I wrote most of this post on a crumpled up page in my notepad whilst sat on my train to Barcelona. I say MY train, because this time Mike wasn’t coming with me.
Thursday 18th September 2014
I woke up after a pretty crappy nights sleep but something told me that today might actually be a worse event. It took another forty minutes for Mike to stir. When he did, my subconscious told me that we would probably want tea for this.
Mike wasn’t happy. He didn’t want to travel any more.
At first, I was angry. I hated him. How could he be leaving me and this life that we had worked so hard for? What was back home that was so inviting? But by the end of the conversation, I had a better understanding of what he was trying to say. After all, a life without constant friends, without frivolous spending and without your old hobbies is a big undertaking.
However, none of this understanding stopped me from feeling sad.
I spent, what felt like hours, crying. My cheeks were raw. How will I do this alone? How do I sleep at night without somebody there? Who do I talk to when nobody else is around? There were questions that couldn’t be answered and decisions that couldn’t be made, so I suggested a beer to get us out of the house. If he really was going home, I needed a healthy dose of Dutch Courage.
The parades in town were beating out sped up tunes on big, brass instruments. One distinctly sounded like the Bear Necessities and I fought back tears again as I remembered how hard it was to contact my Mum. All I wanted was a hug and I knew nobody here. Everything became a grizzly blur.
By bedtime I was beginning to consider moving home. Travelling part time… you know? But what if it didn’t work? What if I never left again? What if it’s not travelling that is the problem? What if… the relationship is the problem? Will I go home just to end up alone anyway?
Friday morning came around… slowly, but some things now had conclusions. Mike was going home to find a job. I was catching a train to Barcelona, a bus to Girona and then a plane to Malta to meet my parents. We ended things on a good note, shared out the money, wished each other luck and I left.
It was in Malta that I had to make another big decision.
Return home and move back into Mum and Dad’s, maybe find a new travel buddy… OR keep travelling. Solo.
Luckily for Moomads, I chose to keep going (for now). Travel has become a necessity to me… a Bear Necessity. It has stolen my heart and even with all of the difficult goodbyes I have endured, I’m still standing, out here… and on my own.
I keep choosing to walk away from those that I love. At the moment, I can’t put my finger on why.
At first, solo travel was lonely and it was scary and it was shit. But now, it feels kinda normal. Doable, at least. I’ve been blown away by the experiences I’ve had in the last week alone, which would never have happened if I had a sedentary lifestyle in England. Though I know I will return home at some point, I know now that I have the strength to pick up and leave again when I must. Even if nobody comes with me.
I decided to broadcast this news because I don’t intend to give up on this blog and I’ve been open from the start so why not now? I remember reading Beverley’s post, on Pack Your Passport, about her break up and admiring her honesty and explanation to her followers.
I’m here to show you the ups AND downs of living away from Mum and Dad’s.
Unfortunately, shit still happens… but at least I’ve got a good view from my window.