1 Year of I Peaked in 2004

The story behind the blog & learns from a year of writing.

Get in losers, and mark your calendars, because September 5th is your new favourite holiday. This is a milestone that no one other than me probably cares about, but I feel really proud of myself for committing to this creative project for a whole year.

I’ve nursed this little baby for 365 days, thinking about how I can help it grow and thrive, constantly worrying that I’m fucking it up. This is motherhood.

It can be difficult to stay creative and nurture hobbies as an adult, but I’m glad to have discovered Substack and found this new form of expression. It feels a little vulnerable to write, and I know my work isn’t exactly changing the world, but this project has transformed my life in more ways than one.

It was never my dream to be a writer, nor did I ever consider myself to be particularly good at it. I wrote scripts and monologues for drama class as a teenager, and speeches for public speaking competitions as a kid, but that was the extent of my writing career. From there, I only wrote text messages and emails. Damn good ones if you ask me, but they weren’t exactly fulfilling my creative itch. I loved composing a long text, full of armchair psychology and my unofficial standup comedy, and now that’s basically what I do over here on Substack. I remember sending my Mum Gossip Girl alerts to her phone as a teenager, playfully mocking our family, and she told me she had to pull over the car to laugh out loud. This is still the best review I have ever received.

During the lockdown in Sydney in 2021, Tim had the idea to start a podcast, called the So Fresh Podcast, where in every episode we went through an old So Fresh compilation CD, and discussed/debated whether the songs still held up. It was the first time I had put myself out there in ages. At that point in time, I would even feel self-conscious posting a picture of my lunch to my Instagram Story. I was guarded, scared and hated the idea of being perceived. I worried about what people would think of me. I knew I wanted to be doing more creatively, but I couldn’t get out of my own way. I think embarking on a collaborative project with Tim made it easier, and allowed me to navigate all the uncomfortable feelings around putting myself out there, with someone I trusted by my side. The podcast helped me find my voice, and learn that the world doesn’t end when I decide to put myself out there. Well duh, but after years of playing small, taking up any space felt life-threatening. When I realised I enjoyed sharing personal stories on the podcast, particularly around growing up in the 2000s, I started writing them down purely for my own documentation. I had been absorbing lots of Y2K content preparing for each episode, which triggered memories I hadn’t revisited in a long time. I had also been reading Know My Name by Chanel Miller, and was inspired by her storytelling and vulnerability. I loved the way she was able to transport me to where she was, and how the practice of writing helped her heal. I realised I wanted to make sense of my own story, capture funny memories and pay homage to my childhood heroes. Through writing I realised how important pop culture, films and music had been to me in my formative years, and how I leaned on them for comfort and guidance. Little over a year ago, I spent an afternoon writing about the year of 2004, and how it was an important year for 12 year old me. Alas, I Peaked in 2004 was born.

Allow me to tell you the story…

2004 was the year of a very important election. For those who don’t remember, you ought to scrub up on your history, because it was peak of my existence. 2004 was the year I was elected primary school captain. It was also the year Mean Girls, Suddenly 30 and The Notebook were released in theatres, so it was a damn good year for the culture. Now, I approached this election as if I was campaigning to be the Prime Minister. Connecting with the people was vital to my campaign. I would like to formally thank my baby sister Emily, for allowing me to cuddle her for the photo op! Uniform presentation was also incredibly important. I would use the water from the bubblers to slick my hair back so tight it gave me a migraine (FYI “bubblers” is Aussie slang for those gross drinking fountains). Not to mention, I needed to speak confidently and assertively to teachers about real issues. You know, like getting better canteen food. No more frozen orange slices. We want Pizza Pockets dammit!

My election speech began with:

Promises, promises, promises. All I am hearing is empty promises. What I can promise you is I‘ll be a good leader for our school.

An example of an “empty promise” was a student promising Sprite infused bubblers. Most 11 year old’s would relish at this idea but not me. I thought it was unrealistic, childish, and bad politics!

When I was younger, I used to think of God like Santa Claus. I would only pray if I wanted something. Well, I remember praying moments before the announcement.

Dear God, hi.

I really want to be school captain…PLEASE!?!

But only if you think I would be the best person for the job.

May the best person win.

Thank you. I mean, Amen.

The time had finally come. All participants were standing in a straight line in front of the school, waiting for the principal to announce our school captains of 2004. With sweaty palms and a beating heart, I heard my name. I didn’t react right away. The principal had to read my name twice. I was in complete shock. Apparently I squealed. There were rumours I had found out I had won ahead of time and my response was all fake. I never got an opportunity to speak directly to the press so let me clarify this now: I DID NOT KNOW I WAS GOING TO WIN. There were false stories about my lack of graciousness. Word on the street was that someone had congratulated me and I didn’t say thank you enthusiastically enough. I suppose it comes with the territory. The world hates women with power. I learned very quickly that although I felt ready for the opportunity, the people were not ready for me.

I was always ahead of my time.

My title was shared with one other person, a boy in my class. I remember thinking to myself that he was in it for the wrong reasons. You know, the fame, the (pizza) parties.

I knew I had to block out the noise because I had a job to do. And uhhh what exactly was that job you ask? Umm, well I had the very important job of choosing which class sang the Australian anthem the best at assembly each week. I hosted the school talent quest, and said a speech at our year 6 graduation. Not to mention, I had to fly the Australian flag every morning and take it down before school finished!

12 year old me @ the haters.

Over time, I earned the respect of my peers and naysayers, but I never doubted that I deserved to be where I was. I was okay with being misunderstood, and I had a belief in myself that I somehow lost over the course of growing up. Somewhere along the way, I let outside opinions influence how I felt about myself and what choices I made. Over the last couple of years, I’ve slowly been finding my way back to this girl. I’ve started dreaming up my next project, and for the first time in my adult life I can actually wrap my head around following through with it.

This girl is on fire.

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I wanted to share some of my learns from starting this Substack, and say a big thank you to everyone who has supported me with this endeavour.

You improve by doing the damn thing: As a recovering perfectionist, this revelation has been an annoying discovery. You mean, I can’t just think myself into oblivion and come out with my best work ever!? How rude! Although, thinking, planning, dreaming (scheming) is an important part of the creative process, you can’t let it stall you from doing the damn thing. Underneath the excessive planning and analysis-paralysis is a desire to protect ourselves from rejection and hurt. We think that if we strive for perfection everyone will like us, and we will avoid feeling shame or disappointment. The truth is, perfectionism doesn’t free us from any of that. I’ve learned that the fear of failure is scarier than failure itself. Failure is also subjective. Perhaps someone may consider my Substack a catastrophic failure, because I don’t have thousands of subscribers, but I’m damn proud of it, and consider it a success, because I’ve remained consistent with it. I’ve loved watching myself improve as a writer, and the only reason I have improved is because I have written consistently for a year. Allowing yourself to be bad at something is the most freeing thing you can do.

When my perfectionist tendencies overstay their welcome.

Take the compliment: It’s so easy to think about all the people who haven’t read or acknowledged my work, but the amount of love I have received far outweighs that. I get hundreds of views on every post, and have received countless compliments on my writing from family, friends and random strangers-turned-friends on the internet. I can’t tell you how grateful I am, and how your kind words have brought me so much happiness and confidence. Every kind message and comment, I remember and revisit often. I might try and act cool and casual when I’m complimented in person, but I’m truly beaming on the inside and can hardly wait to tell Tim about it over the dinner table. It gives me confirmation that I’m on the right path, and that my work is valued. Thank you thank you thank you.

They really, really like me!

Be open to creative shifts: One of the many downsides to perfectionism is being rigid about changing your initial plan or vision. When I started this Substack, it was going to be all about Y2K nostalgia, and not terribly personal, or about my current life at all. While that is still at the core of this project, it has also developed into being more about formative experiences, people and places, and I’m definitely more vulnerable in my writing now than I initially intended to be. The shift began after my trip to New York City in October and November of last year. I had been writing in my journal about my experiences there, documenting my memories for my own personal archive. When I arrived home, I felt compelled to share them, even though I worried I was straying too far from the original intention for this project. Funnily enough, I got so much positive feedback for my New York Diaries, and I realised how much I loved writing in that format. This then inspired my Monthly Journals, and me deciding to become more open and vulnerable in my writing. You can’t plan for these shifts, nor should you resist them. I can tell when I read over my old work when my heart wasn’t in it, and I was writing something purely to fit the theme or reach a deadline. Only recently have I given myself permission to take my time, and only write what I feel like writing. I felt another shift happen when I wrote The Pandemic Saved Me From My High School Reunion, one of my favourite pieces. This reminded me of the importance of being open to creative shifts, or unlikely projects calling my name. As mentioned above, I never had a dream to be a writer, but at the age of 29, I had the urge to start writing. I hope to continue to stay open to these urges, and not let my age or lack of experience stop me from trying something new.

Not everyone will give a shit: Yeah, it’s true. Not everyone will give a shit about your project, no matter how much you love it or promote it, and that’s okay. Not everyone will like your work either, or even like you for that matter. I know it’s hard to believe given how cute, talented and adorable we all are (I know this as a fact because all of my subscribers are cute) but it’s a harsh truth. I’m not going to lie, I have gone on long tangents to my unpaid therapist (Tim) about how photos from a drunken night out, or a video of a sandwich gets more attention than a piece of writing I have laboured over, but who am I to deprive someone of the content they love? And who doesn’t love a good sandwich? The truth is, not everyone values creativity or even understands how hard it is to commit to a project like this. You will find your people, and you will learn to not take everything so personally. You could be the perfect cup of tea, but someone just prefers coffee. Let them enjoy their coffee. Not everyone needs to like you.

Tim to me, every single day.

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I wanted to take a moment to thank Tim, my biggest cheerleader, for all of his support over the last year. He has been my unpaid therapist and editor, and this project truly wouldn’t exist without his encouragement and support.

To my Dad, for reading early drafts of my work, and for always being my first like on every post. A simple “Awesome read!” text from you played a big part in me having the courage to pursue this.

And to everyone else who has supported me, said kind words about my writing, shared my work to their Instagram Story, THANK YOU. I love and value each and every one of you, and can’t thank you all enough for sticking with me.

Let me know if any of my work has resonated with you, or if there’s something you wish for me to write about.