Adrian Barich: As STM turns 21, I’m grateful for my column and the humbling connection to readers

If you know me, you’ll know that I’m not the most organized guy on the planet, so it’s no surprise that I’m now writing about STM’s 21st birthday, a milestone worth celebrating.

For the last few years, I’ve had the privilege of claiming a little corner of the STM world, and it’s a strange and humbling thing to know that the words I scribbled on Wednesday (often just before deadline) found their way into the hands of readers on Sunday.

Sometimes they even have a positive impact on people’s lives (such is the genius of our editor Katherine).

It is always encouraging when our readers, especially our wives and partners, often tell me that they give my column to their husbands and ask them to read it.

I think that’s why on so many Sunday mornings some people say, “Damn Barra, I wish he’d kept his opinions to himself.”

But sometimes, those same readers tell me, the message resonates, especially when channeled into Clint Eastwood’s gentle but firm philosophy of not letting the old man in.

“Don’t let the old in” reminds you to stay young at heart, stay connected to life, and resist age stealing your spark.

Funnily enough, I am reliably informed that the “old man” of the house often delivers my column while in the smallest room in the house. In perhaps a convenient twist, it seems many of my most devoted readers have been quietly absorbing my words on the toilet.

It seems that for most of us this is the most important area of ​​reading. And you know what, that’s okay with me. If my words can withstand the bright lights and hum of the bathroom fan, they must be convincing.

Other people take a more tame approach. Some people attach my articles to the refrigerator with magnets for later reference, such as when the old man of the house is thinking of letting the old man in.

That’s when the lady of the house points to the refrigerator door where Barra has posted a reminder for all of us to stay active, stay curious, stay cheerful. Don’t let age, negativity, or self-doubt take the wheel. Keep the old man out, my friends.

Incredibly, some people have told me that they even send my column to family and loved ones, sometimes as a lifeline during teenage dramas or arguments about men’s health.

Somewhere between the toilet and the kitchen, my column seems to have developed a loyal readership, proving that wisdom can come in small, unexpected doses. . . and sometimes in awkward positions.

Remember that not all feedback is simple. A few people have admitted that I am a bit “intellectual” sometimes, which is news to me.

My latest dive into AI, inspired by a podcast interview Joe Rogan did with Elon Musk and recommended to me by my son, was summed up by my editor as provoking a possible “existential crisis.” I had to Google this to make sure I understood what he meant.

And fair enough, I guess. The number of days when you are asked to reflect on the meaning of life should be very few. After all, there are sports to watch, dogs to walk and lawns to mow.

Speaking of our gorgeous furry friends, the emails I receive from dog lovers always catch my attention. Whether it’s the joy of a puppy’s first run on the beach or the quiet sadness of saying goodbye to an old friend, these stories mean so much. Pets bring a perspective that no column can fully capture, but it’s a pleasure to keep trying.

Family also appears frequently in these pages. Readers share stories about navigating the choppy waters of teenage parenthood, finding common ground amid hormonal storms, and perfecting the delicate art of Dadvice — a term that, I suspect, also prompts a few eye rolls around Perth every Sunday morning.

At the end of the day, what is important is to be involved in the life of this great state that we all share. Western Australians care deeply about sport, that much is obvious, but there is always so much more going on beneath the surface.

“Being Barra” gifts me the space to explore this each week: to talk about the things that matter and occasionally stumble upon something vaguely resembling wisdom.

And don’t worry, I’m fully aware that none of us former football players are going to launch the space shuttle, if you know what I mean.

Thank you for reading, writing, sharing, and yes, pinning these columns to your fridge. And for examining them in the smallest room in the house.

STM has always prioritized local stories, powerful visuals and quality journalism, a tradition built by legends like Dianne Sattler and continued by other talented people.

I’m a huge fan of Martin Saxon and his work as an award-winning journalist who tells more stories than cozy dinners, so I feel truly privileged to add my voice to the legacy of this magazine.

Here’s to STM on 21 and many more stories, smiles and Sunday mornings – wherever you read.