Transfer of Power
BY THE TIME I stood down, I was tired. The role of premier had fatigued me. Going back a few months, I’d planned to have a two-week break at our shack in Bridport at Christmas to refresh, but that never eventuated thanks to the pandemic. We’d reopened our borders on the 15th of December and started to see COVID in the state for the first time in two years. Case numbers took off: on New Year’s Eve, only hours after arriving in Bridport, while walking on the beach with my wife, Amanda, I got a call to say they’d soared that day from the dozens to more than 400. The next day I was back in Hobart, where I stayed for the next five weeks, working to ensure the reopening could be managed.
Then one of my children got COVID, and as close contacts all the family went into isolation. On the fifth day, Amanda piped up at breakfast.
“Today’s a day for a celebration,” she said.
I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Why’s that?”
“Well, five days!” she said. “That’s the longest you’ve spent under this roof in two years.”
And the penny dropped. It was like an awakening. Reflecting on my two-and-a-bit years as premier, I realised that my life had slipped out of balance. My wife’s comment crystallised for me that performing this job of mine, which I’d focused on for the benefit of Tasmania, was coming at a significant personal cost. I’d spent Christmas Days on the phone; I’d missed birthdays.
