The other day, after a realization that the laundry pile hadn’t been touched in a month and the fridge lacked any food beyond salad dressing and milk, mum decided to come up and visit.
Living on your own is all good fun until you become responsible for doing the dishes, cleaning everything yourself, making sure you’ve got food in the fridge, keeping your room relatively orderly and waking yourself up every morning. It can be tough trying to stay motivated to get through the endless to-do list that is your life – first world problems, I know.
And I told mum this on the phone, so she made the hour drive up north to come see me and brought along food and took home my laundry to do. And although it was nice of her to come and rescue me from my list of things I had to do but had managed to put off, it was a wake-up call.
There are certain things one simply must do when living alone, and when even these basic things are abandoned, something needs to change. So the next day I decided I needed an adventure to find some happiness and some purpose and some change.
Therefore, on April 16th, I booked a round-trip flight to London for sixteen weeks. And set the leaving date a mere twenty days away. Perhaps it was an ambitious move, but I told myself that I had to get everything done here and then I could run away for four months.
I got legitimate butterflies in my stomach; a mix of incredible excitement but also a feeling of being overwhelmed. So many things had to be done before I left including finishing second year finals and moving out of my apartment.
Born and raised in the UK, I haven’t been back since I moved to Vancouver eight years ago and that is something that desperately needs to change. I could have chosen to take my summer to Australia, South America (I did have plans to go to Mexico and volunteer at one point) or anywhere else in the world, but eight years has been too long so I’ve chosen to go back home.
I have thirteen days until I leave and so far I have done no packing to move out of my apartment let alone travel abroad. While sitting around the dinner table on a visit home last week, my parents told me that if I didn’t document what I was doing on a four-month adventure (outside of Instagram) I would be in trouble (not actually, but really) and I figured writing in my own personal travel journal would be nice for myself but not for anyone else.
Thus this blog was born and the countdown to the UK, albeit rushed, began.