Ten years ago, I was 29 and at a turning point in my life. I had my first full-year contract as a creative writing academic in Melbourne. Admittedly, this doesn’t sound very stable but compared with having to reapply for sessional lecturing positions every semester, it seemed like success. I was also about to get married to a very lovely person with a demanding (and much better paid) career of his own. Because my office hours were shorter, I tended to do all the housework. Because his work was based in Melbourne, I didn’t apply for positions at universities interstate or overseas. These were my choices, and I was happy with them, I believed then.