Over the last twelve months, my life has pretty much fallen apart. And honestly, I think it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
During my final year of school, I made great plans to travel. I was going to climb mountains and swim in strange seas; meet interesting people and see the world with them. Only I never went. I made all sorts of excuses at the time, all of them very sensible, but I was also scared.
Instead of following my heart, I followed my head: I went from school straight to university, into a job and back into education. And that attitude followed me everywhere I went. Head over heart. I was so painfully sensible that I forgot to be happy.
Fast forward 5 years and all those sensible decisions have come crashing down around me. And I’ve realised that living my life that way never really made sense at all. So this summer, I threw my sensibly acquired savings into a backpack, and went travelling through Europe.
Call me a cliché (if you’re feeling kind) or pretentious (if you’re not), but it was the best time of my life. And having rediscovered what it means to be happy, if only for a few weeks, I am never going back.
I don’t know if that means travelling more, although at this point I hope it does. Maybe I’ll find something here in London that makes me glad to spring out of bed in the morning. I don’t know where I’m going, and that’s ok.
For now, I’ve going to enjoy being lost, in every sense of the word.
‘And I thought to myself, oh son, you may be lost in more ways than one. But I’ve a feeling that it’s more fun than knowing exactly where you are.’ Passenger, Keep on Walking