I wasn’t sure how it would feel once the trip had begun, but I sort of pictured I’d be living out a movie. I envisioned a soundtrack playing in the background, me as the narrator, and poetic justice regularly being served via my Instagram. But the song bank in my mind rarely ever got used, and the captions and quotes always seemed to fall short.

Like I’ve been saying, much of what extended travel like this is about, are the things you could have never planned for, dreamt of, or expected. There is nothing interesting or memorable about making every train, always having what you need, and having everything go perfectly to plan. You can’t expect that in life and you can’t expect it here. Abandoning your expectations from the start will relieve your let downs, allow you to enjoy the upsides, and limit stress in general. To fully demonstrate this takeaway, here is what I naively thought would happen on our first day:

1. Board plane and, after the first hour or two of excitement, fall asleep.
2. Have some down time in Reykjavik airport where I will be able to buy and send a postcard, then look for Papa Johns to take a The Secret Life of Walter Mitty fan photo.
3. Sleep on connecting flight to Dublin.
4. Take airport transit bus to hostel and check in/drop off bags.
5. Explore city.

What actually happened:

1. Stay awake the entire flight to Reykjavik.
2. Start to see flickers and waves of green out the window, only to realize I’m witnessing the Northern Lights with my own eyes. *Feel an overwhelming sense of amazement and fulfillment that this is happening*
3. Deplane on tarmac, wait for shuttle in sleeting/cold conditions.  Once in airport, have only enough time to use the bathroom and get in line at connecting gate.
4. Stay awake the entire flight to Dublin.
5. Aimlessly look around for transport bus and give up. Uber, instead.
6. Arrive at hostel (in pouring rain) and find that the door is locked. *Feel an overwhelming lack of control and unpreparedness that this is happening *

Just getting to our first destination, we incurred a lot of stress but also experienced one of my favorite memories of the trip. I had no idea we’d be starving and drained from our flights that we got no sleep on. I thought it would be easy to find signage for the transit bus and expected to only use my phone’s data for “emergencies.” I never once asked myself, “What if we can’t get into the hostel?” or imagined that it would be raining and cold (by far the dumbest expectation of all). But I also never dreamt that I’d be able to see the Northern Lights from our airplane and I have my inability to sleep to thank for that.

I was now free to experience my (better than a movie) life. And instead of dropping off our bags to explore the city, we took them with us—straight to Guinness Storehouse, for a long-awaited meal and two, perfect pints.

You know the feeling you have when you’re on a rollercoaster heading for the first, big drop? You’ve made it through the horrendous line, gotten buckled in your seat, and are now slowly gaining altitude to the tune of loud clicks. It is both exciting and terrifying.  I mean, you did willingly sign up for this, right? Click. Your hands grasp the safety bar as you look over to the side. Click. You see the people in the park becoming smaller and smaller. Click. You burst out in an unavoidable, nervous laugh. Click. Your stomach now churning, you start to think to yourself: “Here goes…”

And as the interval between clicks become longer and the roller coaster starts to move slower, you take a deep breath because “here goes” is right. There is no turning back now.

That’s the best way I can describe how I felt on October 12^th, 2016. It was a day that I had looked forward to for a long time. Pinching myself didn’t work; neither did biting my cheek or checking the calendar. I felt like the entire morning of was a dream. My stomach was churning but I could not stop smiling (even if it was a nervous smile). Every emotion possible passed through me in those few hours, but did I willingly sign up for this?  YES.

We were now on the metaphorical rollercoaster and the “clicks” had begun. We had our one-way tickets, carry-on sized backpacks, and passports in hand. We said our goodbyes to family and friends, made it through security, and were headed onto the passenger boarding bridge to our first of many plane rides.

At this point, rollercoaster or 2.5 month backpacking trip, your decision has been made, and either you now hate yourself or you are so ecstatic that your face hurts. My face hurt. My stomach was in knots (the good kind), and as we made our way into our assigned seats, it felt real. I no longer had to pinch myself or check my calendar. I was in my window seat next to the only person I’ve ever dreamt of sitting next to on this day. Tears began to rush down my face and I laughed at myself, knowing I was embarrassing him. “You have to let me have this one,” I said. And with a reluctant eye roll and shake of his head, he grabbed my hand. This was the moment I was waiting for. My life was now beginning; the life I wanted, and the life I hoped for and was never quite sure I’d get to live, was here.

Full disclosure: The above photo is not only the main inspiration behind this blog, but also the meaning. I cannot write each of these stories without thanking the one person who made it possible. Can you guess which one of us is the Realist and which is the Daydreamer? LOL Thank you Ryan Michael Walker.  I could not have imagined sharing this with anyone but you. 

In my upcoming posts, I plan to relive our stories so that they accurately depict our experience over the 2.5 months of traveling (and beyond). My intention is to relay them to you as if you were there, so that you can learn what we learned and feel what we did in those moments. Because no matter how many books, articles, or blogs I read before we left, I could never get a feel for what it would actually be like to live it.

A backpacking trip is not a vacation. Which is why I keep eluding to this “roller coaster” metaphor. The entire experience had many ups and downs; much like a condensed version of life. And at the end, I would have gladly ran back to the horrendous line and done it all over again.

I’ve had a lot of time for reflection over these past few months. I wanted to share everything I learned from planning and experiencing an extensive backpacking trip; like how to save, where to go, what you’ll need, and also what I learned while on the trip itself (a lot). But I found myself asking- what is it that I have to offer that isn’t already out there? There are thousands of travel blogs written by people like me. People who have made it possible to leave their job, travel the world, and find whatever it was they were looking for. It’s been done. So what can I tell you that you haven’t already heard?

Hence, I went back and forth shutting myself down on this pursuit. I wasn’t good enough or insightful enough. Writing/blogging isn’t a realistic way of making a living (probably isn’t) and “what if no one reads it?” (it’s okay if no one does). So every so often, I’d save clips of my writings in a secret folder on my laptop and would then close it shut, defeated.

But who was telling me I wasn’t good enough or that I had nothing to offer? Who was telling me “no?” It was the Internet full of other blogs! Wrong. It was society! Wrong again.

It was me, and only me.

Then I realized that I’ve been doing this to myself for longer than just the past few months, and I know for certain that I am not the only person who is experiencing or has experienced this. So if you find yourself still reading, please let this sink in:

The only voice telling you “no” is the voice inside your head, but the other side to this beautiful and ugly truth is that the only voice that can tell you “yes” is also inside your head.

What do I mean by that? I mean that up until recently I worked under the belief that the main thing you needed to take a trip was time and/or money. And I was going to provide all the resources to you on how to accumulate those things. However, you also need something that is much less tangible before you even buy your first plane ticket or put in your two weeks notice; you need permission. Permission from yourself, permission to prioritize your desires above what is normal and logical. You need to allow yourself to make choices you never have before and believe with all of your heart that they are right for you. You must accept your freedom to go down different paths, even if that means going backwards. You need this more than any amount of time or money there is.

Once I figured this out, something clicked. That is what kept me from doing many of the things I’ve wanted to do in my life. Permission. When I felt stuck, I didn’t give myself a way out. I told myself “no,” and let myself believe that it was society and other factors that were behind it. I let myself close my laptop shut. I let myself believe that what I really wanted wasn’t possible, and that at this point, it would be too hard to start over. I didn’t give myself permission to find my purpose, to try new things, to hold my own time as more valuable than others’, and to pursue the one thing I’ve always known I wanted to do.

So where do we go from here? How do we overpower our own mind? How do we get ourselves out of the “no” silo we’ve created and into the “yes?”

By doing. It might sound cliché but do the thing(s) that scares you. Do the thing you’ve been telling yourself you couldn’t do. Give yourself permission to do so and then give it everything. Because once you get past your nonexistent “no,” you can get moving on to your “Yes -I can,” “Yes- I will,” and ultimately your “Yes- I did.”

Welcome to The Realist and The Daydreamer, and welcome to my attempt and work in progress at all of the above.

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”- Lao Tzu

Does the movie Office Space resonate with you a bit too much? If the answer is yes, please keep reading. I started noticing that I needed a change when people asked what I did for a living and I didn’t want to answer. I wasn’t proud of how I spent upwards of 60 hours/week, nor was I excited to talk about it. It was work for me and it paid my bills. I could have continued doing what I was doing for the rest of my life and lived extremely well. Or could I?

Many people refer to this as “comfortable.” But for me, it was the complete opposite. Almost every day, I caught myself daydreaming of other places, other foods, other people, smells, landscapes. The daydreams were so vivid that sometimes the phone would ring and bring me back to my senses. Back to the grey and sterile walls of my cubicle where the warmth of the Australian sun on my back or the feeling of a wild ocean breeze had quickly been replaced with background noise of conference calls and cold AC. It was utterly painful. Each and every time, coming back to the reality of the blue glare of my computer screen, the dings of Outlook notifications, and the deep held belief that I had missed my chance at making any of these daydreams possible.

I was in my mid-twenties, still living at home saddled by student debt, but I had a good job. A job where I worked with good people, for a good company, in an industry that would most likely be going nowhere anytime soon. I was gaining financial independence, I had bought a new car, I was accruing vacation time, I was on my way to moving out, and the list could go on and on.  But it all boiled down to one thing; I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t fulfilled. I felt stuck in a place where I wanted to be legitimately *anywhere* else. I knew there was more for me than the life I was living and so I became determined to live my daydream instead of my nightmare.

And so, was the single step.