I took the road less travelled... now where the hell am I?

I have been writing versions of this post for some time, more lines added to the draft with every milestone, with things remembered, with each shift, each "a-ha" moment.

The edges have been blurry for a while. I was kept awake last night haunted by work deadlines that mean little to me (apart from the obvious: that in meeting them I won't get fired), and by strange dreams of another station being added to the Victoria line called...wait for it...Mother Street. What the hell. And then I was on a beach in Cygnet, Tasmania, in July (winter) collecting driftwood. Drowning in it, in fact.

Do any of my readers do dream interpretation? Let me know if so :)

Thank goodness it's finally feeling like Spring. And today the sun is out. I feel I have neglected Green Ink of late, despite the fact that I have had a lot to say, but I haven't really had a lot to say, if you know what I mean. Substantial overloads at work and at home have kept me away from anything even remotely requiring some eloquence or brain power.

The winter was a contemplative time for me. For a lot of it I was kept under virtual house arrest by a chest infection that refused to budge! My feelings of sluggishness, however, were tempered with some very decisive actions. Yet there are still more steps in the dance, more rungs on the ladder to grasp and pull myself up on. But I know I will only go in that direction if I confront certain truths about myself, and if I allow myself to trust people, and myself, again. If I am prepared to risk what I have built for what I could. Plainly speaking, if I just tell fear to bugger off and just get the hell on with it.

I get glimpses of it occasionally. The life that I want, and know is within my reach.

But I also know I shouldn't be so impatient, and I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I often forget that the life I have now is something I could only have dreamed about, once upon a time. Five years ago, things were very different.

Back then, the idea of living anywhere but Hobart was unthinkable. Too hard. Too scary.

Back then, the idea of having a blog, or getting my writing published, or writing for and helping edit a magazine, were all hazy dreams. The idea of writing, full stop, was hazy - something I desperately wanted to do but lacked drive, discipline and self belief to see anything through.

Back then, the idea of travelling the world was something I constantly had to put on hold. My first husband wasn't really interested in travelling, and was horrified at the thought of emptying our savings account (filled by working for years in corporate jobs I loathed) to travel. Doing it on my own was not an option.

Back then, the idea of being slim and healthy and having a body I was proud of was beyond a daydream, seeing I had recently weighed in at over 100kg, got out of breath climbing stairs, and I thought nothing of eating an entire cheesecake on my own.

Back then, the idea of waking up each day feeling hopeful, excited and genuinely happy with life was....well, it hadn't even occured to me that I could live that way.

For a long time I wasn't brave enough to face up to the fact that I could change things if I really wanted to, but the reason I wouldn't was because I was afraid. With every passing day, I felt myself grow more and more dead inside. My neglected passions shrivelled like dying fruit. The literature I loved got swapped for Woman's Day and InStyle. My writing disappeared - I didn't even journal any more. I would read Lonely Planet travel books on the weekends, and always return them to the library with a heavy heart, knowing that the life I was in meant no travel, no adventure. Nothing but an exorbitant mortgage, long days in a job I hated, and dreams that were slowly disappearing. It is true what they say - life is short, unless you're miserable.

I look back to the life I had then and I just don't know how I survived it.

When you're only 23 and you feel like your life is over, something is very, very wrong. The road less travelled, that giant but true cliché, beckoned. Something sunk its hooks into me and wouldn't let go. Things needed to change. I reached a point where I realised I would only end up where I was headed if I didn't do something - and where I was headed didn't look like a fun place.

Things did change. Not because of luck, fortune, or being in the right place at the right time, but because I made it happen, because of sheer hard work and determination, and because I didn't want to live one more day in the life I was living. Finally it occurred to me that I could have the life I'd always wanted. All I had to do was say yes. Yes, I can do this. Yes, I am worth this. I just had to make up my mind, and go for it.

But it wasn't easy. As I unpicked the stitches of that old life, it became very clear that some things were simply not going to survive the journey from the old life to the new one. There were some harrowing consequences for my desire for change that left me lonely, frightened, and riddled with guilt.

I remember clearly reading The Alchemist on a crowded Melbourne train on my way home from work one bitter winter night, nearly four years ago now. Two sentences jumped out at me. True love never makes you give up your dreams. If it does, it isn't true love. I wept, on that crowded train. Any doubts I may still have had vanished in that moment.

Now I look back at those dark times and can see clearly that all of them were steps in a dance that led me to the ballroom that is LONDON and the love of my life. Those times made me so strong and, more importantly, they set me free. It doesn't really need to be said that if anything, even the smallest thing, had been different then I might not be here now, in my present situation. For that my gratitude is beyond words.

A close friend of mine recently said to me, "they weren't mistakes. They were just your life. And how is your life a mistake?"

So yes, I've definitely made my way down the road less travelled now. The departure from my old life continues to astound me, when I take the time to think about it. Everything I have in my life has come about because of gigantic leaps of faith, a moment when I knew I was at a crossroads - go left, or go right.

It's not that I'm not proud of how far I've come, but I fear I rest on my laurels too much with it all. All of that stuff happened years ago now. And I can't shake the feeling that I already have so much, is it so terrible to want more, to keep reaching? But I don't see how I can't not keep reaching. Reaching is what I do.

But I'm doing my best to enjoy the journey as well as the destination. I am living proof that change is more than ok, it is often the thing that saves us.

Keep speaking the truth of your heart. Keep breathing.
Each step is all that matters. Keep living in the now.

- excerpt from an email sent to me by a dear, dear friend