The Crisis Part of Reaching Quarter Life

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Keep reading, this will make sense later 😉

There’s no doubt that it happens to the best of us. That little voice in the back of our minds that never goes away. The times where you can go a whole day on autopilot because you are consciously concentrating on something else, normally something menial. I should have gone to gym this morning, why didn’t he text back, how come the boss doesn’t give me that project or promotion. Sometimes you go home, have a stiff G&T, take a long bath, give yourself a pep talk in the mirror and sleep it off. But sometimes these thoughts cumulate, until you’re drowning in them and the only thing that happens when you look in the mirror is tears.

Yes, it’s a depressing mental image but it’s real talk. Until now quarter life has had a few bumps but it’s mostly been amazing holidays, great new friends, witty clichés and in general making the most of 25. But at this moment, I’m not there. I’m in the crisis part of quarter life and I know I’m  not the only one.

Hands up who doubts themselves on a daily basis? Left hands up.

Who doesn’t think they are good enough- ever? Right hands up.

Who’s spent a Friday night in bed because it’s easier to lay in bed self loathing then put on that dress and drink wine? Now put your whole body in and shake it all about! Sorry couldn’t help myself, had to lighten the mood and chuck in a cliché.

However the real cliché here is that people in their 20’s are too hard on ourselves. I literally write this on the verge on tears, as I shovel cheesecake into my mouth in Café Nero in the middle of Warsaw. Why am I on the verge of tears you ask? Well because this isn’t me, for the last week I’ve been battling a bipolar version of myself and it’s killing me. But it needs to be talked about because we all go through it and there’s nothing better than a bit of populated assurance from the crowd, to get us out of the rut and deplete the thoughts that we are verging on crazy psychopath.

As you will probably have seen from my previous posts, I’m on a month long Euro Trip! Finally bit the bullet and decided to do the solo backpack thing. A bit of a rough plan with certain places that I had to hit by certain dates but apart from that I only had a ticket to Madrid and a return one, a month later from Valencia. In terms of travel everything has gone smoothly. Met some lovely people, ticking stuff off the bucket list and still (touch wood) haven’t come across a dodgy hostel. I immediately got that liberated feeling that comes with solo travel but 2 weeks in I started to get tired. Self doubt crept in and the minute I reunited with my friends, I was in a comfort zone and I crashed.

When one of my closest girlfriends asked me what was wrong, while I moped around drinking vodka at 11am on a Saturday (we were going to a festival, so its acceptable), I just turned around and said that I hated myself. Yep, those exact words left my mouth and her response was “if that’s the case, you need to see someone”.

What? Me? I don’t need help. But the viscous cycle of self doubt, fuelled by long days of partying and drinking and minimal sleep would eventually reach breaking point. I left Budapest broken- sick as a dog, a negative bank balance and minus an important person in my life.

Sounds shit? Well it was, still kind of is. I arrived in Krakow and didn’t want to be there several days of messaging my best friend at home established that I screwed up but things might not be as bad as them seem. A few more days past and I was barely functioning. The anxiety was kicking into overdrive and the only thing to calm me down was sleeping.

But I can’t just sleep, I need to be a tourist. See everything, do everything, take 1000 instagram shots and eat all the food. Hence my earlier comment about the bipolar feelings over the past week!

Thankfully my best friend also studied psychology, so like always she was my saving grace. She is also wise beyond her years and what she said to me reigned true.

Firstly, she tried the tough love tactic. The get out of bed, shower, put make up on and be the person that she loved: the strong, independent, smart, brave girl who is managing to travel Europe by herself.

When that was met by a stream of negativity from me, she took a clinical approach.

She told me to write a list but only a manageable list. So at this time it was simple things like visit the Old Town of Krakow, eat a local meal and talk to one new person at the Hostel today.

Easy, I did that in like 2 hours. I made another list for tomorrow. But I managed to do a few more things that afternoon. The anxiety started to slowly ease and normality returned. I was nearly back to that carefree backpacker mode, that I have found that I thrive off.

To quote my absolute gem of a best friend “think of it as a naughty child. You don’t want to reinforce the anxiety by letting it stop you from doing things you want to”.

So the message to all my other 20 something’s out there, please note the crisis will hit, its inevitable! You can cope with it however the hell you like, be crazy (my personal fav) but don’t let it control you. I could have easily missed out on experiencing a new city, if it wasn’t that 1% of me that kept telling me to push through and that endless encouragement from my bestie. The regret of letting the quarter life crisis get the better of you will be more damning and everlasting, then any hate you throw at yourself.

Finally, when in doubt blast Jess Glynne’s “Don’t Be So Hard on Yourself”. From the moment I moved to the UK this song has been my jam…

“I came here with a broken heart, that no one else could see”- why yes, I could not have been happier to run away from Australia, after dating a doctor who I worked, ended badly (story for another time I promise!)

Then it was…

“I’m standing on top of the world, right where I want to be”- London nights, European weekends, ordering coffee in another language, Jess knows what good for you.

But most importantly….

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, no, learn to forgive, learn to let go, everyone trips, everyone falls.”

Make it your anthem!

E xx

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Portugal in Pics…

Thought I’d give you guys something a little bit different- so here it is! A blog in pictures 📸
10 days in Portugal- ticking hikes off my Algarve’s Bucketlist, eating pastel de nata, lots of walking and even more port!

All pics taken on my iPhone 6 or Go Pro Hero 3+.

Let me know if you like the pic post! I love taking memories and sharing them, so feel free to do the same. All the link for sharing my posts and blogs on social media are on the bottom of the page. Enjoy xx

L A G O S

The view towards the Lagos coast from my hostel in the Old Town . That sunset every night 👌🏼
Ok, so this does make me feel a little bit lonely but boy was the Old Town a sight, once the sun went down
The start of the coastal hike, not yet sweaty but raring to go! Early mornings are the best in Lagos- minimal people and no heat.
Once you’ve reacehd the Lighthouse you will be blown away. Head to the tracks behind it to find views like these 😍
It’s time to come down off the cliffs and refresh in the blue waters amongst the grottos. From here take a boat or kayak and go exploring !
Not hard to be candid in beautiful locations like this!
Shakas bro! The typical Aussie sign for “life couldnt be better mate”.

 

Camilo Beach feels like the end of the Rainbow.

 

Just my backpack and my Go Pro, it’s all I’ve needed this whole trip. Cave hunting, Camilo Beach.
A day of hiking deserves an entree, a main and a wine- no backpacker budget today.
View off my hostel room balcony. Sol A Sol in the Old Town of Lagos- good price, better location.
Those candid shots amongst the grottos on Portugal’s coast line are a must to one day show the Grandchildren.

 

 

Hiking the main coastline from old town Lagos to the Lighthouse. View is overlooking Dona Ana Beach

 

 

S A G R E S

 

Here we are, not only the windiest place I’ve ever visited but also the point at which was historically thought to be the “End of the World”. The southern most tip of Europe, Sagres.
Cape St Vincent Lighthouse @ Ponta de Sagres
Even if this was the end of the Earth, wouldn’t be a bad place for it to all end.
Sneaky glass of red, waiting for one of Europe’s top rated sunsets.
This sunset was nothing short of amazing….
We 4WD, literally straight off the cliffs on the beaches. That made this country girl from the coast of Australia, very happy.

 

L I S B O N

Taken by this structure that appeared amongst the streets of Lisbon, only to find out its one of the biggest tourist traps. 5euros per person for a view that is not as good as 3 other locations in Lisbon. Hint: between 1-1.30 security goes on a break, so you can sneak up there!
Post month long fiesta celebrations!
Its always about the view!
Lisbon, you have my heart.
Belem Tower… didn’t bother joining the 2hr line to go in.
Did join the line for this place though… best pastries in Portugal. Ate them so fast, didn’t get a time to take a picture!

S I N T R A

A day trip to Sintra is a must when staying in Lisbon. Just a quick (40-50min) train ride away, makes it easy for everyone to get too.

Chased waterfalls in amongst the palace grounds with my new travel friends.

Strolls in the gardens of Quinta da Regaleirs.

The gargoyles of Quinta Palace.

God bless the Go Pro fish eye lens and being able to capture all of the contrasting colours and architecture of the Palace, in one shot.

42 countries (and counting) and this is still one of my favourite travel shots. I like to call it Blue Hues.

More of Pena Palace

Quinta da Regaleira- was the other palace we visited on our day trip.

Pena Palace is every bit as magical, as everyone made it out to be.

P O R T O

Rolled into Porto and this is what I was greeted too…

Then this…

Oh Porto it was definitely love at first sight!

So many photos of the Porto train station (you won’t get sick of them, I never did!)

Dom Luis Bridge, spans the River Douro and links the cities of Porto and Vila Nova de Gaia.

Literally drinking all the Port in my active wear!

Livraria Levo Bookshop in Porto is an absolute gem for all book lovers (if you can over look the crowds). The bookshop’s popularity increased when J.K Rowling, announced that the Hogwart’s library was based off this place. Rowling spent the early 1990’s teaching English in Portugal, the same time, she was penning the Harry Potter Series.

The Francesinha- a Portugese delicacy and a hit amongst locals and travellers alike. It’ll test your arteries, a sandwich layered with pork, smoked sausage, bacon, beef steak, topped with an egg and cheese. It sits on a layer of fries and is the cheese is finally melted by pouring gravy over the top. Best not to eat all day before trying this bad boy.

The above 2 photos of the Porto Railway Station, don’t do it’s beauty justice.
30000 steps are worth it for the combination of street art, sunsets and bridges.
Where the liquid gold can be found.
European cathedrals will never get old for this Aussie explorer.

We cool for the summer? 

Surprise! I’m back! Hope you haven’t missed me too much 😉
Should I start with an apology for my hiatus or use the actual excuse I’ve been MIA for the past 3 months? 

Well sorry not sorry boys & girls (yep the cliches are back) but summer rolled into London and the last thing on my mind was blogging. Well not really the last thing, I did think about it on those consecutive afternoons we were sitting on our back balcony drinking rosè or when I got to break out the bikinis and the speakers and we went to the park for a picnic or those Saturday’s I could stroll along the Thames, break a sweat and then sit and soak in that wonderful Vitamin D for hours outside my favourite coffee shop. 

Yep this Aussie expat was questioning why exactly I would ever want to go home. So much so, I got my butt into gear, emptied my savings and spent hours of admin securing my Italian citizenship. A quick Google search and an online quiz, indicated that I was eligible for an ancestoral passport. An interview with the consulate, $460 aus dollars and a 3 months later- I’m officially an EU citizen. Wooooooo! So now that’s 2 passports and approximately 60 pages that I have to fill with stamp- challenge accepted.

This kind of brings me to where I am today, in a park, on a bench, in the university district of Kraków, Poland. Why start blogging now again you ask? To be honest, I don’t know. All that I know is that 1 hour ago I was laying in my hostel bed crying. 30 mins ago I was sat down in a local cafe in the back alleys of Kraków enjoying my first local dishes, borsch and pieorgi (unless you count the local pastry I had for dinner last night, #solotravllerlife) and 10 minutes ago I walked into this park, my phone dead, trying to clear my head (fact: boy issues don’t just disappear when you travel) and like with all my posts, I just started writing it in my head.
So I sat down with my diary and well ta-da! I know that my last post was the start of a 3 part series on my time in the Middle East and yes, I will still finish it but I wanted to talk London summer first.
So how did I get to Kraków…. Well it all started on the 3rd of June when the London summer kicked off with a very British bucket list event, the Polo in the Park! There was Pimms and ponies and pals. We threw a mean pre brunch, bagels and spectacular court yard views included. One of my closest girlfriends meet the guy of her dreams, we swayed in our day drunk states to the best of the 90’s, while standing trackside and it didn’t rain. Tick,tick,tick- London summer you were worth the wait!

Skip forward 2 weeks exactly and its 6.30am on a Saturday morning. Me and the room mates are standing semi naked in our kitchen, making fresh chicken sandwiches and waiting for our fake tan to dry- yep it’s Royal Ascot day! With a precariously early 9am start time, there wasn’t many smiles that Saturday morning, until the boys turned up and the Prosecco started flowing. The 1.5hour bus ride from London to Ascot was only marred by the call of nature that came from having unlimited champagne on the trip. A pull over on the side of the road and some bear gryll-img amongst the bushes and we were good to go. On arrival we nailed the perfect position, trackside, in front of the bookies and not to far from the bar. Let’s say the day only went up from there. A few drops of rain but nothing we couldn’t handle. No money was won but the catch ups were endless, a wave from the queen priceless and the kebab at 1.30am when we finally made it home-delicious. 

Just a short 7 days later, on a tipsy Friday on the balcony the email came- camp with us for a chance to experience Wimbledon. Whether it was the wine talking or the very notion that the top of my bucket list could get a tick, it was decided that it was happening. A few technical difficulties had to be sorted but at 5.30pm on Monday after work we were sat in our dome tent, in Wimbeldon park, a few blankets, one sleeping bag and lots of beers, patitnetly awaiting the marshalls. These men had the golden ticket literally- tickets 1 to 500 got a centre court pass. We chatted with those around us, some said yes we were in,others including myself (forever the pessimist) agreed we were just outside. The marshalls approached, my palms were sweaty, knees are week, arms were heavy 😉 449, I couldn’t breath, I was in! Andy Murray and Sarina William’s on  Center Court. The next day was an absolute dream, we woke up 5.30am, packed our tents up and started to slowly move with the crowd towards the arena. Finally getting through the gate and purchasing our tickets, we realised we’d been given prime seating. Just left of the umpire and 5 rows back from Centre Court. Pinch me! The day passed by in a haze of champagne on Henman Hill, strawberries and cream and slow claps. Holy shit it was amazing! 


Only 5 days after this I headed off to Spain, via bus from London (crazy, I know) for the Running of the Bulls festival in Pamplona. My body was already starting to shut off by this stage, June had been a long month but I pushed through a week of San Fermin Festival celebrations and I knew the Euro  summer had started. I’ll chat about my Euro summer in another post a bit later.

My London summer antics continued until the end of July. Rooftop bars, outdoor cinemas, swimming in the lakes, riding in the park. I did it all. But then it was time to pack my back pack and head off on my first ever solo back packing trip. Only a flight to Madrid and a few hostels booked and I was off. I could say I was nervous but I wasn’t. And I’ve survived because here I am in Poland, 3 weeks after I left London. After 2 days of this solo travel thing I felt liberated- so yes I am vouching for the old cliche, that everyone should travel alone once in their life! 
But we will chat about that in the next few days!

It’s good to be back,

E x

A Middle Eastern Adventure Part 1- Welcome to the Desert Life

First up I think it needs to be said that amateur travel bloggers need at huge bloody high five. I don’t mean that to offend anyone, I use amateur as a adjective to describe those who travel, photograph and write all their content, off their own back and aren’t paid for doing it. After finally getting the blog up and running after Sri Lanka, I couldn’t wait to go on my next holiday so I could keep you all up to date with my current adventure, that a year ago, I wouldn’t ever have thought I would take.

Let’s just say that after my first two days, I couldn’t think of anything less appealing then going back to room after 12 hours of tourist-ing, a belly full of falafel and one too many Petra beers and having to write about what I did today. Not to mention make it interesting and funny and full of clichés and then link up my go pro choose good pictures and edit them. I made a few notes here and there, knowing I would need them when I came to actually write a post. But that’s because I very strictly live by the notion that if you have anything left in the tank after a day of tourist-ing you need to use that energy up.  Dress up, go for a nice meal, see a local show, or just sit around with the people in your hostel/on your tour, talk to them, listen, learn. And when that exhaustion or too many arrak shots hit you, I’ll guarantee you’ll drag your arse to bed with that feeling of content spread across your tired eyes.

So now you guys know how I like to travel, it’s onto the trip….

 

IMG_8858.JPGMy title is not only a cliché but a misconstrued one- not all of the Middle Eastern countries are dessert. Take for example this picture (right)
of the landscape from Kerak Castle, South of Amman. It’s as green as the English country side. But then take a look at this pano (below). Taken only an hour before the rolling green hills, just outside of Amman in Jordan’s self-proclaimIMG_8845ed Grand Canyon (hectic stop for a falafel sandwich; photo left). I quickly learnt that the country is one of many contrasts. Most of which are strongly stereotyped by those of us in the western world.IMG_8846

For example girls still flirt with boys. I noticed this in the more touristy areas of the country. Where life seems a little more free. Walking the streets of Aquaba, on a Friday night. A group of girls looking amazing in their traditional outfits, with the most perfect winged eyeliner I have ever seen, eating ice cream and giggling like crazy. As I got my ice cream I stood and watched as a group of boys approached them. The giggles got more frequent, one girl got pushed to the front, head down, shy as anything, and spoke to the boy she clearly liked. Next minute it was a flurry of exchanged snap chat names and Insta accounts and the boys carried on.  Thus leaving the girls, laughing and speaking at 1000 decibels in high pitch squeals. This is something me and my girlfriends would do, even at 25 years of age.  I do understand that not all of the middle eastern countries would find this acceptable and this behaviour could be met with serious consequences but in the same breath, it was refreshing to see that something we deem so normal is also practice in a country that a year ago I would have been scared to visit because of their strong cultural beliefs.

 

The people are friendly.  Until my last day, any store front or check point we walked through we would always get “welcome to Jordan. Enjoy” literally every town we visited, we got the same reception.  Not to mention the plethora of school kids’ selfies we now appear in, after being mobbed by them at all the major attractions. At first, I was a little bit stand offish about it but we eventually caved and it was all apart of what was a very memorable trip.

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But first- let me take selfie!

It actually got to the point that we were being mobbed by whole groups and even though our tour guide got them to back off, it didn’t phase us at all.  Turns out there is some educational significance to this behaviour. As apart of schooling the Jordanian kids are taught about tourism in the country. They are schooled on how it helps the economy and the historical significance of sites to both there people and international visitors but they are also taught etiquette- how to respect tourists.  Hence the never ending “welcome to Jordan” greeting. And even though they pestered us for photos, if we ever declined them they immediately walked away and when we did take selfies with them they couldn’t thank us enough.

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Just playing celebrity at the historical site of Jerash.

I completed my trip around Jordan and Israel on a Topdeck tour. I would highly recommend this specific tour and the company. We hit all the major sites, it was well priced and our guide, well he was a bloody legend. Being on a tour means that I am unable to make a comment on getting around on public transport. Even though I kept an eye out, I never really come across anyone on their own who I could ask for advice on this. But as with anything travel related, I’m sure there is plenty of help on the interweb on this subject. All praise TripAdvisor. Where would us wondering souls be without it.

 

Stay tuned for part 2 of my adventure… A week in Jordan!

 

Peace x

 

 

Travel Friends Are Friends For Life

I was going to write a post about ungrateful travellers. Something that I seem to be noticing a lot of these days. I’d been mentally writing it in my head all day but as I sat at the back of my tour bus, traversing the dessert highway in Jordan, I couldn’t do it.  I looked out across the 12 strangers who I only met yesterday and I thought, God I’m #blessed.

Yes it’s cliches but I realised in 24 short hours we had become a little family. We had some classic moments together already, a handful of inside jokes, we had been tired, hungry and sunburnt together, yet after 13 hours of travelling we were still laughing. It’s because of several moments like these, that I’ve had in the past 3 years since I started travelling, that makes me whole heartedly stand by the above statement and that’s that travel friends are friends for life.

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The #travelfam posing up a storm in Mykonos during the Euro Summer 2015

Yes it’s true you do get wrapped up in the little tour bubble and next minute you have 30 new Facebook friends and every picture you post is #travelfam #squadonpoint #(insert team joke here). I know from experience that we all go home and bang on to our mates about the good times and the great people but then you never end up seeing most of these people again.

So how can you really be friends for life?

Easy! You’ve shared an experience with them that you’ll never forget.  The memory of your trip is laced with their names and faces and that’s all that matters.

 

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Dead Sea chills with the squad

 

A year from now, one of them will check into your hometown, 5 comments later and your catching up for coffee. The excitement of seeing them does get slightly overshadowed with the nervousness of is this going to be awkward and for 5 minutes you regret it. Until you’re sitting across the table from them reliving every minute of your 10 days together. Then you’re chatting about life and where else they’ve been and you add it to your bucket list. Next month you’ll ring them 4 times to get them to help you plan your next adventure. Or easy jet just put £10 flights to Madrid up and you guys, on a whim book a weekend in Spain #countingdownthedays #reunion.

It’s how I came to be here in Jordan, riding a bus towards the Israel border, with 11 kick arse people. A friend of mine, who I met while travelling around Europe last summer, who also now lives in London, contacted me while I was in Sri Lanka and asked me if I was keen to do this trip. Of course, I didn’t think twice about putting the deposit down. Not to mention, that I was in Sri Lanka with a friend, that I made while doing my first ever Contiki tour, in New Zealand in 2014. After that NZ trip and my first time on a tour, I got to see parts of Australia, I’d never been too. One’s I’d never planned on going to either. I ticked Melbourne Cup off my bucket list and I made

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Candid blog writing along the Red Sea

2 close friends in Austria. This obviously meant the Vienna was my first weekend away, once I moved to the UK last year.

 

Just re-telling these stories makes me feel warm and fuzzy. There are no expectations when you meet people travelling. You don’t have to act a certain way, you don’t have to try and dispel or explain certain things they may have heard about you from others. If you don’t like someone, you be pleasant to them and move on. But when you find someone you click with, you know its something special.

 

You don’t do the acquaintance phase, then the general catach up phase, the let’s be friends on all types of social media phase, the let’s text each other everyday with our little jokes phase and eventually the besties phase.

 

Instead you go from hi my name is Elisa, want to go climb this volcano with me at sunset, straight to loosest night of our lives, to #travelsisters, to this is not goodbye, its see you in Budapest in 2 weeks xx

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#travelsisters

Help! I’ve become a big city wanker!

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Its happened!

How did I not see the symptoms there in front of my face?

First it was eating my bircher muesli on the tube. Precariously juggling my bowl of almond milk soaked oats and trying not to let my goji berries fall out (snap below).IMG_8511

Then it was the sitting in a spa, in the pool room of my gym. 3 stories up overlooking the Victorian rooftops of Chelsea, one of London’s richest, poshest suburbs, on a Tuesday morning. Yea, I dragged myself out of bed at 6am in the dying months of the bitter London winter to sit in the spa before work on a freaking Tuesday.

But the realization finally struck me yesterday. I couldn’t ignore the symptoms any longer. Here I was staring at my reflection in the glass covered elevator, travelling up to the 5th floor of Harvey Nichols department store in Knightsbridge, to drink a 21pound glass of Champagne at 4pm and I was wearing a hat.

IMG_8214 I’m talking a tan, wide brim felt hat, perched off the back of my head. It wasn’t sunny, it hadn’t been sunny all day, shit I haven’t seen the sun in London for months. That’s when I realized Im wearing it just because it looks good, not to do its intended job (see selfie to the right for full demonstration of wanker-ness).

 

Shit! Im officially a big city wanker.

 

Silently I sipped and savoured my 21 pound champagne and started to go into denial. Ive become one of those people my friends and I would screen shot on insta and send to each other and complain about.

My breaths started coming in small short gasps, I was panicing. I don’t want to be one of those people. Next I’ll be waking up at 5.30 to put make up on before the gym. I pushed it out of my mind. My girlfriend and I continued to chat slash shamelessly flirt with the cute Brazilian waiter and enjoy complimentary olives.

Normally Im all about the “embrace it” attitude, you have to give anything a shot but maybe I panicked because I thought I was changing. Morphing into someone else, and ultimately not being myself and that’s something I didn’t want.

I fought long and hard, 25 years in fact to realise that I don’t have to become what people want me to be. You don’t have to change who you are to fit into the situation. For so much of my life and still now I tried to do this and it would get me down.

Fortunately the whole quitting my job and moving overseas cliché, has bought on another cliché and that’s doing what I want, when I want with people who accept it. And those who don’t accept you doing what makes you happy can go and jump in the proverbial lake. Harsh, I know but at 25 you realise these things and when you put them into practice it can be life changing. So let’s bring back that “embrace it” attitude and give it a go. Just for 24 hours do what you want, don’t let anyone get in your head, make your own decisions and be truly happy.

For me, my oats make me happy because I’m looking after my body.

My hat makes me happy because I feel confident in it.

My Tuesday spa made me feel happy because I was relaxed.

Is it ever a bad thing if it makes your happy? After 25 years, I have one answer to this and it’s simple- No! xx

Art: I don’t get it but I wish I did.

As a rule, since moving overseas to work and live, I’ve made a deal with myself to make sure I discover as much as I can about the place I’m calling home. At the moment it’s London. 1572km2 and 9 million people (thanks Wiki), so there is lots to see and do. I’m at the Tate Modern ticking it off the London Bucket List. I’m writing this on the back of my £1 map as I wonder around.

I’m reading the captions and I’m looking, like really observing but I don’t get it. I know lots of people think it but you don’t want to say it, because it’s disrespectful to those who love it and make a career out of it.

It’s really pretty, don’t get me wrong but it looks like a 5 year old painted it.

As a woman of science, tell me how this “women painting” is a depiction of the female anatomy? I can vaguely make out some boobs, maybe, if I squint and turn my head 32 degrees to the right. But that’s where it starts and ends for me.

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I knew this is how I felt about art galleries before today. So why am I here?

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2 reasons:

  1. I feel like at 25, I should be able to wonder around a gallery and take something from it. Yet I’m not going to lie, when I say I have checked Facebook a few times and Instagram-ed a photo of the bubble guy who I passed on my way here (see above). A cliché of society’s expectations of us as we get older is that we should appreciate art. Surrealism, abstracts, that different genres use different lines and colours and depths, I did do grade 9 art, I do know all the buzz words and kudos Marthia Goeritc and colleagues for being able to make this the most expensive piece of gold foil you will see in your life (picture below) and have people appreciate it.IMG_8033

 

That leads me to my second point….

  1. I can appreciate it. To me they don’t look like much but someone, somewhere, spent tireless hours, blood, sweat and tears to create this; something they are passionate about. And how could you ever criticize someone for being passionate.

 

Nothing irks me more then when people/society have a go at Gen Y for our lack of hard work or respect. Yes, some people in my generation need a kick up the arse but not all of us.

As I continue to wander, I overhear, well more like ears drop on people who actually “get” art. The way they talk about the lines and the depth, makes me smile. I still don’t get it but I’m smiling.

Because of that I feel like I haven’t just aimlessly walked around and ticked another thing off the bucket list, which at times, lets face it, feels more like a chore list (but that’s for another day).

I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone, I left my initial judgments go, I’ve learnt something new and I’ve seen people be genuinely passionate about what they love, oh and I also had a kick arse mocha… and that’s what quarter life is all about.

Happy Wednesday x

 

PS I wasn’t joking when I said I wrote this on the back of my map. Could I read it today?Not really!

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