When I was approximately fifteen years old and still rehearsed in the art of collecting daily newspaper clippings, I found a poem by a cartoonist called Michael Leunig. It struck me so hard I became an instant fan of his. I grabbed a scissors, cut the poem out, framed it and hung it on the wall above my desk.

As years went on I realised I was not alone in my awestruck innocence and that this man had clearly touched the souls of numerous likeminded individuals around me. Time went by and my need to idolise slowed down. Thus Leunig became one of many people I admired rather than followed conscientiously. My thoughts about Leunig the cartoonist and the man dwindled down to perhaps a handful per annum, although my original self-framed Leunig went wherever my desk did.

 

It was some twenty-five years later when my Facebook feed began filling up with Leunig hate mail that Leunig the cartoonist and the man both crept their way back into my personal backdrop. My soul soother had suddenly become a soul breaker, slowly entering the space of my collective enemies – the space from which it is difficult albeit impossible to be relinquished. I found myself being sucked into this collective place and eventually I conceded – Leunig was no longer on my people of note list. I grappled with this decision internally. It upset the order of things the way my youth had arranged them and it did not feel right, yet somehow it no longer felt right to argue either. I had no choice but to live with the decision to dislike the man that set off one of my nascent sparks and it troubled me deeply.

 

It came to pass that due to the unfolding of different events in my life Leunig the name and the man meant less and less to myself as a person. Until a few days ago. I had so clearly blocked his name from my thoughts that I did not even register when I saw it on the list of authors to be appearing at the Byron Bay Writers’ Festival – an event I attend annually and soak up avidly. So when a friend brought his name up in reference to the session he would be appearing in I was honestly surprised to be caught unaware of his presence on the guest list. ‘Leunig’s here?’ I thought to myself. Right away I felt an internal divide between temptation and obligation. I felt the pull both ways. No I will not go to his event…but it could be really interesting to hear what he has to say…and the interviewer is a curious choice as well…but I cannot go and publicly show my support…but on the other hand…And so my head went back and forth.

 

‘People are often particularly beautiful in their sadness…’ As I sat down I landed in the mire Leunig had thrown the audience and relished in it from the first second of contact. With a lump in my throat I watched as Leunig unravelled; part duck, part curly man, part lost boy. There he was before me – the revered person of my teenage years in the flesh as I had never seen him before. Laid bare, talking about the wonders of sitting in a chair with a cup of tea, openly admitting ‘everybody is uniquely stupid…every culture has its own stupidity; it’s own virtue of delight and its own ugliness too…’ and then further, deeper down into the hopeless pit of his dark, dark mind. He kept going and I kept listening until I saw what I needed to see. ‘In every human being there’s something we’re not seeing…down there in the muck this ugly little duck.’

 

I was lost to my own temptation the moment I saw the muck for myself. I made peace with Leunig and in doing so I made peace in myself. I lined up in the snake-like queue of people; old fans, new disciples, grandparents, friends, psychic believers and then me. People who almost didn’t turn up; people who didn’t want to hear; people who had heard enough. Leunig the person, not Leunig the name, is who I met on the blusterous last day of the outstanding Byron Bay Writers’ Festival. It was that unforgettable exchange, that moment when I saw in his eyes that he truly did appreciate my words, my waiting in line, my honesty and my simply showing up at all.

 

Immediately after my brief words with Leunig I was overcome with emotion. I felt this inkling to shout out loud my new revelation – we are all just people trying to find our way in this world! I realised they were words I had stolen from someone else years ago and wondered why I still obviously needed to be taught this lesson – why I hadn’t already heeded the cry and learnt the simple truth. I felt like finding my inner duck and staying there for a long, long time.

 

The words of Winston Churchill that Leunig had recalled echoed in my head – ‘when you’re going through hell just keep going…’ He followed them shortly afterwards with ‘the realm of possibility is one of my favourite realms.’

 

Thank you Leunig, for the part you played in helping me find my way back to wonderment.