There comes a time I guess in every person’s life where they look at themselves in the mirror one morning and say: who are you? Mine finally arrived one rainy morning at the end of winter in London. It came a little late in life but I figure it’s not a problem. At least I woke up. I’m making my start on the cliched journey of finding myself.
Being the extremist that I am, I quit everything. Yes really everything.
I quit my job at one of the world’s biggest technology companies. Public relations manager for Europe, Middle East, Africa and Russia looking after some or other techie things. A big title and a really nice pay check too.
I quit my flat in the heart of Wimbledon. Two minutes walk to the station, gym across the street, mall next door. For a while I had a tattoo parlour for a neighbour, which made me feel real cool, but they moved out one night.
I quit my stuff. I rented a 10 square feet box at the Shurguard down the road. What doesn’t fit in there I said to myself, has to go: to charity to friends to the recycle bin.
By next week this time my flat will be empty. I’ll be left with a medium sized suitcase, a plane ticket to Europe and Africa and insurance for six months.
There is no one word strong enough for what I feel at this moment. The closest one would be that I feel alive. I feel terror, freedom, elation, terror, anticipation, excitement, did I mention terror? But inside of me I know I am doing the right thing. For me. I’m doing the right thing.
This blog will be the place where I record my journey. I think sometimes there will be a lot of writing and then there may be times of utter silence.