Since we left Sydney I’ve been infused with an odd sense of calm. I don’t think I’ve felt this way for ages – maybe not since Fiji, in May. Typing this makes me feel a bit like a spoilt bitch. I guess I do get to travel a lot. I don’t really know how I’ve made this happen over the past few years – perhaps because I’ve been single, mostly? Perhaps by avoiding every single sense of responsibility that’s ever threatened to ruin a selfish plan I’ve spent precious time concocting in my head; perhaps by convincing myself I am not cut out for a day job. Day jobs may well keep poverty at bay, but one thing I’ve learned in my brief 12 or so years in the working world is that no matter how cool your day job is, no matter how many famous people you get to mingle with, or how many parties you’re invited to, it’s still a day job. As in, it really does take up a lot of your time.
A day job, whether you love it or hate it, still stops you doing cool things, like swimming with dolphins in pools in Coffs Harbour, or in the wild in Byron Bay, like we did today (awesome – check out the piccie of me and Bella the bottlenose!!!!) Anyway, I don’t have a day job anymore. I quit mine. Because even though it was awesome, it was taking up my entire day. Every. Single. Day. And what’s the point of being alive if you’re not even living?!
Oh crap, I’ve only been in Byron Bay for two days and I’m already talking like a hippy. Someone slap me!!!
Anyway, one day this will have to stop. I am well aware it’s not cool to be a nomad. A wanderer in baggy pants with tie-up straps around the ankles I will never be. I will never have dreadlocks either. Or hairy armpits, or Tupperware pots in the side pockets of my rucksack, filled with “things of sentimental value” like shit bracelets woven by other nomads with street stalls and children named Rainbow-Twist. One day I want a house, and a family and a photo album that features nice pictures of me, with brushed hair and trimmed fingernails and a dog called Deefer (D for dog. I always wanted a dog called Deefer).
But not yet.
I have digressed. Since we quit our day jobs in pursuit of an adventure, our trip is going very well so far, but I’ve been busy keeping up to date with the travel writing for thetraveleditor.com and other bits n bobs. I’m also trying to write on the side, stuff I won’t blog about, because there’s a bit of a spiritual mission at the heart of my journey. I think Paul feels it too, but he’s not as old as me so his search for the perfect man isn’t quite as important just yet. I feel that my man, my future Mr Awesome could be out in Australia somewhere. Only not in Sydney. Definitely not in Sydney, because short of putting out an ad, I’ve looked everywhere. Well, maybe not everywhere, but a lot of places. And I haven’t found him. So maybe I’ll meet him on this trip – wahey! I actually went to an astrologer not long ago, who told me that I’m on the verge of making one of the greatest spiritual unions of my life, and that “he’s someone different, and a bit quirky.” Of course, I immediately thought he meant Russell Brand, but the little dream died just as it always does, when I remembered I’m not Katy Perry.
But anyway, if “someone different, and a bit quirky” who’s not Russell Brand (but hopefully very similar) is out there, I’m bloody well gonna find that swine. That’s my mission, right there. What I’ll do with him when I find him, god knows. I’m no expert. But I’ll try anything once.
Anyway, we’re only a few days into our trip and we’ve made it as far as Byron Bay. We’ve already stayed in some gorgeous places and met some fabulous people, (and dolphins). Tonight we’re going out with some friends of a friend, to the Buddha Bar, where consequently we’ve been already, twice. Oh well. Tomorrow, we’re walking to the lighthouse and having dinner at a posh restaurant called The Fig Tree, and in a couple more days time, we’ll be working on our first farm for a man called Wayde, who lives about 50 minutes away in a town I can’t remember the name of… (damn you beer!)
My day job is but a distant dream; a hazy memory I look back on and wonder, did that really happen? Mind you, that could be the beer, too…