When is going back actually going forward?
There’s that old saying – take one step forward, then two back. But my questions is, is there really ever any going back if the backward steps is indeed to propel you forward to somewhere or something else?
OK, let me explain myself. I am home. I rocked up in Norwich, wearing Birkinstocks and a blanket, with my nose peirced and dragging 26k of back-pack behind me. My parents looked at me like I'd grown an extra head.
I confess I couldn’t wait to leave Delhi. India, by the end of the trip, got a bit too much. I got fed up dodging the sacred cows, the tuk tuk drivers and the monkeys, whilst being chased down the street my well meaning locals.
The bus from Leh to Manali nearly killed me – I’m not kidding. 20 hours of glacial mountain pass, -5 degree’s (wearing only a t-shirt... ok, not JUST a t-shirt) dark frozen fog, mud, landslides, falling rocks the size of space ships in a total, zero-vis' white-out will make anyone a bit twitchy. The landscape - from what I did see of it - was absolutely breath taking and utterly other worldly in places though.
Then there was the bus trip from Manali to Dharamsala. Only 10 hours this time - slightly less suicidal road - it poured with rain and that rain poured through the roof onto my chair and I ended up making the latter half of the journey, soaked, trying to sleep in the isle whilst I noisy Indian family talked over me and even noisier Israli’s got stoned. If I sound pissed off, it's because I was.
I had plenty of time yet to contemplate my home coming when my flight from Dharamsala to Delhi was cancelled and there was a quick scramble to try and organize a car, so I wasn’t stranded in the Himalayan foothills forever. This particular 14 hour journey was made all the better when the driver began falling asleep at the wheel and the steering failed, right when we were in the path of an oncoming truck. Upon arrival in Dehli we stopped at 5 diffferent places and circled the city at least 6 times whilst the driver tried to call a dozen friends on the his mobile phone the size of a brick, who each called a dozen friends and no-one knew where it was.
Rant.Done.
Anyway, that was all made up for when I boarded my London bound Boeing 474 and magically got upgraded to Business Class. How this happened I have no idea. The lady at the check in desk must have been blind as a bat or impartial to the style I had developed on the road - also known as 'Bohemian Yoga chic' OR 'I no longer own a mirror and am too cool/chilled out to care if my bright pinks pants don't go with my India print, green and blue, Ganesh t-shirt.' Maybe she took pity on me?
As I reclined in my flatbed, took advantage of the complimentary Sushi and let the flight attendant pour me yet another glass of vintage Dom Perignon I wondered how I would feel to be back on UK soil. Where I would end up and if things would be different. I was nervous and excited. By the time we flew into London airspace I could see the Thames snaking its way through the city I was slightly pissed and clapping my hands like a kid at Christmas.
But now, I am home. And pondering that age old question – what the fuck do I do now?
I love Norfolk. I want the country lifestyle - but do I want it now? I want to be a yoga teacher/therapist, etc., but do I have the skill and confidence I need and am I ready for that yet? Wouldn't I get bored?
My life was in London and I miss my life; I miss my friends and the big city lights.
I just have to make a decision and make a move - because you never know where the next move, even if it isn't the right one, will lead. Sometime we just need to leap - and somewhere, in free-fall, we grow wings.
So, what are you waiting for? What am I waiting for? Leap!!
There’s that old saying – take one step forward, then two back. But my questions is, is there really ever any going back if the backward steps is indeed to propel you forward to somewhere or something else?
OK, let me explain myself. I am home. I rocked up in Norwich, wearing Birkinstocks and a blanket, with my nose peirced and dragging 26k of back-pack behind me. My parents looked at me like I'd grown an extra head.
I confess I couldn’t wait to leave Delhi. India, by the end of the trip, got a bit too much. I got fed up dodging the sacred cows, the tuk tuk drivers and the monkeys, whilst being chased down the street my well meaning locals.
The bus from Leh to Manali nearly killed me – I’m not kidding. 20 hours of glacial mountain pass, -5 degree’s (wearing only a t-shirt... ok, not JUST a t-shirt) dark frozen fog, mud, landslides, falling rocks the size of space ships in a total, zero-vis' white-out will make anyone a bit twitchy. The landscape - from what I did see of it - was absolutely breath taking and utterly other worldly in places though.
Then there was the bus trip from Manali to Dharamsala. Only 10 hours this time - slightly less suicidal road - it poured with rain and that rain poured through the roof onto my chair and I ended up making the latter half of the journey, soaked, trying to sleep in the isle whilst I noisy Indian family talked over me and even noisier Israli’s got stoned. If I sound pissed off, it's because I was.
I had plenty of time yet to contemplate my home coming when my flight from Dharamsala to Delhi was cancelled and there was a quick scramble to try and organize a car, so I wasn’t stranded in the Himalayan foothills forever. This particular 14 hour journey was made all the better when the driver began falling asleep at the wheel and the steering failed, right when we were in the path of an oncoming truck. Upon arrival in Dehli we stopped at 5 diffferent places and circled the city at least 6 times whilst the driver tried to call a dozen friends on the his mobile phone the size of a brick, who each called a dozen friends and no-one knew where it was.
Rant.Done.
Anyway, that was all made up for when I boarded my London bound Boeing 474 and magically got upgraded to Business Class. How this happened I have no idea. The lady at the check in desk must have been blind as a bat or impartial to the style I had developed on the road - also known as 'Bohemian Yoga chic' OR 'I no longer own a mirror and am too cool/chilled out to care if my bright pinks pants don't go with my India print, green and blue, Ganesh t-shirt.' Maybe she took pity on me?
As I reclined in my flatbed, took advantage of the complimentary Sushi and let the flight attendant pour me yet another glass of vintage Dom Perignon I wondered how I would feel to be back on UK soil. Where I would end up and if things would be different. I was nervous and excited. By the time we flew into London airspace I could see the Thames snaking its way through the city I was slightly pissed and clapping my hands like a kid at Christmas.
But now, I am home. And pondering that age old question – what the fuck do I do now?
I love Norfolk. I want the country lifestyle - but do I want it now? I want to be a yoga teacher/therapist, etc., but do I have the skill and confidence I need and am I ready for that yet? Wouldn't I get bored?
My life was in London and I miss my life; I miss my friends and the big city lights.
I just have to make a decision and make a move - because you never know where the next move, even if it isn't the right one, will lead. Sometime we just need to leap - and somewhere, in free-fall, we grow wings.
So, what are you waiting for? What am I waiting for? Leap!!
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