there's no place like home

It was Sunday 25th September 2011. I was wide awake at 3am feeling a wee bit lost and confused. I had a good friend on the other end of the line kind enough to put my situation in to perspective and remind me of my deep down wish to travel and that there was nothing (besides my job) holding me back.

The next morning, before I had chance to change my mind, I handed in my notice. Shortly after I was booking flights to the destinations that had called me; Japan, India, Nepal and Argentina while preparing a spreadsheet complete with budgets, destinations, timings etc. By the 29th of October I was hosting my "not goodbye party" with my nearest and dearest of Sydney preparing for my next adventure.

I estimated that my life savings could afford me one year of travel; finally the belated gap year that I'd always dreamt of! I gave myself enough time to work out where I wanted to resettle after leaving Sydney behind, while also allowing some quality time to myself, to creative projects, to explore the world and devote to family.

Benchmarking the duration of my travels against my savings was both the stupidest and smartest commitment I made to myself. My savings incidentally have stretched a lot further (with the odd surprise top up through working as a teacher, giving therapies or cooking as a chef on a super-yacht) while life created 'money can't buy' experiences that I could have never even dreamed of... taking me further from Argentina on to Venezuela, Antigua, touring Europe, the USA and Colombia. And despite all these blessed opportunities to keep moving... I have wanted to stop and settle down at pretty much every country I have visited.

It's been 32 months that I've travelled solo. I've couch-surfed, hired rooms, rented apartments, slept on various surfaces in various conditions and in various moving vehicles. The outside world has taken me up mountains and across oceans. I have never felt so alive and yet I've never felt so alone. So vulnerable and yet so fearlessly empowered.

I've met all kinds of people. The faithless and the faithful. The open and the closed. The resentful and the forgiving. The obnoxious and the timid. The wealthy and the poor. Characters who's hearts bleed for something or someone that they lost or had to let go of.

This nomadic lady has filled her boots with the ups and downs that one endures in the world of the unknown pushing the boundaries of the human spirit. While also giving myself the space and time to heal and grow while nurturing the patience and love to care for another. I've also prayed a lot. I'm pretty sure I've saved lives and pretty sure, I've had mine saved a few times too.

I've laughed so much at the world's ridiculousness and cried more tears than I knew I had. I've been struck by panic in the rush of neon city chaos and felt the comforting relief of arriving at the station just in time for a long bumpy bus journey. I've got myself supremely lost and faced some unpleasant fears yet had enough giggles and light hearted experiences to lift me out of them. I've been gravely disappointed by unconscious behaviour yet filled with joy at another's sincere generosity. I've felt abandoned to the core and loved to the max. Blimey has it been intense; the wrinkles and the scars do enough of the talking.

Last week I finally ran out of travel savings just as I arrived in Buenos Aires, Argentina. As I neared the end of the savings bucket I realised all my insecurities tied up in money. While I recognise it as a form of energy, there's so much conditioning we can have around capital and I'm glad I allowed myself to go there and wonder on my own worth along with it. Of course if I wanted to make money, with the skills and experience I have I could get a paid job easily, but I wanted to know this feeling and stick to my promise to keep going until I ran out. This feeling of not being able to afford to do what I want to do and humbly accept it. To live on the bare minimum and to swallow my pride in accepting the hospitality of another. To feel supremely insecure and take full responsibility for it. And of course to finally reach the end of this chapter of my life and arrive independently with my marbles intact.

The concept of home has been much food for thought along the way. Is it a matter of having walls to decorate or friends to see? Is it my family? Is it a country that speaks my language? Or is it the person(s) I am in love with? The world has shown me so many homes and I must admit the one I have loved the most, besides nature, was that of the poorest family I stayed with in a small village in the Himalayas of India. Perhaps it was their humility and acceptance that I was so moved by, their ability to live simply and so connected to the land and their welcome, love and support for one another and their community.

So I turn 30 this year. I left England when I was 22 and hit the road after a break up at 26. These years have been the most defining and remarkable collection of moments of my life which I'll continue to be grateful for in many years to come. And it's also quite plain to see that they've also been the most reflective time of my life... Sorry about that readers! Yet the greatest realisation of this long winded tour has got to be; as much as the journey is the destination - there's no place like home. 

Where is that exactly? Well for me it's a place of being and personally, a journey to go on that no-one else can do for you and at times may require strength, courage and grace.

who's the guru of the guru gang?

 

A crazily long time ago I managed to persuade my open-minded boyfriend at the time, Chris, to join me on a weekend trip to the Blue Mountains, Australia. We stayed at a cottage embraced by autumnal woodland in order to study techniques in meditation practice. I was really looking forward to having a break and enjoying a trip in to nature while taking my mind out of the grind.

When Chris and I arrived we slowly found ourselves participants of what seemed to be a real life comedy. We were welcomed in to the cottage on Friday night and shown our room. I suppose this was when things began to get strange as we found ourselves in a florally decorated room, with a charming patch-work quilt and one very strange framed photograph next to the bed.

“Urmm…. Who is that?!” Chris said to me quizzing said photo frame. We both started laughing uncontrollably as we realised that there perched next to our bedstead was a photograph of an old white lady with her hands in prayer staring right at us promising our nights sleep somewhat awkward. Unsure of what the protocol was at a meditation retreat with a strange old lady image next to our bed, whose eyes seemingly followed us, we decided to gently face her down as we settled in for a nights sleep.

Eight people from Sydney had made their way to the retreat in search of some stillness. Early in the morning. Michael, the meditation teacher had us settle in the studio for our first meditation. The session started with the teacher gently requesting whether we had any questions before we started…

“Yeeeeaaaa! I do…” a loud New Yorker voice called out from the front breaking the zen silence of the room with her voice.

“Yes? Please what would you like to ask?” replied Michael the meditation teacher softly, taking a breath and bringing the energy back to softness.

“Who’s that woman in the picture everywhere?!” she replied. Asking the very same question that Chris and I pondered upon the night before.

“Oh, you mean, our Guru? That’s Guru xyz.” (I’m sorry I don’t remember her name but it was a little long and unpronounceable)

“What’s a Guru?!” replied New York.

“Well, she’s our teacher. We honour her and respect her.” Said Michael calmly ending the subject. “Are there anymore questions?”

“Yes..." New York again with more on her mind. "Who’s the Leader?” she remarked.

“What do you mean?” Replied Michael patiently taking in a deep breath.

“I mean, who’s the leader of the guru gang?!” said New York incidentally raising a very valid point.

What followed was a very interesting dialogue whereby Michael tried to explain how revered his teacher was while funny New Yorker challenged him on every point in her very abrasive and loud zen-shattering voice.

It was quite hilarious and by the time the conversation finished there was little clarity on who indeed was the ‘leader of the guru gang’. The elderly lady with hands in prayer was obviously a special woman who had been a guiding light for the owners of the meditation retreat, however, without any personal connection nor inspiration from her or her life; Chris and I merely saw an old lady, hands in prayer with head tilted, staring at us creepily from our bedside table

The whole weekend was life stranger than fiction which had Chris and I joking about it for a while after. I still giggle to myself about some of the funny incidents that actually inspired me to write a comedy sketch based on it. While the meditation was beautiful and certainly beneficial especially with the backdrop of the stunning autumnal colours in the Blue Mountains, besides giving us the heebie-jeebies; the owner's guru did nothing to inspire us if I am honest.

This memory revisits me, mostly because it makes me a laugh a lot and also as a teacher it's something I realise is important to remember. I feel we can all be our own masters and learn to honour one another, that we are all creators, that we bring in to our world the people and situations that can teach and grow us while perhaps the most divine of teachers is one’s own inner self no longer manipulated by the expectations of society, people around us and I’m sorry to say, even our parents’, but free to explore our own ultimate potential as empowered guides to ourselves.