What is happiness?

When we were young, most of us had dreams (most if us still do). I always had simple, fairly realistic dreams. Most of my dreams were based on feeling freedom, happiness and escaping the anguish of my home life. Since many of these dreams were met when I left home, I possibly stopped dreaming... it doesn't really take much for me to feel happy. I think too many of us agonise about holding onto this precious life on earth, wanting to experience every kind of perfection that the world has to offer. There is nothing wrong with this but it can be a trap. I think a person's reality is very much defined by what they think about and do on a daily basis. Too many of us are obsessed with a self-pleasing reality. I believe in living in the moment and being conscious of my contribution/ interactions. I am not overly into seeking some kind of ultimate goal as I find that small personal challenges just pop up every day. It's not healthy to put all of one's eggs in the same basket--there is just too much that is out of our control. I think that people in Australia sometimes don’t realise just how fortunate their lives already are. The things that they nitpick about frequently boggle my mind. Life is too short to bemoan its shortcomings; instead, I view it as an opportunity to constantly grow and evolve since not one of us was born perfect.

'Childmemory' by Michael Dugan

'David's Willow Tree' by Susan Clark

The following poem, Childmemory, by Michael Dugan is filled with beautiful memories and imagery. Its environmental theme is poignant and powerful. At the time of writing, this poem is not available anywhere else on the web and is almost impossible to find in published books. However, I was able to discover that it was published in Poetry Australia 32: Preface to the Seventies (1970, p. 35), which resulted in an email exchange with Michael Dugan's former colleague. I am sharing the poem in full because it is too wonderful to be forgotten forever. I encourage teachers to use this poem in their classrooms to explore the concepts of past, present and preservation. All credit goes to the brilliant Michael Dugan who composed this work.

Childmemory

Down past Macartney’s farm

beyond a wilderness of waist high thistles,

willow trees caressed the creek.

We would come to the willows

along a secret path of our own making,

to leap into their feathered greenness

and, clutching handfuls of whiplike branches,

would swing, eyes closed, above the stream,

rejoicing in motion,

with the bitter taste of willow leaves in our mouths.

Later we tied a rope to the highest branch,

and riding its arc like a pendulum,

would pause at the point of timelessness; to drop,

breaking the pool’s glass surface

into ever widening sculptured circles.

One summer night I crept silent to the willows

and swung for hours, feeling the cool sweet air on my face,

watching stars reflecting in the pool,

like trolls’ eyes staring from the black water.

Returning fifteen years later,

factories pour waste into the creek,

no one remembers willow trees.


Michael Gray Dugan (1947-2006) was an Australian poet, children's writer and editor. Born in the outskirts of Melbourne, Dugan recalled writing stories and poems as a child of eight or nine. In 1968, he first published 'Crosscurrents' magazine from the Melbourne suburb of Canterbury. He also worked as poetry editor of 'Overland' magazine and served as vice-president of the Victorian Fellowship of Australian Writers. In the 1980s, he was a consultant and an editor for the Australian Institute of Multicultural Affairs. Along with his works in children's literature, Dugan had an extensive background in Australian history. He wrote numerous historical textbooks published by Macmillan Education Australia. There are over 200 book titles in Dugan's name, including factual books, fictional stories and poetry anthologies. Other publishers he wrote for include Oxford, Jacaranda, Penguin, and Hodder & Stoughton.

You deserved to be valued...

Recognising your significance...

Sometimes it can be difficult to see any significance in what you do. You work hard, try your best, give it your all. You try to better yourself, learn more, give more. You do it to share your skills, your understandings, your life lessons. Sometimes, however, your reach seems so limited and your efforts worthless. At this point, it becomes harder to see your purpose in this world. I'll always remember a priest who spoke at a Sydney youth festival: "A lot goes into a person." It made me reconsider what my parents wanted for me and some of the conscious choices they made.

Each one of us is unique, the product of a myriad of experiences and teachings and interactions. Each one of us has so much to share, but sometimes the opportunity to do so is lacking. I've worked hard in my life to learn new things, improve my knowledge, be the best teacher I can be. But, I have learnt that I can't please everyone in the way they might want. If they want a 'yes-man', then I'm definitely not who they're after. If they want someone who is happy with being undervalued and disrespected, I won't ultimately work out for them either.

I've spent a lot of time in my life trying to impress the wrong people. Only now in my forties have I come to recognise my worth. All those public holidays spent studying. The many all-nighters spent planning the perfect sequence of lessons as an RFF teacher. The intricate feedback comments that were barely read by students and parents. The hours of preparation put into planning lessons or tutoring sessions.

This time and effort has amounted to something. The product is a teacher who thinks critically, who has something of great worth to share with her students. A person who has never been motivated by the pay cheque is a person who will ultimately shine as an educator. I have been very fortunate to receive fantastic feedback in recent years from parents whose children I tutor. For the first time, my teaching is being witnessed in their homes, its merits evaluated. It's like everything I have worked towards is finally seeing fruition. This was never going to happen in the school context, where my role as a diverse learning teacher is often looked down on by superiors. In schools, limits are set on what I am able to contribute, but outside of that context, the sky is the limit.

I've finally started to feel significant again.