Except that so much more is needed as well. This award won't solve the genuine and ongoing barriers confronted by so many people with disability every day.

Alcott was chosen, rightly, because he captures the zeitgeist of the moment. He's the captain's pick because of what he represents; any of the nominees would have been equally worthy winners.

Take the ACT's Australian of the Year nominee, Patty Mills. Top basketball player, Indigenous rights advocate, an inspiring role model. Or NSW's Professor Veena Sahajwalla, creator of "green steel", inventor, immigrant and entrepreneur. The list of worthy recipients goes on and on, not detracting in any way from the wonderful selection of Alcott: it just exposes how arbitrary the choice is.

Being male (51 to 14 recipients) pushes winners to the front of the pack. Sportspeople have the best chance of obtaining recognition (14 out of 65); then entertainers and medical scientists (10 each). These are relatively easy picks. Choose an independently minded, intellectually strong sexual assault survivor, and you'll end up with "controversy" when they're forced to stand next to the Prime Minister for a photo. So that's what "side-eye" means.

Former Australia Day Council chief Warren Pearson suggested the awards program "is not primarily about choosing four national recipients; it is about engaging with Australians about citizenship". If this means the award is about the sort of country we want to be, that's good. Best of all, the "type" of recipient is changing. We need to become a new nation and see ourselves in a new way: fewer generals, more diversity and inclusiveness. It's about reflecting, perhaps belatedly, a shift in the deep undercurrents and undertow that is slowly reshaping our community for the better.

Exulting one person with a disability is a brilliant start. There's still a very long way to go.

As these awards were announced, Dee-Anne Kapene, the head of a small disability support provider in northern Tasmania, was struggling. She urgently needed rapid antigen tests for her staff, and while she'd managed to scrounge some from a friendly cleaning business, it wasn't enough.

"It's as if the minute the pandemic began, we fell off the map," she says. "I'm not blaming anybody, but somewhere, in the intersection between state and federal responsibilities, disability and aged care, the supply chain was interrupted. Other groups were prioritised; we were simply left struggling to obtain what we needed."

It was the same a couple of years ago. Then, Kapene had been desperately cobbling together just enough PPE supplies to keep operating. Her Coastal Residential Service is a small hub of networked group houses where people, often with severe mental and cognitive disabilities, live together. Simply getting through a day without disaster is a triumph - they'll never have the opportunity to shine in a competitive arena, no matter how much they embrace their disability.

Kapene is concerned her "clients" (an antiseptic, commercially correct word that completely fails to capture the passion that she brings to talking about the people she's caring for) are being ignored. Despite all the worthy sentiments we hear from politicians, you know they're far more likely to be found off watching the cricket than following through on the detail.

People with disability are all too often like those in aged care, and all the others pushed to the margins of our society. Kapene is direct: "If you think getting RAT tests is difficult, just try attempting to source drugs."

The point she makes is not that there are overall shortages of the critically needed supplies - simply that the distribution paths aren't flowing smoothly. Assurances from politicians that everything is OK don't mesh with the reality of a congested bureaucracy and bottlenecks down the chain, as essential supplies simply stop arriving. Governments, state and national, want to pretend they're shaping the future. It would be so much easier if they'd admit reality - they've lost control.

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The virus arrived in Tasmania three days after travel restrictions were lifted. Tests were distributed to those prepared to queue for hours, while those who couldn't were left without. The system broke down, and the disadvantaged were left without. The vulnerable suffered most.

We live in the real world. Yes, our lives are shaped by our efforts, but these can only be expressed within the broader workings of society.

Alcott's triumph has been to surge beyond his limitations, and nothing should detract from the wonderful inspiration and marvellous accomplishment this success represents. It's vital, however, to hear what he's saying, and to accept the nuance in his words.

Alcott didn't embrace disability, instead he grasped possibilities - and made them come true. He shows us what life can be.

This year I'm working with a team building a new website, ability.news, dedicated to informing, connecting and empowering people with disability and their supporters. Disability is a complex issue, about far more than just physical restrictions and limitations. Alcott's determination is integral to his triumph. So too has been the technical side of things (a brilliant wheelchair), his coaching (an excellent support team) and his ability to harness the best expertise (top-tier medical and professional advice). It's about using knowledge to create a community to back success and achievement.

By treating disability as an information problem, we hope to create lasting change in the sector. By providing news about these issues to a community that wants to engage with this subject, we'll be taking inspiration from what others have achieved. Alcott's used his success and enthusiasm for life as a powerhouse to demonstrate how irrelevant a disability can be to reaching your full potential. Now it's up to us to do the same.