The perks of being a pirate

In this deeply charming and humorous talk, DJ and self-professed pirate Tom Nash meditates on how facing adversity due to disability invited patience, ambition and pragmatism into his life in enlightening, unexpected ways. "We all have unique weaknesses," he says. "If we're honest about what they are, we can learn how to best take advantage of them."

Often when I'm out in public,

a child will stare at me.

And if the child is particularly brave,
they'll approach me and ask:

"Are you a pirate?"

(Laughter)

To which I then need to respond,

once again,

"Yes."

(Laughter)

I mean, let's be honest:

I've got two hooks, prosthetic legs
and a penchant for hard liquor.

(Laughter)

All I need is an eye-patch and a parrot,
and I'm basically there.

(Laughter)

But I like being a pirate.

I find many advantages
to having a disability,

and I'm not just talking about
the money I save on gloves ...

(Laughter)

or the fantastically legitimate excuse
for never having to master chopsticks.

(Laughter)

I'm talking about real advantages
I feel I've gained,

having gone through physical adversity.

When I was 19, I contracted a disease

that resulted in the loss
of both my arms at the elbows,

both my legs below the knee,

and left enough scars on my face
to elicit jealousy in Freddy Krueger.

(Laughter)

Now, I may never be able
to communicate in sign language,

but my increased resilience
and general ability to problem-solve

has been heightened
by being forced to think laterally

to overcome problems
that most people aren't faced with.

One of the first lessons that I learned

immediately followed
the painful and arduous task

of learning how to walk again,

but it went on to pay dividends
for the rest of my life.

It happened when I attempted
to step up a curb.

Now as rudimentary as this action
sounds to most of you,

stepping up a curb
is somewhat of a challenge

for those of us without ankle movement.

So I tried stepping up the curb

the way I'd always known how, front on,

for days on end,

with no success,

until it became obvious
that the time and effort

I was investing into this endeavor
was clearly disproportionate

to the benefit of its outcome.

(Laughter)

So, I decided to inspect the problem
from a different angle.

If I couldn't use an ankle joint

to achieve the range of motion
that I required to mount the curb,

I would have to use a different joint,

like my hip.

So I turned my body
perpendicular to the curb

and placed my foot up sideways,

and I was able to step up immediately.

Within five minutes,

no staircase was safe from my advances.

(Laughter)

That very day, I climbed
a staircase of three flights,

which I was quite impressed with as well,

except I realized that I didn't know
how to get back down again.

(Laughter)

That was a long weekend.

(Laughter)

Now, in my past life
as an able-bodied person,

I'd been a guitarist.

I was alright as a player,

but I'd never really taken it further.

I'd never really started a band
or played live all that much.

Nonetheless, music
was a great passion of mine,

and when I lost my arms,

the idea that it may no longer
be a part of my life

critically challenged
my will to keep living.

However, the thought that emerged

immediately after being
discharged from hospital was:

"If Ray Charles can play the piano
while blind as a bat,

let's get to work on a solution
for this guitar problem."

So, consulting with an engineer,

I designed a slide system
that would hook into my left hook,

and I devised another pick-holder system
that would clip into my right hook.

Now, if this worked,

I would be able to play the guitar
open tuned on my lap, like a slide.

So after weeks of testing and alterations,

I finally had the accessories back
to play the guitar again,

and I was right back where I was
before losing my hands --

being issued with noise complaints
from my neighbors, obviously.

(Laughter)

But this time, I took it further.

I started a band with my friends.

We wrote songs and recorded them.

We even played gigs to real people.

Not as many as this.

(Laughter)

But even though it was a just a tiny step,

it was a giant leap from what I'd achieved
when I was all in one piece.

Now while relearning every action
that one has ever cultivated

might seem like
a significant undertaking --

and believe me, it very much was,
in the short term --

it was nonetheless
having a positive effect

on the way that I approached
everything else in my life.

Not only did it transform
my ability to problem-solve,

but I also felt I became more pragmatic,

less sensitive to hindrances,

in some cases, more patient,

and magically transformed
people's abilities

to offer me their seats
on public transport.

(Laughter)

Trivial setbacks began
to pale in comparison

to challenges I'd previously overcome,

and this allowed me to take a calm
and measured approach to these challenges,

keeping them in perspective

and often even finding new
and improved ways to overcome them.

The benefit of not dwelling
on the negative

and just getting on with the task at hand

became self-evident.

It even encouraged me to pursue
some more fulfilling career paths

that may otherwise have been inadvisable.

And who would have thought
that an appropriate job for me

might involve the meticulous operation
of electronic equipment

to curate dance music to people
in inaccessible places

under the influence of alcohol.

(Laughter)

Not I.

So in a competitive industry where DJs
have been relentlessly honing their craft,

desperate to attain gigs,
sending demos to clubs,

my best friend and I
took a different approach,

and we started our own club night,

and we employed ourselves as the DJs.

(Laughter)

Suddenly, we had a headline slot.

(Laughter)

Now, when we started
that club night, I could not DJ.

The first time I ever got behind the decks
was on our opening night,

in front of hundreds of people.

I'd only just learned
where the play button was.

(Laughter)

But, being previously faced
with so many ultimatums,

one's forced to be astute
in adapting to new situations.

That club night went on to become

the longest-running
weekly club night in Sydney,

and we as DJs went on to play
Australia's biggest music festivals.

So eventually, I either learned quickly,

or the standards of clubs
have gone really downhill.

(Laughter)

Coming close to death
can be an educational experience.

It's certainly true that one's priorities
receive somewhat of a realignment

immediately afterwards.

And it's also true
that some of those priorities

are met with an increased
sense of urgency.

But another, more salient realization
that comes to light

is the triviality of our own
self-importance and self-consciousness.

To truly understand the extent
to which your self-consciousness

prohibits you from engaging
in opportunities

should lead everyone to take risks
they otherwise wouldn't.

We're merely a blip on the time line
of the universe, right?

Act accordingly.

Now the ideas that I'm presenting today
were imbued upon me

through some otherwise
unfortunate circumstances, granted,

but they're lying dormant in the lives
of anyone who's willing to exploit them.

If we all understand
that we all have unique weaknesses,

and if we're honest about what they are,

we can learn how to best
take advantage of them,

whether they be mounting a curb
or fear of presenting sales reports

or the inability to sufficiently
manage one's finances --

looking at that guy --

(Laughter)

there lies the ability to learn, to adapt,

and even the ability to rewire
one's instinctual response to challenges.

Adversity is good,

and it has the potential
to make you stronger.

And, at the very least,

you can scare the hell out of kids
if you look like a pirate.

Thanks.

(Applause and cheers)