What the hell am I doing?

I'm one of the luckiest people on the planet.

I have a lovely apartment, a good - no, GREAT - job, a comfortable income, super friends, an amazing family, and overall a great work-life balance. I live in one of the world's most wonderful, most sustainable cities (Copenhagen) and am able to cycle to and from work everyday. I am healthy and (relatively) fit. I get to travel often and experience new things, new people, new cultures, new foods way more regularly than most. I live and work abroad which (for a while at least) satisfies my yearning for adventure. Yet I don't live too far from 'home' that I can't hop on a plane to see my family and friends back in the UK whenever I want. I was born into a loving, adventurous family who took me on incredibly fun camping and sailing holidays throughout my childhood. I am white and, despite what global statistics indicate, even being born female hasn't presented me personally with any hardships.

I'm one of the luckiest people on the planet.

And still, I'm going to give it all up. For a year. Again.

What the hell am I doing?

In 2009, having just completed the most gruelling training scheme of my life to date (the UK's version of Teach for America, Teach First), I was left with a bitter sense of achievement but was also feeling completely de-moralised. I announced to my friends and family that I would be taking 'a year off'. Two years working as a teacher in one of the UK's 'most challenging' schools had left me mentally and emotionally exhausted and I was no longer the idealistic 22 year old who had entered the teaching profession believing I could single-handedly fix the world. Two movies became favourites of mine: Dangerous Minds and Freedom Writers. While the stories they convey are undoubtably far more extreme than anything I was experiencing, I nonetheless found myself able to relate to Michelle Pfeiffer and Hilary Swank in their roles as new teachers in a culturally different and dangerous world. I had put in 70-hour weeks, been sworn at daily, hourly, NO, every MINUTE. I had had tables and chairs thrown at me while I had thrown my heart and soul into my teaching. I had written lesson plans whose perfection was enough to make an Ofsted inspector blush, planned (what I thought were) lessons that would change a child's world, blow a teenage mind, improve a down-and-out's chances of future success (!!). I had worked incredibly late nights, given up my social life and almost wrecked my relationship with my boyfriend at the time. I had 'done my time', so to speak. Perhaps the main reason we had managed to keep our relationship afloat during this ridiculous time was the fact that we lived in different cities - different countries, even - and our jobs meant that we only saw each other on the weekends and during school holidays. The fact that it was my parents putting up with my temper tantrums and stories of daily battles with pubescent teens (I had moved back 'home' for two years, much to my Dad's despair) and not him, was perhaps the biggest saviour in that relationship. Weekly trips between Manchester and Paris also helped, although this can be more tiring than you may think: anyone who has been in a long-distance relationship will know that trying to find balance in this situation is incredibly difficult. You live, literally, in two worlds - two worlds that don't fit together. You have two social calendars to follow, two sets of friends (at least) to keep up with, two culturally different lives, essentially two homes. Added to the fact that you and your partner are not a part of each other's daily lives and routines. It's hard. But we had somehow made it work. And now we were off on the adventure of our lifetimes.

Once my time was up, we packed our bags and set off: first stop, Beijing. Our parents and friends thought we were crazy. But we knew they were also envious. We were both at the beginning of our careers and, after having spent much of our adult lives so far in university, had barely had a chance to make our marks in the career world. But we did it anyway. We bought two round-the-world tickets and spent hours and days and weeks planning out each stop on our itinerary. We calculated we had saved up enough money for seven-eight months. But we were going for a full twelve and would ride the wave of adventure. "What will you do when you run out of money?", our friends - already tied down to a mortgage - would ask us. "Find a job! Volunteer! Or, come home!", we would reply.

Life was simple. We had our itinerary. We had our guidebooks. We had our backpacks full of gadgets and gismos and considered ourselves part of a new generation of 'flashpackers' rather than backpackers. We had our blog. We had each other. It was wonderful. We shared so many 'firsts': first time eating Indian street food, first time eating stinky tofu in Hangzhou, first time diving, first time going to a Thai hospital, (first time going to a Thai strip club!), first time celebrating the winter equinox at Machu Pichu, first time working on a vineyard, first time on a 27 hour train-journey with a dodgy stomach and nothing but a hole down to the train-tracks to relieve yourself.

This time, when I pack my bags, I will be going on my own. I am older. I have experienced more things. I have definitely spent more of my adult life working than in university. My eyes are not as sparkly, there is less of a spring in my step. My story will be different.

After a year of travelling, we were tired and ready to settle somewhere for a time. We both wanted somewhere new but somewhere close to our previous homes of Manchester and Paris. We chose Copenhagen and lived here together for two years. After pretty much demanding to be seen and that someone take a look at my CV, I managed to score a job at the international school here - first as a teaching assistant (allowing me to finish my Masters at the same time) and then as a teacher. When our relationship finally came to an end two years later, I stayed on at the school - a place I have loved since my very first day here - finding comfort in the routine and happiness again through being surrounded by children. Children's happiness and laughter really is contagious. I truly do have a great job and some wonderful colleagues, many of whom I know will be friends for life. So...

What the hell am I doing?

I think my friends and family are less shocked this time. When I announced at Christmas that I was going to quit my job (again) and go away for a year, I was met with less looks of horror than I was the first time: strange, since, as I approach thirty, now is the time in my life when so many of my friends are already married, onto their second or third mortgage and having babies, some with actual school-aged children. Despite this, they know by now that I struggle to find adventure in the everyday and need a little extra going on to satisfy my cravings. They know that, while it could easily have happened, I never did manage to settle in Copenhagen.

Nonetheless, I really am giving up everything I mentioned at the beginning of this post. And I am going it alone this time. It's hard to explain why I've decided to take another 'year out' but all I can say is that it is time. Sometimes, you just know, you know? My friends laughed when I broke the news to them and declared, "I'VE JUST GOT TO GET OUT OF COPENHAGEN!". One friend decided that this would be a great title for a new indie novel; maybe I should change the name of this blog already. Jokes aside, I have lived here for four years now and after much much love, laughter, heartbreak and sadness, it is time to move on. The problem is, I don't know where to move on to. I know that I love my career and want to continue working as a teacher in the international school system. I definitely know that I don't want to go back to teach in the UK.

I've become a 'third-culture adult': I'm not quite culturally at home in the place I grew up and I don't want to go back; I'm not quite culturally at home in the place I live now and I am ready to move on. So, before I choose my next home, I will take some time to think. I am not going to spend the next twelve months travelling around. This time, I will spend a good amount of time in each place. I have selected a few places that appeal to me and my current interests and I will go there. Then, I will see where else this year takes me.

I am filled with nerves, angst, stress and worry. Far more than I was the first time round. I feel genuine fear this time. I know it will be lonely and so very difficult at times. It is the idea of being alone that scares me most about this trip.

But I also have that familiar flutter of excitement everytime I think about it. I know that I will meet people and share more 'firsts' with them. I know there will be nights I will be alone but nights where I am going to be surrounded by amazing, fun people, having amazing, fun experiences.

I know it is going to be so very different this time. And that is ok.

I will still have my itinerary, my guidebooks, my blog and my backpack full of gadgets and gismos. I have my family and friends within easy (electronic) reach. I have my health. And I still have a career, even if we are on a break for a while.

I am one of the luckiest people on the planet.

What the hell am I doing?