My initial plan when I first purchased my flights was that I would be gone for eight to twelve months maximum, and then I would return to the UK cloud and rain, move to London and get a job. From there I could spend my days climbing some career ladder or other, becoming increasingly proficient at Microsoft Word and the art of networking. As long as the job was related to politics in some way and I was using my expertise, then I would be happy.
But then came the Amazon rainforest, the white sands of Fiji, the winter wonderland lagoons in Bolivia, the yellow cabs of New York, and all of the interesting and varied people that I have met along the way, and suddenly this dream of British professional success just isn’t cutting it anymore. Not only that, but for the first time in my life I can see more paths to my happiness than this singular white collar dream.
And this is something many people who travel end up feeling: they don’t know what they want to do or what will come next, but they know that it could be almost anything.