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 I’m not the most organised bloke on the planet, so it’s no surprise I’m only now writing about a milestone worth celebrating — STM’s 21st birthday.

For the past couple of years, I’ve had the privilege of claiming a tiny corner of the STM world, and it’s a strange and humbling thing to know that the words I scribble out on a Wednesday (often just before deadline) make it into readers’ hands by Sunday.

And sometimes they even have a positive effect on people’s lives (such is the brilliance of our editor, Katherine).

It’s always encouraging to hear from our readers, especially wives and partners, who often tell me they hand my column to their husbands and demand they read it.

I’m guessing that on many Sunday mornings, some people are therefore saying, “Bloody Barra, I wish he’d keep his ideas to himself”.

But sometimes, those same readers tell me the message resonates, particularly when it channels Clint Eastwood’s gentle-but-firm philosophy about not letting the old man in.

“Don’t let the old man in” is a reminder to stay young at heart, to keep engaged with life, and to resist letting age steal your spark.

Hilariously, I’m reliably informed that often the “old man” of the house is handed my column while he’s in the smallest room in the house. Perhaps in a fitting twist, apparently many of my most loyal readers quietly absorb my words in the toilet.

It seems that for many of us blokes, that’s prime reading territory. And you know what, I’m fine with that. If my words can survive the bright lights and hum of a bathroom fan, they must be compelling.

Other people take a more domestic approach. Some pin my articles to the fridge with magnets for later reference, like occasions when the old man of the house might be thinking about letting the old man in.

That’s when the woman of the house points to the fridge door, where hangs a reminder from Barra for all of us to stay active, stay curious, stay joyful. Don’t let age, negativity or self-doubt take the wheel. Keep the old man out, my friends.

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

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

Not all feedback has been straightforward, mind you. A few blokes have admitted that sometimes I get a bit “highbrow”, which is news to me.

My recent dive into artificial intelligence, inspired by a Joe Rogan podcast interview 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 that to make sure I knew what she meant.

And fair enough, I suppose. Days when you’re asked to contemplate the meaning of life should be few and far between. After all, there’s sport to watch, dogs to walk, and lawns to mow.

Speaking of our magnificent furry mates, the emails I get from fellow dog lovers are always a highlight. Whether it’s the joy of a puppy’s first sprint down the beach or the quiet grief of saying goodbye to an old friend, those stories mean a lot. Pets bring a perspective that no column can fully capture but it’s a joy to keep trying.

Family, too, often makes an appearance in these pages. Readers share stories about navigating the choppy waters of parenting teenagers, finding common ground amid hormonal storms, and perfecting the delicate art of Dadvice — a term that, I suspect, also earns a few eye rolls across Perth every Sunday morning.

At the end of the day, it’s all about engaging with the life of this great State that we all share. West Australians care deeply about sport, that’s obvious, but there’s always much more going on beneath the surface.

“Being Barra” gives me the gift of space each week to explore that: to talk about the stuff that matters, and to occasionally stumble my way into something that vaguely resembles wisdom.

And don’t worry, I’m keenly aware that none of us ex-footballers are ever going to launch the space shuttle, if you know what I mean.

So, thank you for reading, for writing, for sharing, and yes, for sticking these columns on your fridge. And for perusing them in the smallest room in the house.

STM has always been about local stories, powerful imagery and quality journalism, a tradition built by legends like Dianne Sattler and carried on by other talented people.

I am a big admirer of Martin Saxon and his work as an award-winning journalist who broke more stories than I’ve had hot dinners, so I genuinely feel privileged to add my voice to the legacy of this magazine.

Here’s to STM at 21, and to many more stories, smiles and Sunday mornings — wherever you happen to be reading them.