an elderly lady was being washed by her daughters with a rag on a stick. It was oddly beautiful.
I took another overnight bone-rattler from Georgia to Armenia, where I finished my Eastern European jaunt. It was beautiful from start to finish.
Some people fear travelling alone, but I cannot recommend it highly enough. You learn to love being alone, and to solve problems independently. My goal was to get to 30 countries by 30 and 10 of them, I have done as a solo traveller.
Obligatory camel photo
