Monday. D-Day – unless they delay the announcement again. I know that I did things over the weekend. Things happened. Some of those things were probably of consequence. And yet, I have no memory of them right now. All I know is that today is Monday. To bastardise Yeats, the days to come seemed waste of breath. A waste of breath the days behind, in balance with this fucking Monday.

It stretches on, this day, and in turn stretches me like a rubber band pulled beyond its known capacity. I feel ready to snap and fly off into the ether, and there’s another part of me that’s quite prepared for this eventuality and is calmly settling in to watch the show. Of me losing my shit.

Then Ryan called me. At about 3:30pm. He said that Andy had emailed us. I vaguely remember saying something to confirm that he wasn’t bullshitting me, but the memory is drowned out a bit by the shrill voice of my angst yelling that “they wouldn’t email the winner, dickhead!” The logic of that was hard to ignore at the time.

I quickly checked the email from Andy and this is what it said:

Hey guys,

Is there any time today when you two might be together so I could chat to both of you?

Or failing that, any time today you are both free and I can conference call you in?

Cheers!

I responded with a time and contact details for that afternoon, and Andy immediately emailed back his confirmation. He immediately emailed back, Dear Reader. I can’t tell you how important that complete lack of delay in his response was to me. In that moment, it was a ray of hope that sliced through every other thought in my twisted head that was absolutely adamant that we were out of the running. In hindsight, to think it meant anything other than Andy having a strong internet connection and time that he set aside to contact all the losers, which would naturally happen in front of his computer, was crazy. But I latched onto the response time like a drowning man grabs onto a piece of flotsam.

And then the call. I had invited everyone onto a phone conference bridge, and had logged on a good 10 minutes before kick-off, which was scheduled for 4:15pm. Ryan came on shortly after, and we joked about the ways we would self harm once we heard how crap we were. All that time, though, I was maniacally trying to complete all the reports that I had to deliver that day for work. It’s a mad, and often futile, race I run every day.

And then Andy came onto the line. He asked us how we were, how our Christmas and New Years was and how our families were, and we replied with one word answers that we could barely get past throats choked with tension and mouths dry with dread. There was an awkward pause, no doubt because he was giving us the opportunity to ask after him and his, but we just weren’t capable. I can’t remember whether it was Ryan or me that said it, but it was basically – it’d be great if you could just get to it and put us out of our misery.

Andy is a genuine, kind and incredibly smart human being. I believe he utilised all of those attributes when he chuckled and did what we asked.

“We absolutely want Contained to be the first film for Accelerator,” he said. “We’ve always loved the concept. We were wondering how you’d do with it, we were hoping you’d do well, and the script that you delivered is just amazing. Magnificent. We’re all really excited. Well done.”

And just like that, our lives changed.

But actually, it wasn’t just like that. He kept going. Asking us questions about how we had come up with aspects of the story, heaping praise on other parts – he spoke for like 10 minutes. He said that we were looking at about ten weeks pre, a twenty one day shoot, and the post would be defined by how we decide to complete the effects and other aspects of the shoot. And then, Dear Reader, he started talking about Waterborne. He said that they had loved the screenplay just as much. He called it “brilliant fun”. But the budget was too high. He had costed it at $3mil, but of course it had to be $1.5. I remember telling him that, to be honest, we had completed the first draft for them and had priced it at about $9mil. We recognised this, wrote a new draft to bring it down as much as possible without radical changes to the story, and so to hear him price it at $3mil was a victory for us. He hadn’t known we had done that, apparently. He confirmed that we had turned in 3 full drafts for two separate films in 3 months while holding down full time jobs, and then let out a hearty laugh when we said, well, yes.

It was probably the greatest phone conversation of my life. And I say that with the absolute belief, in that moment, that he was just being nice regarding Waterborne, and that the truth was that they just weren’t that interested. Saying that it was too expensive right now would be true, and an easy out.

But then he offered us a development deal for Waterborne, with a view to shooting it next year. And that, right there, confirmed that this actually WAS the greatest phone conversation of my life.

As I write this, I’m trying to look for words that adequately describe the feelings that I had on that call, and they’re all coming up short. I’m staring at the wall a lot, trying to find the right phrase or expression, but it’s not working. I think a better attempt would be in the telling of a quick story.

Years ago, Ryan and I were standing in between our cars, which were parked on the side of a country road. Don’t ask me why we were there. I have no idea. We had just gotten a “No” on a project of ours. This “No” was a little more devastating for me then normal, and a little bit of introspection to try and work out why it was impacting me so much had made me come to a realisation: while it was always more important to me to be a Father than a Filmmaker, the need to be a Father was no longer leaving much room in my heart to pursue filmmaking anymore. Looking back, I don’t believe this was 100% accurate, but it felt that way at the time. So Ryan and I were standing there, on the side of the road, and I told him that.

“That’s bullshit,” he responded. “Pursuing your dreams is an important thing to do when you’re a Father. I want to set an example for my kids by not giving up.”

I can’t remember what words I used, but my retort was basically:

“I would be telling myself that so I could pursue what I wanted to pursue, at the expense of my kids and partner – and it’s not even a great bet.”

He should’ve punched me right in the nose for what I was implying about him, but he’s Ryan. I told you he was nice. Instead he shrugged, and just said I was wrong. I wasn’t convinced, but we still had some other film related fish to fry which I half-heartedly committed to doing, and off we went.

Now, here’s the thing. Fast forward about a year, and my Oldest and Middle boys have had a few occasions to come up to my office in the city. It was exciting for them, and they lapped up the attention they got from everyone while they were there. Those visits definitely made an impression on The Oldest Boy, because he drew a complicated picture of the city of Melbourne which included a pretty good representation of the building that I work in. He drew an arrow pointing to the building, and wrote the name of the company I work for. He wrote the name. I talked to him about it. I gave him a big hug, heaped praise on his drawing skills, mussed up his hair and made a point that he had even written the name of my work correctly. But then he told me why he had done that. Because one day, he said, he wanted to work there, too. He wanted to work at the same place his Daddy did.

A fucking contact centre.

In a split second of realisation, I knew that Ryan had been right. Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m proud of the work I do. I think I’m good at it. So do other people. I support over two hundred staff at three sites as their manager, and most of them seem to appreciate and enjoy it. I’ve worked my way up from an agent on the phones to where I am now, and the work I do gives me a chance to meaningfully contribute to my family’s well being.

But it’s still just a fucking contact centre.

The Oldest Boy is smart, emotionally intelligent, handsome and healthy. That little craphead can do whatever he wants with his life. He just needs direction and inspiration. And he told me, in no uncertain terms, that the inspiration I was giving him was a future in phone based sales and customer service.

And now back to the present.

After work today, The Missus had brought the kids into the city and we went to a park. They got messy in sandpits, I pushed them on swings. The sun was warm and the air was cool. I had texted the news to The Missus right after the call with Andy, and when I saw her in person for the first time, she looked at me from the corner of her eye and gave me a smile that makes me happy every time I think about it. Later, when the kids were all tucked into bed and the house was quiet and still, I looked up at that picture The Oldest Boy had drawn. We had stuck it up onto a feature wall that had quickly become the ‘gallery’ for all the artwork our kids produce. I looked at the office building that The Oldest Boy had drawn, the arrow and the company name too, and I knew that I had an opportunity to inspire my kids to go for something greater. I thought on how right Ryan had been, and that if he hadn’t been the friend he was, I doubt very much that I’d have this opportunity to do something that means so much to me – and therefore could mean so much for my children.

And then I remembered that we had indeed gotten the news that we were greenlit on the first year anniversary of his Dad’s passing.

I’ve never been one to look for greater meaning behind chance events, and I’m not about to start now. Correlation does not equal causation. But goddamn. I really enjoyed those moments of exquisite coincidence.