Paradise… Dream or destination?

(Delayed post from August, found it down the back of the sofa along with an odd sock and 20p. I’m now in the UK, will let you know how it goes…)

Backpacker. Traveller. Gypsy. Beachbum. Economic immigrant. Migrant. Ex-pat. Wanderer. Hobo.
Who am I? Why am I wandering? How long will I keep on going? What am I searching for? Where is home?

I am a lost one. A wild child, with no children. I have only a backpack and a few dollars in my pocket. A one way ticket and an open heart.

I am searching for something; richer colours, deeper feelings, purer love, a wilder life? Living day to day; for beautiful beaches, happy smiles, sunshine, higher mountains, curious cultures, starry nights and lazy, hazy mornings after. Rebelling against the grey and the grind. I need to feel. I need to be alive.

At 27 I have never had a full time job. I have no university degree or ‘qualifications’. My longest relationship was under a year. My good friends are scattered accross the globe and I see them rarely. I have little money in my savings account. I don’t own a house, a car or much of monetary ‘value’. So do I then have any value? If these are socially accepted goals, can I ever be successful?

Who’s judgement counts on how well we have lived?

Algebra, treadmills, uniforms, life insurance, spanx, celebrity magazines, cars on finance, botox, chemical air-fresheners in ‘meadow breeze’, tinder, work appraisals, gluten free cake, saline tits and prozac smiles. 

Clock in, clock out. Don’t be late. Don’t be sick. Be thankful for the overtime. Sign the contract. The deal is you sell your time. You sell your energy. You sell your life. In return you take the paycheck. You pay your bills. You save for security. You save for sofas, cars and pensions. You save for retirement when you’re old and tired.

 That is just how it is. That is what we we are trained for. That’s ‘reality’. We need to work. We need not think.
If this is ‘the real world’? Then where have I been?

After 25 months of travel or 748 days away from ‘home’, have I learnt anything? Have I found any alternative way of life? Or is it just a prolonged trip from reality? Is it all just velvet sunsets and gypsy dreams? Must I one day return home to the life I was prescribed? Settle down, start my career, invest in a home, have some children, buy sensible shoes, pay into my pension, adopt a dog and name him Steve? Will I one day return to ‘the real world’?

To me, this crazy trip feels real. It’s not a holiday. It’s not a gap year adventure. It’s not a nice little break from the grind. It’s research. It’s a part of my education. It’s trial and error. It’s learning my place. It’s the search for happiness. It’s looking for a place to call home. It’s figuring out if that’s even a destination? Or will I forever be of ‘no fixed abode’?

Along the road I’ve been travelling, I’ve keep hearing the question… “And then you’ll go back home?” Always asked with the same knowing expression. As if it’s game over. Please return your seats to an upright position, put on your raincoat, the fun’s over kids, it’s back to reality.
I want to be at home; here, there, wherever, within myself… I found a piece of paradise. I found a peace in paradise. I realise it’s in my mind. It’s with me everywhere I go. And even in the middle of the city there are places my soul feels good. I’m back at one of my favourite Melbourne homes. The veggies are growing, the sunshine is warm and I’m with friends that make me smile. Peace, veggies and love. Life is sweet and I am grateful ❤

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