I mentioned to a few friends the other day that I was considering going away for a week alone, this just following a break up of course. Some of them liked the idea and shared stories of how their friends had been travelling and it was the best thing they had ever done. But then there was my other friend who screwed up her nose and simply replied ‘’why would you want to do that?’’
She gave a long lecture on how there are plenty more fish in the sea and love would just be around the corner. That one day I would find the man of my dreams and live happily ever after, OK so she didn’t go that far. But that’s not the problem. Well, not exactly the main issue here. Or at the moment the least of my worries. It was to do with being independent. My problem, was that I felt as if I wouldn’t be able to achieve anything in life unless I had someone there to ensure that everything was going to be OK and that I was confident enough and go out and feed my curiosity.
Don’t get me wrong I am totally the right person who would get anxious every time I would be left alone and would always need a friend by my side. Or get scared every time I turned a corner but something tells me this is right. I need to do this.
They say curiosity takes us to new places, meets new people and have experiences along the way. It allows us to see the world in a different way, gets our minds working and most importantly, gives us new ideas.
After a few weeks of reliving my teen years of living with mum and dad I have decided that I’m OK on my own. I am confident and strong enough to do things on my own without the need of someone to comfort me along the way. Although it would be nice there are times you have to stand on your own two feet and rediscover who you are because after spending three years with the same person day in and day out, you become lost.
Now that I realise this I am determined to get out there, try something new and let curiosity take over. I feel that in order to do this I need time away from everything. The surroundings, the people and the constant reminder that you’ve somehow taken a few steps back by moving back home. The idea of a new place and the spare time and extra space to remember who you once were. Or better that, who you’d want to be.
Maybe I’ve become a bit overboard and have started to join the cliché of running away and calling it ‘I-want-to-find-myself’ trip. But how will I know unless I go out there and try to find my way. Or better that I could turn my phone off for a few days and get lost in a book.