"I
grew up in Glenorchy, Tassie. My parents lived on a little piece of land, half cherry orchard, half vineyard, a few hundred feet from the Cadbury factory. Practically my entire childhood smelled like chocolate.
I wasn't raised in a structured environment, you know how it is: what college are you going to, what career will you pick? We just lived; if we were happy and healthy at the end of the day we called it a success.
I helped out in mom and dad's store, but most of the time I roamed free and developed a passion for surfing early in my teenage years. From November till May I left home after breakfast and didn't return until I got hungry, late afternoon. I trekked and surfed and wandered.
My dad faked cardiac events every time he found out I went to Ship Stern Bluff again. I had absolutely no sense of danger as a teenager, came close to real trouble a couple of times, broke a bone, but never quit.
I wasn't taught to plan for the future and delay gratification, and in a way it made taking risks more acceptable. I didn't agonize over decisions or question whether writing was time well spent, I just let the gift flow through. Between the surfing and the chocolate factory I didn't realize how unusual my upbringing was until I came to New York.