I promised myself that somehow I wouldn’t let my blog get away from me, and yet somehow here I am, a year later and the spiral of despair I descended in has led to this very prominent absence. It wasn’t all the injury’s fault; my natural disposition to procrastinate didn’t quite help matters.
So how did I end up here? In Sydney’s western suburbs instead of in South America like I had planned? I ask myself the same question often.
Last November I had some big decisions to make and, upon realising that my perspective on travelling had changed dramatically, I took the easy way out.
Where on my round-the-world trip I barely looked at my phone, I found myself talking to my friends back home more and more.
Where I used to find aimless wandering joyous, I found myself wanting to simply just climb all the time. The thought that there would be a chance I could not find partners in South America created angst. Sure, I could have chanced it and embarked on probably what would have been one of the greatest adventures of my life, but my will was broken.
Further to that, I simply feared not being able to find a job, feared the language barrier, all the usual setbacks that I allowed to dominate my thoughts. It soon dawned on me that while I was approaching 25, I was still in hot pursuit of a career and should I dawdle for another few years, I may lose my chance at forging this path completely.
So many excuses, but all valid.
So, instead of being an expat in South America, I returned home after my three months in Europe was up. Soon after, I moved to Western Sydney to surround myself with what I loved – climbing and writing.
It’s been a good few months I have to admit. Before my journey home, I joined an Italian street boulder competition but was only brave enough to try two problems.
It has been no Latino sojourn, but I braved my first real winter, living in the Blue Mountains (day time temps max 8, night time around 0). Climbing entailed five layers and a beanie, lots of star jumps and sun chasing.
I made some new (furry) friends and cuddled baby wombats.
I became well versed with the process of moving and general adult domesticity. I even discovered if I ever change career paths, hospitality would be an ideal alternative.
Of course, I climbed a few things and was lucky enough to catch some beautiful views.
Plus, my parents are ultimately thrilled that I am still living in the same country and not on the other side of the Earth. Which meant that I could make it to my sister’s wedding.
So yes, I suppose even though I admit life in Sydney has been a lot harder (and expensive) than I had ever imagined, my life back home in my sleepy city and all of its comfortable familiarity is only an hour away. This thought is quite ironic as some years ago, I loathed the idea of Brisbane and remaining in its encompassing bubble. With the insurgence of some truly fantastic restaurants, easily accessible locales and the company of some wonderful people, I came to really enjoy it in my final months living there. I will always take reassurance in that.