In January 2015 I flew to Melbourne, collected a Motorcycle and rode home. That one sentence fails to encompass the enormity of the trip. Riding solo through inhospitable terrain, bereft of any recognisable form of civilisation, no shade, and  in temperatures that at once point reached 47 degrees.

Today I farewelled the bike on which that journey was made. I’d like to pretend that I sold the Roadmaster, because post transition, the bike was too big and too cumbersome for me to manage. I’d also like to pretend there were no pressing  Economic factors squeezing me into a decision that hurt emotionally as much as it did financially. The reality is that in an attempt to tell the world who I was, I filled my shed with toys.  Lots of toys. Eleven motorcycles, and one high quality, rare, and wildly expensive speed boat to be exact.

I’m not sure the world really cared, or if it was even listening to the vain attempts of a seriously ill individual desperately trying to assert an identity that didn’t fit…

I’m now dealing with a Hangover. A Toy Hangover, which is similar to a Red Wine induced illness, complete with the  dull aching headache, and a desire to not make the same mistake again…I’m sure we’ve all been there….

A few years ago when I had a Classic Ferrari parked in the Garage and a Lotus for an everyday car, things were different. Times have changed and my attempts to maintain the status quo  were inconsistent with the massive shift in circumstances I have been through. So now swimming hard against a tide of financial agony watching those tens of thousands of dollars that I haemorrhaged in appalling decisions wash past me,  I’m slowly learning about who I am, what my role is on this planet, and what I’m worth. My worth in purely fiscal terms is pretty abysmal. I’m sure my value, if indeed i have any intrinsic value, is not related to the scale of my Toy Collection, I’m just not sure where to look for it….