The lonely life of a podcaster

Someone asked me “what does life as podcaster look like?”

Intense. Lonely. Creative.

You wake up on Monday morning, a vortex of concerns crashing around in your head. How will I pay rent next month?

Out of the swirling madness, a small boat emerges. A fully formed, sturdy Filter Stories episode. Once a month, you pick it up off the waters of your mind and set it on the storming seas of reality. The real world.

And then silence. Long, long periods of silence.

Starting a business!

I’ve come across so many life changing personal stories while following my own.

The kind of stories that are the gritty reality behind glossy Instagram posts.

Wouldn’t it be great if someone made a podcast turning these raw stories into a professional podcast for everyone to hear?

*lightning crack*

Whoa… slow down...what do I know about making professional audio stories? Not much. But you have to start somewhere.

Commitment. I’m petrified of it. Normal folks struggle with the idea of saying goodbye to childhood friendships. What gives normal people a feeling of belonging makes me feel trapped.

Compared to those first four months of scrounging around when I landed in Melbourne, landing a job in Europe has been easy. Suspiciously easy. There was none of the cycling-on-an-empty-stomach from one end of town to another. None of the endless rejection.

Why was it such a breeze this time round?

Australia is a lucky country. It is perfect in every way. 

And that’s why I decide to leave.

It all boils down to one thing: I’m alone. I find myself driving friend after friend to the airport to say goodbye. The first goodbye is manageable, but by the third I’m starting to wonder what the hell is going on.

A critical job interview begins and I'm confronted with a barrage of questions I cannot for the life of me answer. 

‘Can you give an example of a time you drove a difficult sales negotiation and elaborate on what you learnt from the experience?’ 

Not a chance in hell. 

Bagging a role with a reputable cafe in Melbourne is as difficult as bagging a job in finance out of university. 

That’s crazy. We’re talking about making coffee here. Let’s be clear: you grind coffee, put it into a machine and steam milk. How is it as difficult as sorting out the accounts for the largest banks in the world? 

At the moment I’m just fighting my ego, an endless argument dating back almost a year.  

And every time we do, the elephant in the room squints its beady eyes at us. We barely noticed its gaze a year ago. But now its presence weighs heavy on our discourse like, well, a tonne of elephant: 


The triple whammies of work, living and relationships were slapping me left, right and centre. 

It was too much to handle. I had to take drastic action. Something I thought I would never do...

I took a cold, hard look in the mirror.

Breathed sharply.

Then swiped

I glance at a flyer taped to the pillar: “We’re hiring! Trainee Roaster”. 

My heart stops. This is a dream. I scramble to apply before the deadline and share the exciting news with friends and family...

...and then they advise me not to take the role.  My dad goes so far to say "I hope you don’t get it”.