A year ago I was out walking one day and had the idea that it might be awesome to be back in the town of my birth on my 60th birthday. My eyes welled with tears when the idea struck me, so I figured it probably carried some weight and ought to be acted on. Travelling half way around the world was something that last happened to me when I was a mere six years of age. Since then, I've traveled primarily within the bounds of my island homes; mainland Australia and then Tasmania. The single exception to that rule is a three month long voyage back in my early twenties, from the east coast of mainland Australia to the islands of New Caledonia. That was a long time ago, and it seems I'm not quite as brave or fearless as I was back then. So taking the plunge and booking my ticket to fly 'home' to England took quite some courage.
My nautical adventure was undertaken with my partner of the time, on his self-built steel yacht. She was home to us for a number of years, and taking home with you when you travel is somehow different to shrinking one's life to suitcase size and stepping aboard an enormous aircraft where one does not know the person at the helm. Or understand the workings of the airborne vessel.
Funny that this is such a big deal to me. I apologised to mum this evening (yes, I'm staying with mum for a while) for behaving as if no one has ever done this mad thing; getting on an aircraft and going somewhere that requires 14 hours in the air and then some. I know there are millions (I guess that probably is not an overstatement), or at least hundreds of thousands of people in the air at any one time. Logic announces that this is really nothing to be excited about. Everyone does it all the time. But it is a big deal. For me. And I'm filled with feelings of excitement, anticipation, apprehension; all the things!
I started packing at about four o'clock this afternoon, in true master procrastinator style. I wonder if it's a sense of disbelief or pretending that it wasn't really happening that kept me from beginning earlier. It doesn't really matter. It's done now. Only a few minor tweaks in the morning before heading to the airport and I'm ready!
When I booked the ticket I immediately had a torrent of plans for self-betterment before I faced friends and relatives overseas. Like I needed to be an improved version of me to be presentable somehow. I wrote schedules for everything from daily meditation to covering the miles to Heathrow on my exercise bike (hahahaha!) and of course, achieving my ideal weight. I would have clear skin, a taut body and would be so calm I would be like a black hole sitting in space -beautiful and mysterious. Yeah. None of it happened. I'm so good at scheduling but I suck at following through. So here I am, probably a lot like I was a year ago. Too late to change now!
Along the way, I've decided that I just have to do what I can, and what makes me happy on the day. On any day. Twenty-eighteen is a year I've taken off to repair, rest and revitalise. I didn't know that would be the case when I booked my plane ticket or for six months thereafter. So I teased and taunted myself with visions and dreams of a 'good enough' me to take on my grand adventure. Then I kind of crashed at the end of last year and it seemed a good plan to take some time off. And then all the visions went to hell and I just stayed with myself in the here and now. And it's been good for me.
I've lost a little weight and gained a little weight. I've meditated when I felt like it, listened to some great teachers about being human, and have written intermittently in various journals about what it's like being this human. Me. I love that I see this experience as being all about learning. The human experience. I grow in wisdom as I sit in this and see that all the stuff that goes on around me, that beckons for me to entangle myself in it, is not the real stuff. It's beautiful to understand that. I'm still me, but I feel like I'm starting to 'get' it. I feel more loved and more lovable. That's gotta be time well spent.
So here I am, at one a.m., recognising that sleep might be a good option at this point, but knowing I don't need to start too early in the morning, and that maybe it's time to start writing. It feels right to write. It feels good to write.
I'm looking forward to the adventures I have ahead of me. I am super excited about going back to my roots and to maybe understand myself better by doing that. I have friends traveling overseas even now, in Norway, Denmark, France, Georgia, the islands of Indonesia, the USA; friends recently returned from traveling in India, the United Kingdom, Cambodia, Cyprus, New Zealand. Many of my friends are world travelers. I enjoy catching glimpses of their travels on social media. I have friends living in Tonga, The Faroe Islands, Finland, such far-flung places. I am eager to find out first-hand why my friends travel. How it has changed them. I am eager to find out how this journey will change me, for it must. I feel incredibly privileged to have this opportunity and thankful to myself for acting on the idea of going home for my birthday.
Otherwise, I might still be thinking about it. Or worse, writing up schedules for getting there 'one day'. Perhaps there's a lesson in all this for me. Getting on and doing something, even if imperfectly, is acres better than all the scheduling and planning in the world. It's knowing when the paperwork is useful and when it's an excuse not to act. So maybe I'm becoming a little braver again as I'm growing older, a bit like the adventurous spirit that threw off the ropes and headed seawards with nary a backwards glance. On, on to new shores (and old), blue sky above and below, new sights, new sounds, smells and tastes. New stories, new people, new friends, new experiences. I can't wait, and now I don't have to.
Until soon
Kerry
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