When All Else Fails, Travel
When all else fails, travel. I’m sure you’ve either heard, said, thought, chanted that one before. I sure as hell have.
In fact, only yesterday I was muttering to my man that I was going to leave Melbourne, I was gonna get outta here, go teach overseas or something. He very calmly reminded me that my problems will be here to welcome me when I get home, only they would’ve had time to age. And not age in a fine wine or cheese kind of way, instead, in a McDonalds cheeseburger kind of way – it still looks the same, but you don't eat it.
The last six months for me have be awakening, to say the least. I’m nearing my 27th birthday – which is my scary age – so I’m blaming that. But really, I’ve done it to myself.
I’ve fallen into a career I don’t particularly love. And when I say fallen, I mean, I couldn’t get a job out of uni so I took the first one that came my way, and I just kept falling. Now, I’m 27, sitting in a deep, dark well, wondering how I got here and how the hell to get out.
If you’ve ever read The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Murakami, you’ll remember that scene where the general is trapped in a well with only a few moments of sunlight every day. And those moments are what kept him going. Well, I know this sounds totally millennial of me, and really I know my life is fantastic, but that’s what I feel like.
Stuck. That’s the word for it. I’m bloody stuck.
This feeling comes and goes quite frequently for me. And I’ve realised, I need to get my shit together and figure it out. Especially before I hit 30. Oh god, please never come, 30! So that’s what I’m doing. I’m figuring it out.
But don’t judge me if I end up moving to Nepal for three months to 'find myself'. I don’t care how cliched that is, I don't care that I'm no longer an 18 year-old angsty teen – when all else fails, travel.