On leaving home:

My Kiwi and Scottish flat bros

Old and new

It's so wonderful to be seen off at the airport by your buds

Okay, so I'm backtracking a bit. Almost two months of backtracking in fact. I considered writing one massive post about what I've been up to so far, but it's been so full of adventure and stories about the magic of traveling that it'd be stretching for days. So to the beginning I go. I left Edinburgh on the 1st of May. This is the third time I've quit my job, packed up my life and left to travel for months on end. This is also the third time I've been incredibly unorganised in doing so. I'd originally planned on leaving Edinburgh for Dublin on the 27th, but after realising I didn't have a host to stay with in and that hostels would cost me over half of what I'd paid to fly to North America...I decided to give myself an extra 4 days in Edinburgh. In theory, packing up my life and tying loose ends. In reality though, being my usual social self and not taking enough time to be on top of my own life. So on Sunday morning, after a night at the Beltane Fire Festival (a fitting goodbye to Scotland), I began to properly pack. And that's where I made my first mistake. Having lived in Scotland for the past two Summers I forgot that other countries actually have Summers. So, my tartan jacket and tartan umbrella have sat more or less unused at the bottom of my backpack. My second mistake was not actually putting my bag on before leaving for the airport.

I had a bunch of my wonderful friends over throughout the day. There were tearful goodbyes (as there always are when you won't see your loved ones for a year). My flatmate, Sim gave me pieces of a crystalised rock he'd found on Arthur's Seat so I'd always have a piece of Edinburgh with me and that's when it really hit me that I was leaving.

Max, Izzy and Tori saw me to the airport. We shared coffees and I tried my best to compose myself during our goodbyes. I walked through security with my tartan jacket, sparkly harem pants, maroon hat and said Hello to my new life.

This is the third time I've left home to travel. The first was when I was 20 years old. An old boyfriend and I left Australia and (essentially) ran away to Europe. I spent two months travelling by myself before he joined me and we spent the next six months hitchhiking, couchsurfing and overnight busing our way around the continent.

We moved to Edinburgh, Scotland and I found the place I call home and the people I call family. The second time was when I was 22. The same boyfriend and I visited Australia briefly before embarking on what was easily the most stressful, yet life-changing experience of my life. Namely buying a second-hand Royal Enfield motorcycle and spending 3 and a half months travelling over 3000km across India. The decision to leave and travel was never a hard one for me. It's in my blood. It's always been what I've done. As a child, my family and I travelled around the North American continent for several months and drove around Australia for close to a year, living in a tent. I get restless, I've got an itch that only travel can fill. I learnt the meaning of the word Wanderlust when I was 16 and it fit me to a T.

I've grown and achieved so much since the first time I left to travel. I've become someone who views themselves as worthwhile; who doesn't underestimate themselves and their abilities. Someone who is finally able to see the strength in herself that others see.

Solo travelling for a year...I got this.