As the plane gained momentum along the Tarmac, I squashed my face against the window and took in every last inch of my Australian surroundings. The other planes landing with confident precision at their final destination, the little yellow and orange people running round with paddles, guiding the carefully constructed conveyer belt with nothing more than a couple ping pong bats. The main road beyond the watch tower was teaming with traffic; commuting both from and to the airport, or just on their way to work.
As the captain informed the crew to prepare for take off as it was our turn to defy the laws of physics and fly through the air, leaving the city I'd called home for the last year behind, my eyes dampened slightly, hot blood rose to my face and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I closed my eyes tight, remembering all the goodbyes of the last 24 hours, knowing that if I ever went back, it would never be the same again. This was the end... And I wasn't ready.
So that's it guys, my gap year is over. I worked in Sydney, travelled around Asia, met new people, ate new foods and discovered new cultures. I ticked everything off the 'Finding Yourself' gap year check list and did it all while maintaining my mild coffee addiction. The plane landed at Heathrow Airport and following some emotional Welcome Back's, I resumed my place at my old job and my parents house, I drank wine with friends I hadn't seen in over a year and scanned my Australia friends group chat religiously for signs they were having more fun than me.
"What's the plan, then?"
I've been asked a million and one times. They mean in life, of course. A question that I set off to answer 12 months ago and the one answer I never discovered.
"I don't know."
The look I receive back is becoming comical. You'll know the look of you've ever informed someone that you once wore the same pair of underwear for a week or letting your loved ones know that you've decided to become a vegan, sell everything you own and give your mind, body and soul to a cult/secluded "community" and never return.
[Note: there is no emoji for this face]
It's not the not knowing that people don't understand, there's thousands of us out there who are roaming cluelessly through different forms of education and work experiences hoping to land somewhere with a decent pay that doesn't make you want to cry everyday. In modern day society, this is totally acceptable. In modern day society (and Instagram) it's also totally acceptable to exchange education for world knowledge, and work experiences for, well, more world knowledge and get all that irritability out your system before you carry on with your life: "press the play button", "come back to reality", "get a proper job".
And there's always that friend of a family friend or brothers girlfriends best friend/mythical person who went off travelling and never returned. They found a life somewhere else, married a local to whatever country they now call home and converted to the cultural way of life and have possibly made it home for one Christmas when he/she was more fascinating than watching the Call the Midwives/ Top Gear Christmas special on T.V.
And the millions of pounds made every December from calendar companies selling pictures of hot tropical islands and beautiful mountainous landscapes that people will pin up in their kitchens and offices and dream of that holiday once every couple of years.
And then there's the rest of them. The "I went travelling once" people. Mums, Dads, Aunties and Uncles telling kids of their one big adventure, before they came back, settled down and had a normal life.
Which one are we?
"We" being the collective of people that didn't want to come home. That dream of being that friend of a friend that people talk about when they bring up certain destinations. "Oh yeah! Jenny's cousin used to live their for a while... You know the one who's now living in [insert exciting foreign country]"
I've been home for 3 weeks now and it's exactly how everyone warned me it would be like. A friend in Sydney drunkenly said her goodbyes before I left, telling me "You won't be home for long! You'll get home and everyone will be really excited because you're back but two weeks later no one will know anything more about your trip and they won't care. They don't get it. You have your life and they have theirs, and you need to be with us... Because we get it." She quite possibly ruined the last ounce of excitement I had left for returning home. And she was right.
Maybe we are the ones who will leave and never return. We've all struggled to fit in or feel grounded in one place or situation and all of a sudden, we found the art of travelling. And we found people like us. Who represent the same person as us in their friendship group, in their home town. The one that was always a little bit lost. Did we #findourselves, afterall?
Why spend life drowning where I don't belong, never quite the best at what I do because I don't really see the point of it all?
I'm constantly harping on about how we're a new breed of people, not quite comfortable with all the traditions society has to offer, but it's true! I can't be the only one to come home and be disappointed to find out that I still don't really fit. I'm certainly not the only one to come home and find their old lives simply don't quite cut it anymore.
So last night, as I saw in 2017 in a grimy ex-bingo-hall-cum-night-club surrounded by people who made their mind up about me years ago, I decided on my New Years Resolution: Accepting and loving that I just don't fit in. Not in society, not in my home town, not in people's ideas of living life correctly.
The follow up resolution: to find somewhere I do, without even trying or thinking about it.
Besides, you're loved more when you're missed.
Peace Out ♥
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