Thoughts From My Journey- another boring self reflection

When did I choose this life? When was that single moment when this path was paved in my imaginings? This life far from home, surrounded by strangeness and strangers. I know it was a choice I made, a conscious one at that, but when did I set myself on the journey, and when did I declare it as the story for my life?

 Was it when I was 16 and, feeling the burning desire to step out on my own to prove to myself that I wasn’t trapped by my small island upbringing, I waved goodbye to my parents and stepped on that plane to England? I know that day changed all our lives beyond even our own conscious understanding but was it that day that led me to this? I am not convinced, plenty of my friends have left the island with that same feeling and have returned a few years later, fully qualified and with a renewed appreciation for life close to home.

So was it the day in sixth form when I decided to take a year out before university so that I would be able to attend as a citizen resident- a purely financial decision? Was this the unhappy circumstance, fraught with frustration and worry which saw me sitting here in the early morning staring at such an unfamiliar sunrise? Surely not because I could have spent my year working in some bar or restaurant in Wimbledon, saving money and going out with friends, waiting for my papers to come through. Surely that would have been easier- a more obvious choice…

Was it the then day I was so easily drawn in by the presentation of a PT representative who wove such wondrous tales of her gap year working overseas? And if not that was it the day I sent them in my application or attended training or accepted my placement in Cambodia? I doubt it somehow, for how many before and after me have gone on ‘gap years’ and tied the whole experience in a bubble with a pretty ribbon, always to be remembered, never to be replicated, something to be cherished during boring days at the office or to be drawn on for funny anecdotes over drinks with friends in the city.

Could it have been that year in Cambodia itself, our decision to change project, my journey of self-discovery and the development of my self worth in some small town hospital in the suburbs of Phnom Penh? Perhaps, and yet after that year was it not me who returned for university in the UK, doggedly pursuing a degree I knew would not lead into a career, while others I knew answered the call of their hearts and returned to that place which had breathed life into us all. They did this while I succeeded in swallowing that desire and completed four full years in a pretty city in England, long enough for the experience to threaten becoming a bubble wrapped in ribbon.

Did it come then with my first real taste of work in the field, my first glimpse of what life could be as I stood in the blistering sun registering refugees newly arrived into the quickly expanding camps from the human flood caused by the Arab Spring in early 2010? Surely not since this was work I did at home, less than ten minutes from the house I grew up in, working each day in an alien world superimposed on that most familiar of backdrops. And could I not have continued in this vein, working on projects that fulfilled my desires while still allowing me to fall into a familiar bed at night having shared a meal with a parent or friend?

So then was it my Masters? That expanse of knowledge that challenges all your preconceptions and pushes you to prove to yourself that you are worthy and hardy enough to do this for life. This surely was a turning point for me but it was not what lead me to this bed, in this room, in this orphanage, on this the fourth largest island in the world. I know this because when I look around at my classmates I see many of them furthering their careers, working in Development, fulfilling their destinies from offices in or based around their home countries. They are using their newly honed skills to benefit the societies of which they have always been apart. So what is it that separates these colleagues from those of us who have flung ourselves across the globe to the most foreign of working environments?

So my final option is this job. This wonderful crazy glorious job, offered to me by my stepfather, made a reality for me by the support of my family and friends. Was it the sudden appearance of this opportunity on my horizon which prompted me to begin my migration, carefully placing one foot in front of the other? However the job itself was a huge leap for me- into management, which I have little experience of, in a foreign language I have yet to master, in a country I had never visited to do a job I have never done before and to do so on my own. Many people if offered this opportunity would have politely declined, thinking it crazy, not thought through, irresponsible even and I can not count the number of people who have said as much to me.

So maybe it is exactly this which has driven me to this point- my propensity for the absurd, my determination to throw myself toward what scares me most, my drive to prove myself unconventional at all costs. People say that if you hear something about yourself enough times you begin to believe it, and even to respond to it like some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. So when I look at all the things that are said about me is it not words like ‘crazy’, ‘weird’, ‘naïve’, ‘shameless’ and ‘eccentric’ that I hear ringing in my ears. So is it this caricature of myself that nodded vigorously at the prospect of this very situation, some exaggerated version of myself that purposely propels me toward a destiny unknown, deaf to the muted whimpers of my own incredulity.

I think this is far more likely than all the rest. That somewhere inside me is a subconscious that strives to justify the alienation and disparity I have always felt between myself and others by creating a post hoc framework for my personality. Is the very reason I accepted this challenge that not doing so would have threatened my own self-image of unconventionality, nomadism and dissension. Is it therefor that my whole life path, in essence, is an exercise in putting my money where my mouth is, or in some cases other’s mouths are? Quite possibly, and for this then I have to thank every person or situation which has ever made me feel uncomfortable or unsettled for setting me on a path toward contentment and personal development.  They say you grow into yourself over time and perhaps for me that is just a far more conscious process than for most.

PS. I think I think too much.

PPS. And I think that very sentence proves it.