I have not travelled far in my twenty nine years as a tax paying 21st century human boy.

My self-awareness can be measured by dividing the preceding statement with the observation that it is most definitely literal and also probably figurative. The cheaper- arguably more concise metaphor- is that I’m getting older and trying to find my place in the world*.

It’s an old story- if you’re a dickhead you might call it cliché- but I’ve essentially packed all of my stuff in a car and drove across the country in search of a change: location, lifestyle and attitude. This is not something I would do on my own, as I’m fortunate enough to have a supportive companion going through the same late-twenties malaise: debt, career-paths, friendships morphing and decaying, more debt, marriage (to me), happiness and a future teetering on the line between hope and desolation. As an anxiety-ridden fellow often locked in a routine, I would not have made this much needed change without her support and guidance. I jumped off the cliff- the water is coming towards me fast and all I can do is brace and wait to hit the surface. Is it deep enough? Will I find a job? Is there a hidden jagged rock that’s going to rip my knee caps off?**

As bright as the future is, leaving behind friends and family with no timetable of when you’ll see them again is fucking impossible.