Post Holiday Blues.
It happens every time without fail. I go on an incredible holiday or a longer adventure, and when I return - after the initial euphoria of seeing my friends and family, and the telling of amusing stories and dangerous antics have faded a little - I am left with persistent jet-lag and a serious case of post holiday blues. What's slightly troubling is that even a weekend away in Wales last week, left me feeling mopey on my return to London. I didn't want to be back, I didn't want to go to work and I didn't want to be faced with the reality of being single again in London, and not having a dog... long story!
Now, don't get me wrong. I love London, I love my life and I really do love my job, but it all looks a little lacklustre when you return from somewhere amazing. I know I'm not alone... everyone goes through the same thing. My friends with kids hate coming back from holiday, to the same old routine of packed lunches and school runs. Other friends that work in London, know that their fresh, tanned faces will soon be creased with stress, and haggardly pale from too many late nights and impossible deadlines. We all feel it... but how many of us actually come back and decide it's time for a change, that we can't do the same old thing anymore, and that we must do something about it? You may have been on a diving holiday, and decided on your return, to pack up your desk job, get your PADI Divemaster qualifications, and go back to the Caribbean to teach. You may have done a yoga class on a beach in Thailand and realised that was what made you truly happy. Several friends of mine have made that leap, turning their passionate hobbies into their profession, and they are some of the happiest people I know. But they are brave... they took the leap. They jumped and the net appeared.
My passions are obvious to anyone that knows me... writing and traveling. I am so transparent with my desires, it seems, that on more than one occasion earlier this year, when I was going on all those tortuous dates with strange men, one of them said how I completely changed when I talked about traveling, that my face lit up and I was like an excited puppy. They could see that's what I truly loved. One blind date rudely labelled me a commitment phobe, wondering why I was even dating when it was obvious to him, that I would never truly be fulfilled settling down with someone, because I would eventually get bored and disappear off on an adventure. Harsh! I know my last boyfriend was worried about my wanderlust nature. He believed I would never be content spending a week in Ireland, if I had the opportunity to go to South America for a month. He was wrong. Adventure can be found in the next village, not necessarily thousands of miles away.
But why does it have to be so black and white? I love traveling, yes. I love being in love and having a boyfriend, yes. And I am fully committed to both. Why does it have to be either, or? I was told by a friend at the weekend, that maybe I was looking in the wrong place for love, that internet dating probably wasn't where I was going to find my adventurous male counterpart, my Bear Grylls, Mark Anstice or Bruce Parry. Hmmm Bruce, yum ... sorry, I lost myself for a minute there. But I'm hardly going to meet my hunky explorer in the Balham Sainsbury's or my local pub, am I? They're probably already wading through crocodile infested waters in the Amazon or eating horse testicles in Outer Mongolia! So where do I find them? Well... whilst traveling most likely, and there I am, back to square one.
I have had boyfriends, in the past, that have shared my passion... maybe a little too much. One lovely guy decided to get a desk job in the city, and settle down after spending most of his life commanding his own ship in the Navy. We lasted 6 months. He broke up with me simply because the pull of the ocean and sense of adventure was too strong, and he returned to the sea and his ship. Another boyfriend traveled to the West coast of America to follow his dream and left me utterly heartbroken. Yet another, claimed he had put his adventurous and wandering nature behind him, but managed to manifest his passion for "international relations" with the girls themselves rather than the countries! I haven't had much luck!
A few years ago, after I was told I couldn't have children, I went through a bit of soul searching... a sort of, why am I here, type philosophising. I decided that I wouldn't waste my time feeling sorry for myself or thinking that my life wouldn't be full without children, and I would make it mean something instead, and do things I really loved. I signed myself up for a creative writing class, decided to do some voluntary work, and put aside a month a year to travel. I was also convinced I would meet a fabulous man along the way. Maybe I would meet a man whilst volunteering and traveling. I rashly chose Medicine Sans Frontiéres, or Doctors Without Borders. This is an international medical humanitarian organisation, helping people around the world, regardless of race, religion or political affiliation. They are usually based in remote areas, and rely on motorbikes to get medical supplies to those in need. In my ridiculously romantic head, I imagined a handsomely rugged doctor, racing through the desert on his old Triumph, his cotton scarf billowing out behind him, thwacking me in the face as I rode pillion behind him, clutching both him and the bag of life saving medicine! Ohhh, it's like something out of a movie. Ok, it's safe to say I didn't get past the first interview! Not because I'm not a Doctor... which I know you think may have been fairly crucial, but because I couldn't honestly get through the initial questions without crying! I was asked how I would cope with sick or dying children, war-torn countries, devastated lives, and be able to face such harrowing scenes that they would imprint on my memory for the rest of my life. "Oh my God" I said, welling up, "I couldn't bear it". Not a good start. Therefore, volunteering for a cause, unselfishly helping others in need... great. Volunteering, in order to meet a man... not great.
I have thought long and hard over the past few years, about how I could combine my passions with making a living. I spent months re-writing my travel stories, sending them to every publication I could think of - Lonely Planet, Rough Guide, travel magazines, in-flight magazines, and all the women's glossies - and I was amazed at how many took the time to respond. Most were very sweet and complimentary, encouraging me to keep writing, but all saying the same thing in the end, thanks but no thanks. A travel writer is a very tough and oversubscribed field. Lonely planet told me that most of their writers do it for free, and Conde Nast Traveler said they had over 200 freelance writers on their books, all with journalism degrees. Oh. I think you have to be incredibly lucky and possibly know someone that knows someone to make it. I am still positive it will happen though and I am still incredibly committed to following my dream.
I have already started planning a few trips for next year, and of course, I am still on the lookout for my adventurous, passionate, soulmate. If I met the right man, I wouldn't cancel my travels, no, no, no... but I may just be booking a double room rather than single.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love London, I love my life and I really do love my job, but it all looks a little lacklustre when you return from somewhere amazing. I know I'm not alone... everyone goes through the same thing. My friends with kids hate coming back from holiday, to the same old routine of packed lunches and school runs. Other friends that work in London, know that their fresh, tanned faces will soon be creased with stress, and haggardly pale from too many late nights and impossible deadlines. We all feel it... but how many of us actually come back and decide it's time for a change, that we can't do the same old thing anymore, and that we must do something about it? You may have been on a diving holiday, and decided on your return, to pack up your desk job, get your PADI Divemaster qualifications, and go back to the Caribbean to teach. You may have done a yoga class on a beach in Thailand and realised that was what made you truly happy. Several friends of mine have made that leap, turning their passionate hobbies into their profession, and they are some of the happiest people I know. But they are brave... they took the leap. They jumped and the net appeared.
My passions are obvious to anyone that knows me... writing and traveling. I am so transparent with my desires, it seems, that on more than one occasion earlier this year, when I was going on all those tortuous dates with strange men, one of them said how I completely changed when I talked about traveling, that my face lit up and I was like an excited puppy. They could see that's what I truly loved. One blind date rudely labelled me a commitment phobe, wondering why I was even dating when it was obvious to him, that I would never truly be fulfilled settling down with someone, because I would eventually get bored and disappear off on an adventure. Harsh! I know my last boyfriend was worried about my wanderlust nature. He believed I would never be content spending a week in Ireland, if I had the opportunity to go to South America for a month. He was wrong. Adventure can be found in the next village, not necessarily thousands of miles away.
But why does it have to be so black and white? I love traveling, yes. I love being in love and having a boyfriend, yes. And I am fully committed to both. Why does it have to be either, or? I was told by a friend at the weekend, that maybe I was looking in the wrong place for love, that internet dating probably wasn't where I was going to find my adventurous male counterpart, my Bear Grylls, Mark Anstice or Bruce Parry. Hmmm Bruce, yum ... sorry, I lost myself for a minute there. But I'm hardly going to meet my hunky explorer in the Balham Sainsbury's or my local pub, am I? They're probably already wading through crocodile infested waters in the Amazon or eating horse testicles in Outer Mongolia! So where do I find them? Well... whilst traveling most likely, and there I am, back to square one.
I have had boyfriends, in the past, that have shared my passion... maybe a little too much. One lovely guy decided to get a desk job in the city, and settle down after spending most of his life commanding his own ship in the Navy. We lasted 6 months. He broke up with me simply because the pull of the ocean and sense of adventure was too strong, and he returned to the sea and his ship. Another boyfriend traveled to the West coast of America to follow his dream and left me utterly heartbroken. Yet another, claimed he had put his adventurous and wandering nature behind him, but managed to manifest his passion for "international relations" with the girls themselves rather than the countries! I haven't had much luck!
A few years ago, after I was told I couldn't have children, I went through a bit of soul searching... a sort of, why am I here, type philosophising. I decided that I wouldn't waste my time feeling sorry for myself or thinking that my life wouldn't be full without children, and I would make it mean something instead, and do things I really loved. I signed myself up for a creative writing class, decided to do some voluntary work, and put aside a month a year to travel. I was also convinced I would meet a fabulous man along the way. Maybe I would meet a man whilst volunteering and traveling. I rashly chose Medicine Sans Frontiéres, or Doctors Without Borders. This is an international medical humanitarian organisation, helping people around the world, regardless of race, religion or political affiliation. They are usually based in remote areas, and rely on motorbikes to get medical supplies to those in need. In my ridiculously romantic head, I imagined a handsomely rugged doctor, racing through the desert on his old Triumph, his cotton scarf billowing out behind him, thwacking me in the face as I rode pillion behind him, clutching both him and the bag of life saving medicine! Ohhh, it's like something out of a movie. Ok, it's safe to say I didn't get past the first interview! Not because I'm not a Doctor... which I know you think may have been fairly crucial, but because I couldn't honestly get through the initial questions without crying! I was asked how I would cope with sick or dying children, war-torn countries, devastated lives, and be able to face such harrowing scenes that they would imprint on my memory for the rest of my life. "Oh my God" I said, welling up, "I couldn't bear it". Not a good start. Therefore, volunteering for a cause, unselfishly helping others in need... great. Volunteering, in order to meet a man... not great.
I have thought long and hard over the past few years, about how I could combine my passions with making a living. I spent months re-writing my travel stories, sending them to every publication I could think of - Lonely Planet, Rough Guide, travel magazines, in-flight magazines, and all the women's glossies - and I was amazed at how many took the time to respond. Most were very sweet and complimentary, encouraging me to keep writing, but all saying the same thing in the end, thanks but no thanks. A travel writer is a very tough and oversubscribed field. Lonely planet told me that most of their writers do it for free, and Conde Nast Traveler said they had over 200 freelance writers on their books, all with journalism degrees. Oh. I think you have to be incredibly lucky and possibly know someone that knows someone to make it. I am still positive it will happen though and I am still incredibly committed to following my dream.
I have already started planning a few trips for next year, and of course, I am still on the lookout for my adventurous, passionate, soulmate. If I met the right man, I wouldn't cancel my travels, no, no, no... but I may just be booking a double room rather than single.
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