There exists a certain category of opinions, so banal they bear resemblance to printing a blank sheet of paper. For the purposes of this article, “I love to travel” sits chiefly amongst them. After all, to remain sedentary represents a slow death and a fall into complacency; travel is the way to unshackle yourself from this, to challenge your views and immerse yourself in a world different from the one you are so familiar with. New environments can be challenging, the people you meet bringing joys and sadness, and what starts out as a holiday can soon become a life in itself.
My resistance to complacency led me to travel to Australia, a sneaking feeling had caught up to me that my life had become too small, a routine too predictable. Before I left for Sydney, the question, “What is your plan?” was a reasonable one, though not one I had an answer for. I had always had a plan, but I felt at that moment that my planning had achieved very little other than my own isolation from the world, so I did things, as the saying goes, ‘by the seat of my pants‘.
Shifting from hostel to hostel, continually introducing myself with minimal impact, I struggled to connect with anyone. The job market in Sydney, particularly for backpackers, was lacklustre, and the nature of transience was utterly alien to me. I felt a profound exhaustion. It’s at this juncture of stepping outside one’s comfort zone that one questions why on earth they left the good life behind.
The commitment of having travelled across the world kept me committed and soon I found myself in great company, scouring Gumtree every morning and phoning immediate start job adverts until I eventually landed a job at Sydney Tools, refurbishing the store in Penrith. Coming from a white-collar job, this was quite the change, but I was grateful as it was this change I sought. For the lack of planning, it seems all rather cliché to have discovered the flaws in myself, affirmed my own ambition to practise law and left Sydney feeling as if I had achieved exactly what I set out to – a merry and introspective jaunt outside my comfort zone.
Though life is never so straightforward, a month later, back in the UK, I found myself returning to Sydney under vastly different circumstances, this time as a Paralegal. My reintegration was eased by a good friend from the UK who introduced me to his circle, an act I deeply appreciate having witnessed firsthand the struggles endured by him and others in establishing a life in Sydney. I fully empathise with the exhaustion of forging and nurturing new relationships, particularly in the transient world of hostels. The necessity to continually ‘gamify’ social interactions, to refine introductions and repeatedly engage in similar conversations, only to start afresh as faces come and go, is a draining, hollowing experience. The initial liberation of being in a new environment soon morphs into a relentless effort to keep afloat, as this transient lifestyle gradually occupies more of your existence.
Five months since my return, I can confidently assert that I have a life here – rich with friends, hobbies, a job, and bright prospects. Yet, the next significant decisions are just over the horizon, including whether to return to the UK or continue my life in Sydney. A part of me will forever belong to the Yorkshire Dales. It’s all too easy to view the past through rose-tinted glasses or to romanticise a potential return. However, facing reality, one wonders how long it takes for a new country to truly feel like home, and what aspects of oneself must be lost in the process. The vast time zones exacerbate a sense of disconnection from my family and their experiences of the world.
These are the questions I now contemplate, a privilege in itself, borne from a willingness to venture beyond the familiar comforts of home. They are questions that challenge the essence of identity and belonging, of what it means to embrace a new life while holding onto the threads of the old. The very fact of doing so distorts my sense of time, and as I look forward to my next steps, I can’t help but feel how bland an opinion “loving to travel” is, how thankful I am to have travelled, and in the words of Frank Sinatra:
“ I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried · I’ve had my fill, my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside.
I find it all so amusing. To think I did all that.
And may I say, not in a shy way
Oh, no, oh, no, not me
I did it my way “