28/08/2025
When I went to Australia recently, I felt like I’d been cast in some survival documentary before I even boarded the plane.
The organisers had thoroughly prepared me.
First came the weather warnings:
“It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s windy. Pack for all eventualities.”
Then came the travel hazards:
🦡 “Watch out for wombats. They don’t move quickly, and they don’t move for anyone. If you hit one, you’ll destroy your car.”
🦘 “And kangaroos? They’re worse. They come out of nowhere, leap across the road, and BOOM — goodbye bonnet.”
By the end of the briefing, I was imagining myself driving through some Mad Max version of Australia, dodging kangaroos like they were extras in The Matrix while wombats casually plodded across four lanes of traffic, impervious to everything.
So, when I finally landed in Sydney, I was half-expecting chaos. And honestly? The first part wasn’t far off.
The weather… yep, grey, wet, windy. But I’m British. Rain is basically our national sport. I almost felt at home, except the tea wasn’t quite strong enough. ☕
But then came the part where I had to actually hire a car.
I’ll admit — all those warnings had wormed their way into my head. By the time I got to the rental desk, I was second-guessing myself.
“What if I hit a wombat?”
“What if a kangaroo body-slams the car at 40mph?”
“Do I even want to drive here?”
It’s funny how quickly other people’s fears can become your own.
But then I paused. Took a breath. And reminded myself of some simple truths:
🚗 I’ve been driving since I was 17.
🚔 I drove professionally in law enforcement — trained to handle high-pressure, chaotic situations.
🌍 I’ve driven the length and breadth of the UK (badgers and deer are basically the British version of wombats and kangaroos).
✈️ I’ve driven abroad plenty of times, on the wrong side of the road, in the wrong type of car, and lived to tell the tale.
So why was I letting other people’s stories override my own lived experience?
That was the turning point. I stopped fixating on what could go wrong, and instead focused on what I can control. My driving, my awareness, my training, my choices.
And you know what? I was fine. More than fine, actually. I navigated Sydney’s roads, in the rain, in the dark, kangaroos bouncing about like they were auditioning for Cirque du Soleil… and I came out unscathed.
And here’s where the lesson clicked.
This is exactly like competing in dog sports.
You turn up at a show and suddenly everyone becomes a commentator:
👉 “This judge is really tough.”
👉 “Watch out, dogs always blow their stays in this ring.”
👉 “Your dog’s not quite ready yet.”
Before you know it, you’re not walking into the ring with your dog anymore — you’re walking in carrying everyone else’s fears, doubts, and horror stories.
But just like with me in Australia, those are their experiences. Not yours.
Your truth is this:
🐾 You’ve trained.
🐾 You know your handling.
🐾 You’ve rehearsed your cues.
🐾 You’ve built the skills.
You can’t control the weather. Or the wildlife. Or the judge.
But you can control yourself, your dog, and the work you’ve put in.
So the next time you feel those doubts creeping in, take a breath and remind yourself: you’ve done the work, you’ve got the tools, and you’re ready.
Because if I can dodge kamikaze kangaroos in the pouring rain in a rental car… you can definitely survive the competition ring. 😉
