When I was a teenager, I dreamt about going travelling. I didn’t have any specific country in mind but ‘going travelling’ was what a lot of my friends talked about and I thought yeah, I quite fancy that. I always thought there was more to life than the small town where I lived.
Life didn’t quite pan out that way and before I knew it I had fallen in love aged 19, got married at 20 (I know, I know) and given birth to my first child aged 24. ‘Going travelling’ seemed to be something that other kids did … my destiny was elsewhere it seemed.
Fast forward 20 years and I find myself restless again. I have spent the last few days packing up our house as we move on Wednesday and that’s probably what has caused me to feel a little on edge. I’m drowning in a sea of black bin liners and plastic boxes. My nail varnish is chipped beyond repair, every muscle aches and as much as I do have direction and know where I am going in life (sort of), this minor crossroads seems to have revived my desire to travel again. Maybe it’s just because I want to get away from this mess, or maybe it’s because I’m just wondering … is this it for the rest of my life? Struggling to make ends meet on my own and forever wondering … what if?
Realistically, I can’t just whack a rucksack on my back and bugger off to Thailand. I have responsibilities, more than most being a single parent, and obviously I can’t just up and leave. But I really do need to find a way for me to get away from it all, at least occasionally, because I can promise you this, there is nothing lonelier than packing up all of your belongings on your own and moving back in with your Dad aged 44.
I think I’m just exhausted, slightly delerious and maybe feeling a little sorry for myself, but I have to plan some type of getaway or I think I’ll go insane. It doesn’t have to be abroad and it doesn’t have to be for very long but just … something. So once I’m settled into Dads, that’s exactly what I’m going to do … see if I can afford a night away somewhere. Anywhere. Obviously, my sidekick Dexter will have to come along, but he’s great company and I love being around him so it’s no hardship.
In the meantime, I just need to find some energy for this last push and pack up the rest of the kitchen. Oh and the lounge. Oh and the shed. And then there’s the cleaning. And then I have to cut the grass as well. Oh, and take some more bags to the charity shop.
It WILL be worth it. I know it will. When I’ve moved AGAIN, but this time into my own house, and I crack open the bottle of Moet that I’ve been saving for what feels like years, I’ll think back to this particular moment and know that it was all worth it. (Actually, as a quick aside, the Moet is from the Worst Date Ever – remember him?)
But until then, I have to find a way to deal with my restlessness as best as I can.
Until then, I better get back to it … I have some knickers to pack!