The Heroes Journey!

One hour after conquering the final QRC exam, I found myself plodding through town with my friend Kate, both in a sopping wet suits. Our cold feet slapped the ground, leaving a trail of footprints through town. Tourists were befuddled, and I can understand why - we looked like two drowned rats. But we didn't care, because college was OUT! And we had just made an ice cold breakthrough into the next chapter of our lives! (Yep, we jumped into Lake Wakatipu). Kate anchored herself in town, and I trudged along to my car which was in the Queenstown gardens. I couldn ’ t wait to hop into the fresh change of clothes which was crumpled up in a plastic bag on the back seat. My thick suit was constricting me, and yet, a brilliant sense of freedom filled my soul - no more classes, no more assignments, no more PE points. Finally, after the heavy slog, it was all over! I had finally arrived at the doorstep of my new life, which awaited me like the dry clothing in the car. I was officiall

Queenstown is like a bee hive, buzzing with all kinds of wayfarers, adventurers and vagabonds. Beedogs from all over the world zip down to this honeycomb, and relish in its nectar – the beauty, the adventure, the freedom. The more I engaged with this energy, the more my desire for the life of freedom was pollenated. I am a Sagittarius, and I long for eternal freedom.  And it wasn ’ t a pipe dream either - it was a ripe dream. I had already starting writing the story of my own dream life – a journey of heart and meaning, guided by the compass of my life purpose and talents. I pulled out my old journal, where the sketching’s of Joshua St Clair were scribbled over the page. This was my ticket, but it still needed a bit of refining if I was going to make it a reality. I didn ’ t even know who Joshua St Clair was! I was crunching through the final few weeks of college time as if it was biscotti. But thankfully I was balancing this rock solid brunch with my love for art, soft a

I am a piano player who moved to Queenstown. I journeyed to the pearl of the south in January of 2016, arriving to study Hospitality Management at the town's resort college, and diving into college antics that same night. But as I guzzled peach flavoured vodka cruisers with new faces, I felt a moan in my soul - that feeling you get when you think you have forgotten something. I rummaged through my belongings that were loosely tossed into the wardrobe, and it quickly dawned on me - I had left behind my bond with the piano! Back at home, I would spend my evenings meandering with my friend the piano, sipping on wine and loosing crumbs of blue cheese to the carpet. I could lean on the piano when times were joyous and when they were rough. It was my guide, and without it, I was lost. Music is what gave me strength. An instrument is the ultimate companion! It can give such wise council to a man in need, and I severely underestimated this. I succumbed to social pressure and was d

Like the blood of the ancient mystical dragons, the Bottz Collective was cultivated over millennia. Through the myths of our ancestors and the tales of our grandparents, the legacy of the Bottz Collective was handed down, a magnificent tapestry. Such a legacy was fortified through generations of determined thinkers. It was proud with the dignity of successful academia, which was championed by the grand Bottz. A merchant banker, he docked his ship in the harbours of Auckland city, and established a new wing in the extended Bottz Collective. It was an active wing indeed, and the five proceeding companions in the Bottz Collective went on to become businessman, lawyers, doctors and engineers. They would each go on to champion their own wings of the Bottz Collective. Mark Botting - the eldest of the five children - was commissioned as the 'Auditor General' of the Bottz Collective, and planted his flag in the fertile grounds of Central Auckland City. He recruited Susan Partri

On the final night in the flirtatious Dunedin, my fingers were buzzing with the inspiration that I was seeking. After playing a Sheep show at the Crown, I took my electrical fingers back to the lonely Chambers street flat as everybody continued the party elsewhere. I sat down with my Korg R3, and the musical spirit surged through my hands, cracking fire-whips upon the keys. A fiery new incarnation of my musical expression had emerged! , Energetically expressive, I couldn't believe such style could explode through my fingers. It was undeniable .. I had discovered Jazz! My first jam was like stumbling upon a box of fireworks. My fingers were zipping and popping like they had never done before. They were enlivened with a new force! Jazz was the sweet stormy touch that spawned flora and fauna on what were once barren fields. 'Jazz' - the word itself was tugging at my heart strings; gnawing at them, chewing on them. It was as if 'Jazz' was a little nymph that ha