There can only be one Taylor Swift. For the rest of us, there’s life

Our young companion had given up on fame. Who was I to argue?

July 31, 2026 — 1:57pm

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The rain had closed the roads, and we were stranded on the far side of the Flinders in a remote shearers’ quarters cooking outside on an open fire waiting for the wind to dry the country and set us free. Stuck with us on this far-flung station was a young woman, travelling by herself – an independent soul, edgy tattoos, doing yoga in the morning before lone walks to ephemeral waterfalls.

She had a purposefully serene bearing that reminded me of someone who has recently faced down troubles and is minute-by-minute ignoring the pain, deciding to play life like it’s someone else’s problem. Nothing would excite her too much now ... she was too distant to be hurt. It was like she’d chosen to be old.

We got talking, and it turned out she had been a musician, and had gained some traction in that world – she was Googleable, I found videos and songs online. But it had ended now, she said. At 17........

© The Age