A year ago this month, I moved to Australia.

I started a blog right before I went that I ended up pretty much forgetting about. It’s pretty unfortunate because it would have been awesome to look back at it and kind of re-live the experience through my own words. I did, however, reread the very first post, right before I left to head overseas, and it’s really interesting to compare what’d I’d been thinking, and feeling, and planning then to what’s going on now.

Here’s the post:

YOUNG, BROKE, & ASPIRING

Today, January 30, 2013, is sort of like the first page to my next chapter. So I figured, why not start this blog here?

I’m 23 years old, not in college, flat freakin broke, and I’m moving to Australia.

I’m probably the most indecisive person ever. I make up my mind with a confident finality & then change it without second thought. I fall in love, usually with ideas, and then I discard them in a second. There are two things, though, that I’ve remained consistently passionate about for as long as it’s counted: traveling and writing.

Sometimes my desire to do both get in the way of one another, and for the last two years I’ve been stuck in the middle of this battle between my priorities. Do I want to spend my money traveling to new places, moving to new cities, seeing the world? Or do I want to settle in one place for a while? Save money to invest in my career? After a long day’s work at a shitty retail job with even shittier pay, I’m usually leaning toward the latter. The prospect of never having to work another retail job is enticing, and I know if I just buckle down for a few years, save all my money and sacrifice some things, I can make it happen. The only problem is I get restless, and patience isn’t one of my virtues. Busting my ass at a job I fucking HATE for some shitty check at the end of it can be discouraging, especially when I can’t immediately bask in the fruits of my labor. Of course I tell myself that it is all for something, it’s for my future. It sucks now but it will all be worth it later.

Then, I wake up one day, completely disregard all the plans I’d had up until that point, and decide to just get the fuck out of there instead. Wherever I am. If I’m going to be broke, working some shitty job, not doing what I really want to be doing with my life, why not add some excitement to the mix & do it all in a whole new place, with new people? When I move, I feel like I’m accomplishing something. I feel like I’m being productive. The struggle seems worth it when I’m living somewhere new, somewhere I don’t know anything or anyone. The hard stuff seems a little bit easier in new places. I’m happier in new places. So I move. To Florida. To California. To New York. To Atlanta. And now, to Australia.

This is it, though. I’m going to go to Australia, stay for a few months, save enough money so I can be somewhat on my feet when I get back to the States, quench my traveling thirst for the last time, and then start focusing on my future.

My goals are to open up a tea house by the time I’m thirty. It’s something I’ve always dreamt up but up until recently, never look at as realistic. But I’m older, I’m smart, and responsible when I want to be, so why the fuck not? Once my tea house starts running successfully, I’ll have the time and resources I need to finally do what I really love. And there it is, my plan.

Now if I can just stick with it.

Now, a year later, I’m 24 years old, still not in college, not completely broke, and living back home. As planned, I’ve been focusing on my career rather than my urges to travel– which I still get. They hit me like tidal waves sometimes, & I have to take a few minutes out of the day to reassure myself that even though it feels like I might die if I don’t get the hell out of here soon, I won’t actually die.

I’m now working full-time at a book publishing company as a Marketing & Publicity Associate, and even though it’s a little stressful sometimes, and once in a while I feel like I may be in over my head, I’m finally getting paid for something meaningful to me. I’ve finally managed to break into the industry that I was made for. Obviously, this is just a stepping stone. I still have plans and goals, but getting this job has definitely been a major victory for me.

My book is also set to release at the end of this year. Anyone who knows me knows how frustrating it’s been for me, having to just hold onto it for so long. But things are progressing, at last, and by 2015 I’ll officially be a published author. 

While I’m still pretty indecisive, I’m proud to say that I’ve also become more disciplined. My twenties–which started off so unbelievably shitty– are really starting to look up. This time last year, I can remember laying on my best friend’s bedroom floor, crying because I was so unsure of every single thing. And while I’m sure uncertainty is probably one of the most common experiences of twenty-somethings, I can confidently say, to everyone who may be laying on their best friend’s floor right now, that eventually the fog will clear. 

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