Five years ago, I moved to a remote village
in South West Java, Indonesia.
imagine, a quiet fishing village
surrounded by seas of rice fields and black sand beaches.
Imagine a place that smells like salt and tastes like sugar,
a place where time slows
and days roll languidly one into another.
Electricity there was unpredictable,
we had no television, no air conditioning,
no hot water, no oven, no washing machine,
I used to walk the long muddy path to the well,
where local women taught me how to wash my clothes,
those same women taught me how to harvest rice,
we stood side by side, our legs sunk in the thick black mud,
sickle in hand.
I worked alongside the villagers, I made beautiful friendships,
I was adopted by a local family,
I lived for a long time there with very little,
yet I felt like I lacked nothing.
For the first time in my life,
I felt like I had community.
I fell in love with a local man and I got married,
we had a baby,
and for a while, we lived that simple village life.
But things changed.
In the last year I was there things became very difficult,
my best friend tragically died,
and my marriage failed.
I returned home to Australia.
It was two years ago now, and when I returned home
I wanted to live in Perth, the city I had grown up in,
but I couldn't afford it,
so I moved to a remote regional town.
In Indonesia, my daily life had been steeped in intense relationships.
I had lived with little, but I had lacked nothing.
Now, I was a single isolated mother in a new place,
and I had access to everything,
but I lacked what I needed most:
Connection, belonging, community.
So, I went in search of people,
I went to parks and coffee shops,
but more than anything,
I went to the shopping malls,
because in Australia, that is where the people are,
I wasn't there because I wanted to shop,
I was there because I didn't want to be alone!
And it happened on Christmas eve,
I was shopping in a big department store that was packed full of people,
there was a constant stream of jingles about joy and happiness,
yet somehow, everywhere I looked everyone looked miserable.
People were pushing trolleys piled high full of plastic junk,
I watched these two people pushed past each other
to grab at the last of the gaudy Christmas crackers.
I was horrified.
I looked at myself, I looked at my baby, I looked at my trolley
and I realized that somehow I had become a part of this.
I was disgusted in myself.
So I stepped out of the queue
and I traced my way back through the labyrinth of aisles,
and I returned every single item to its place.
It was at that moment that the "nothing new" project was born.
I decided I would pay it back on what I would buy,
in fact, I decided I would buy nothing new for 12 months,
except the necessities.
Could it be done? I wasn't sure.
I started by sharing my project online,
everyone had something to say about it at first.
Some people were really enthusiastic,
though constantly told me they couldn't possibly do it.
Other people were curious, many were doubtful.
You know, quite a number of people took my project as a personal attack,
and instantly defended their own spending.
Everyone thought it would be difficult,
so did I!
But it wasn't.
First I had to get over the fact that my clothes did get a few holes,
and the soles of my sandals were stuck on with blu-tack,
but after that, I realized that my value as a human being
has absolutely nothing to do with what I own or what I wear.
I realized by living with less of what we don't need,
we make all of this space for the things that we do.
But what do we need?
Now, we all know that we can live happily
without designer clothes and constant upgrades,
we know this.
But what we can't live without is each other.
At the beginning of this project, I was an isolated single mother
in a new place with very few friends,
and now?
Now I have community.
By taking away my ability to buy,
I had to step out of my comfort zone,
I had to borrow, and when I borrowed, I also lent.
I started exchanging my skills and trading what I had for what I needed.
I took everything in my home that I no longer used
and I gave it to someone who would use it.
I exchanged my skills as a photographer for fresh organic produce.
Simple things like organizing a pay-what-you-want garage sale
became this amazing opportunity to connect with people.
People I hardly knew came and brought coffee,
kids came and played, everyone stayed longer than they needed.
I watched these strangers sat in my front yard
and just talked to each other over a cuppa.
At about six months into the project,
I decided to challenge myself further.
My daughter and I moved out of our rental home,
and we started experimenting with transitional accommodations,
such as house-sitting and wwoofing.
We went and lived for a while on a beautiful organic farm,
we helped with the mandarin harvest,
we painted, we baked, we fed chickens,
and through this very simple transaction,
we connected with some of the most beautiful people
that I have ever had the opportunity to meet.
At first, I thought the "nothing new project"
was a kind of personal activism,
a stand against the culture of consumerism and waste,
but as it turned out, this project, it was about something much bigger,
it really was about something so much bigger.
I know that this project, that this lifestyle,
it's not for everyone.
But what I have learned is something that is valuable for all of us,
regardless of the way we live our lives.
I have learned the value of human connection.
I have learned that the opportunity we have every day
to make real human relationships
is far more valuable than anything we could possibly buy.
In Indonesia, my life was steeped in relationships:
you could find community in the market place
where every transaction was an opportunity for conversation.
Here in Australia, our market places are large, sterile malls,
where there is plenty of transactions,
but no community.
Through this project, I have learned that every day, we have a choice:
we can choose the kind of world we want to live in,
we can choose to prioritize product or people.
If we continue to prioritize product,
we will surely destroy the social fabric of our communities.
We all know that the way that we live right now is not sustainable.
We all know that we need an alternative.
The alternative I propose, I call
"the economy of human connection",
where people come first,
where communities come before capital gain,
where our human need to consume
serves our greater need for community and for connection.
But where can you start?
You just start where it's simple.
You can start by getting to know your neighbors,
by giving someone a lift to work,
you can start by giving some of your time to a community project,
or to a local school, or to a retirement home,
organize a street party,
cook someone a meal,
trust each other,
when you trust in the good in people unequivocally,
you shine a light on the good that already exists within them.
Buy locally produced whenever possible,
take an extra five minutes to talk to the people who grow what you eat,
or make what you buy,
make every transaction an opportunity for connection.
When we extend ourselves,
when we work for the benefit of each other,
when we share what we have,
we create communities.
Together we have the power to make great and lasting social change.
Together we have the power to demand a more human centered economy
that is driven by the people for the people,
the economy of human connection.
Thank you.
(Applause)