The Room Where It Happens

By Jordyn Gray, Menzies Leadership Foundation Fellow (CSW Delegation)

Jordyn in front of the media wall inside the United Nations HQ in New York City.

NB: This piece contains an unreasonable amount of Hamilton references. Apologies in advance to anyone who has yet to witness the theatrical greatness that is this musical (but also… fix that immediately).

Two years ago, I was in a uniform, serving in the Royal Australian Air Force, with no plans to be anywhere else. And then, in what felt like an instant, that life ended. Medical discharge. Injuries—both physical and mental. Suddenly, the structure, the certainty, the identity I had built my life around was gone.

For the past two years, I’ve been in a state of perpetual free fall, chasing the feeling of purpose I had whilst serving. I’ve found glimpses of it—building The Athena Project, advocating for veteran survivors, standing in rooms where real change could happen. But nothing prepared me for how deeply I would feel that pull when I walked the halls of the United Nations Headquarters in New York City.

I’ve spontaneously happy-cried exactly three times in my life. The first was when my fiancé proposed—because, well, it was the single most magical day of my life (obviously). The second was at the Harry Potter Studios in London, standing in the Great Hall. I am fully aware that I am a grown adult, but it felt like I’d just been handed my Hogwarts letter, okay?! And the third time? Sitting in the General Assembly Hall of the UN, trying to process the fact that I was actually there—in the building where history is, and has been, made. Where nations have debated, wars have been ended, and where Jacinda Ardern became the first person to breastfeed on the floor of the General Assembly (absolute slay).

The first two made sense—love of my life, childhood obsession—but this one hit differently. It wasn’t nostalgia. It wasn’t romance. It was something else entirely: it was the realisation that I needed to be in spaces like this. That I’d do whatever it took to make sure this was not a one-off moment but rather the start of something bigger.

I’ve been obsessed hyperfixated on Hamilton for about four years. It’s in my Spotify Wrapped every year—right after Miss Swift of course. I even went to see it when it came to Brisbane. And while I didn’t quite make it to Hamilton on Broadway this trip, I did walk the streets of New York with The Schuyler Sisters blasting in my headphones. It’s a whole vibe, in case you were wondering.

So it’s no coincidence that I found myself in the city where it all happened, standing in spaces where history has been written and rewritten. And for the first time, I truly understood Aaron Burr’s desperation—I want to be in the room where it happens. And not just in theory. I want to be in every room where decisions are made, policies are written, and change is brokered.

I never thought I’d say this, but I want a career in policy, politics, and diplomacy.

For so long, I thought policy was something distant—cold, bureaucratic, dictated by people who had never stepped into the realities of what they were legislating. But then I found myself at the UN attending the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), sitting in rooms where the discussions weren’t just theoretical. They were urgent, impactful, and deeply necessary. These conversations weren’t just shaping agendas; they were shaping futures. And I knew then: I want in.

But this journey didn’t start in New York. Looking back, it started when I joined the military—when I first pushed the boundaries and asked the bold, uncomfortable questions. It continued when I sat through gender advisory training, determined to turn theory into action, and when I kept studying Gender, Peace, and Security even as I was leaving the military behind.

It took me through the halls of Parliament House in Canberra as part of my Global Voices Fellowship, where I first saw policy being shaped in real time. And now, standing in the United Nations, I can see the throughline clearly—every experience, every challenge, every time I refused to stay within the lines has led me here. The only difference now is that I know, without hesitation, that I belong in this space.

I think a powerful change-maker is someone who understands that this space isn’t just policy—it’s personal. Because policy isn’t abstract; it shapes lives, futures, and the way people experience the world. Sitting in that room, listening to discussions on conflict, security, and human rights, I felt the weight of what was at stake. This wasn’t just about frameworks and resolutions—it was about real people, real consequences, and the urgency to get it right.

If Hamilton wrote fifty-one essays in six months to shape the future of a nation, then I’ll write, speak, debate, and advocate until I’m standing on the General Assembly floor. Because my experience—my voice—belongs in the global security conversation. As a veteran survivor, I refuse to let the issues that shape our lives be reduced to just another policy footnote.

Redefining yourself at 27 seems ridiculous. But when the identity you built your life around disappears, you’re left with two choices: cling to the past or carve out something new. And in the process, I’ve learned something unexpected: Talk less. Smile more.

That line from Hamilton always infuriated me—who wants to play it safe when you can shake things up? But now, I see it differently. Change isn’t just about being the loudest voice in the room. It’s about strategy. Precision. Knowing when to push, when to listen, and when to drop the exact right words at the exact right moment.

And before you ask—yes, I wrote this while listening to the Hamilton soundtrack.

I’ll be back, UN. Just you wait.

Fellowship thanks to the Menzies Leadership Foundation.