It’s no coincidence she chose the Paralympics in Paris. The first patronage she accepted within 10 days of taking office was that of patron-in-chief of the Australian team.
Her first official function at Admiralty House in Sydney was to host the presentation of the Paralympic flagbearers, wheelchair racer Madison de Rozario and swimmer Brenden Hall.
It comes from a very personal connection. Mostyn’s younger sister has an intellectual disability, which spawned a life-long association as a family with the disability sector.
“All of this is not without some thought about who belongs,” she says, “and the Paralympics, I think, embody almost a road map for the rest of us to think about.
“This isn’t just about sport, it’s a reminder that everybody does belong, and that our world is not just for the able-bodied, and that excellence and the setting of standards can be done by anybody.”
When Prime Minister Anthony Albanese called on her earlier this year to accept the position, he nominated three goals – modernity, optimism and visibility. She says they will remain the watchwords for her five-year term.
In April, within days of her appointment being announced, she set out to meet the living past governors-general and former prime ministers to get their views on the role.
The overwhelming advice from her predecessors?
“Be yourself,” she says. “Don’t try to be a version of a governor-general that you think is required by the office. Be yourself and don’t stray from your values, your character.”
David Hurley, who passed the baton to her in July, believed the position was a kind of healing role, to listen to communities long after prime ministers and the media have forgotten about such crises as fires and floods. Quentin Bryce, the only other woman to hold the office, advised her never to miss building a personal connection with everyday citizens, while Sir William Deane said the role was one of immense privilege and an opportunity for compassion.
In June, she had an almost hour-long personal audience with King Charles at Buckingham Palace. What they discussed will remain private, but she came away from those meetings certain she had to focus on care, kindness and belonging.
“That’s actually a pathway through a world that’s full of conflict, where we’re sort of forgetting how to debate with civility, where people are feeling left out and don’t belong,” she says.
“I’m in a unique position – without politics, no policies to offer and no money to give – to use other assets to meet that strategy.”
Making the office accessible to Australians from all walks of life remains a top priority. She’s keen to discard some of the pomp and ceremony that come with the job, yet stressing she will always observe important traditions and respect the office.
“I think Australians are wary of anything that defines class or status above anyone else,” she says.
“There’ll probably be some occasion where I’ll be brought into a room in a more ceremonial fashion, but my preference, at the moment, is I’m the person that welcomes people into Government House. I’m with people as they’re arriving, rather than people waiting for my arrival.”
That includes wearing sneakers if the occasion suits, such as welcoming thousands of school children annually to Yarralumla, and never turning down the chance for a selfie if asked by people on the street.
On the WWI battlefields of the Somme on Thursday, she was approached by several Australian tourists. She quizzed them about their stories, taking down their details if they raised issues before holding up the mobile and posing for photos.
“That’s how I’ve always connected with people,” she says. “But I also have a daughter who reminds me never to be a ‘boomer’.”
“I think you can respect without it, without pomp, and without separating from all Australians, and particularly those who’ve come from another place to become Australians.”
Mostyn knows the personal privacy, an anonymity she once enjoyed with husband Simeon Beckett, is now gone. Security details follow their every move as a couple. Popping out to the shops is now a major operation. Hopping in the car and driving to see daughter Lotte in Sydney is no longer simple.
But above all, Mostyn hopes she has developed a model that proves a woman can do the job. “And that should be completely uncontroversial,” she says.