I’m currently sitting in the loudest massage chair at the airport. I’ve never sat in one of these chairs before, but as I was using the power socket behind it, and I had a spare $2 coin to rid myself of, I thought why the hell not.

I’m not sure if all the recent unspeakable tragedies involving aircrafts has had any affect, but the airport is almost completely silent tonight in Sydney. I was the only person in the lineup to check into my flight, and I was the only person in this entire section of the airport, until a lady just sat down next to me to use the other socket.

Packing up my belongings and getting ready to leave felt incredibly normal. I joked with my mum that it’s been stranger to actually be here for so long than to leave again. I think my friends feel the same.

There’s some kind of heightened sense of emotion about going to, or being at an airport. Many things have happened in these last couple of months, and even more recently, that the part of my mind that thinks everything that happens in the world is trying to teach me something, has been running rampant. I’ve been celebrating the start of life, and seeing those grieve the end. I’ve seen old friends and made some new, I’ve reconnected and let go of a few. I’ve learned to appreciate each day, let go of things out of my control, and appreciate the company of those around me.

I’ve packed everything I could possibly need in two backpacks. I might be working in a homestead, hostel or office. I might be hiking, camping swimming, cycling, sleeping or hermiting. Either way I’ve got it covered. Well, except for my tent. After months of toing and froing on how to fix the annoying non-closing zipper issue, I waited to receive new sliders from Mr Henry Shires but they never arrived. Mum had the sewing kit ready to go up until this morning, having fixed the hip pockets on my pack and Little Muk’s keyring. But when the mail arrived without them, we realised shit, this ain’t going to happen. I now have my horrendous yellow bivvy sack that I took through Yosemite with me and a tarp. All I can say is, if there’s mosquitos about, they’d better watch out for one unhappy camper!

And so I bid farewell to this land I still call home and head off again to the EU. My 94 year old grandpa asked me if I had any plans of settling down. I laughed, patted him on the shoulder and told him he’d be the first to know.

I only have three flights, an overnight bus ride and a four hour walk to get to my destination. It will take me just under two days, although I’m hoping to source a bus to cut down the distance of the final stretch on foot. I guess I better start practising my Spanish! (Thanks Fuller, I still have the phrase book you gave me!) Hasta luego!

I haven’t stopped moving since I’ve been back in Australia, but at the same time, I don’t really feel like I’ve gone anywhere. I’ve been doing round trips from Sydney to Melbourne to Sale and back to Sydney, with my carbon footprint going through the roof. Thank goodness I’ve done so much walking this last year to balance it out!

I’m on my way back to Melbourne this morning. Back on the ferry and train to the airport, again. I have my routine set so seamlessly now that I slide between the confused tourists looking for the ticket machines, timetables and entrance gates, while I float through effortlessly. I look like a local, like someone who feels at home in this environment, impressing these tourists with my efficiently, knowledge and know-how. The truth is I feel as foreign as they do.

I’ve been fascinated lately by people’s routines and in awe of the simplicity of their actions. Basic things like using the same mug for tea or coffee in the morning, having a local supermarket where they shop, purchasing a booklet of tickets for the same bus, knowing that there’s a dinner special at the pub on a Tuesday.

Although these trips are becoming so familiar with the airports starting to feel like home, I can feel that lack of routine stranglehold tightening its grip. When complete freedom casts you into the middle of the ocean without a clear direction of which way to go. Any direction will take you to a destination, but you need to be clear on that destination before you start to swim.

I picked a destination for the end of July months ago, but with all this swimming back and forth in between I’ve seen many other horizons pop up. It’s been tempting to explore these other options, but the more I contemplate a new direction the more I feel lost. If there’s one lesson that has always rung true for me it’s ‘stick to the plan’. This doesn’t mean not having the flexibility to change, but it means once you make a decision you should reach that shore before turning around to swim in the other direction.

At the end of this month I’m heading back to Spain with the intention of learning Spanish and taking time to write. I feel a bit like a teenager on a gap year. Does this girl ever work? The answer is not a lot this year that’s for sure. The lack of work is contributing to that lack of purpose feeling, and being a freeloader for so long does do evil things to your self conscious. But I know the solution to my own despair. Write. Writing is my therapy, and I haven’t had enough downloading sessions with my virtual therapists lately which is why I’m back!

Now that I’ve got that off my chest let’s talk about the exciting aspects of my gap year. Jumping on a plane at the end of this month and immersing myself in a place where people speak little English. Having the opportunity to take my pack on some new exciting adventures, finding some solitude and quiet time to write, and getting back to nature.

I’ve decided that I’m going to save up purchasing a coffee mug, shopping at a grocery store, establishing a bus route and finding a local pub for next year. I’m going to continue living this year like it’s my last, like a gypsy, like a teenager on a gap year. Once I’m able to put the guilt of doing so behind me, I’ll be ready to enjoy it!

I haven’t had the privilege of getting out on any remote trails recently, but that’s not to say I haven’t been enjoying the wildlife and wilderness in close vicinity to my sister’s farm near Sale. Between collecting firewood, mowing the lawns, herding sheep, feeding chooks, ducks, dogs, cats, looking after two kids and taking care of the house, there’s a lot of work to be done. I’m enjoying taking part in these activities temporarily, but it’s a full time job for my sister and brother-in-law who live and breath this lifestyle day to day.

Finding time for a break in the routine requires planning and efficiency, so on our way into town yesterday I got my sister to drop me 5km from the centre so I could explore the wetlands and bird life on the outskirts of town, meeting her at the shops in time to head back home.

The heritage walk took me on a trail and boardwalk right through the centre of the wetlands amongst the swans and bird life that was plentiful in their natural habitat. I had the entire path to myself, wondering how many people actually take advantage of this well built corridor through nature.

It’s not always easy for an all-or-nothing person like me to take satisfaction from short expeditions, but I’ve come to appreciate even the brief bursts of outdoor exposure I’m getting between other responsibilities. The much needed family and friend time I desired so strongly in Spain has been every bit as rewarding and enjoyable as I’d hoped. I have an incredibly strong community in my many homes spread throughout Australia, and I’ve been lucky enough to spend so much time dedicated to reconnecting with them all.

I also went on a short expedition with my parents recently in Sydney around the Manly Dam Reserve. What I expected to be a short, flat 7km circuit walk around the dam was actually a wilderness trail winding it’s way through thick bush, past gushing waterfalls and wading pools, with some pretty decent climbs that gave our leg muscles a workout. The highlights in our own backyard are the ones I often ignore.

During our short walk around Sale’s Lake Guthridge today, we witnessed the unexpected incident of a dog chasing a peacock across the parklands towards the lake. When I reached the bird the dog was on top of it, and both my sister and I believed it dead. Fortunately the peacock was simply in shock, with it’s head buried underneath it’s wings. It wasn’t moving so we phoned a vet for advice, but soon after I collected it in my arms the bird wriggled free, running towards the lake and burying it’s front end into a hole. I carefully managed to wriggle the bird out, carrying it back towards it’s enclosure where the council unlocked the gate and thanked us for returning the peacock in one piece. Our good deed done for the day. Now back to stoking the fire, feeding the kids, chooks, ducks, dogs, cat and rounding up the sheep!

As I walked along the gravel track leading down to my sister’s front paddock at 9:30pm on the eve of the Winter Solstice, I remembered the outdoor world I’ve recently left behind with it’s glittering stars, velvet air, night time hum, and crisp intense realness.

My brother-in-law had asked me to check on the bonfire he’d lit this afternoon that would smoulder overnight until the morning, so I wandered down without expectation to ensure the flames were under control.

Walking past the mist covered fields on either side of the driveway, establishing my path without light by the sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet, I suddenly felt reconnected with the outdoors.

When I was on the Pacific Crest Trail from April to October in 2013, the sun, moon and stars became close to me like family or friends. These were the constant counterparts of my journey, forever changing in their own unique way, but ever present whether I paid attention to them or not. I felt so close to these elements surrounding our planet that I painstakingly missed them when my trail life ended and the civilised world took hold. Of course they were still there, but they’d gone from being my closest allies to friends I only saw when I had the time. Like old friends, when you catch up after months without contact it’s like time hasn’t passed, but there’s always something missing; that true common understanding of one another that only comes from spending everyday together and living your lives in that fashion for months on end.

Tonight when I was reunited with the stars and the silence of the night, tears began to well in my eyes. When I reached the bonfire I had only checked on because I was tasked, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t simply walked the 300 meters on my own accord to view such a marvellous spectacle. I’d simply forgotten to take notice. There is so much stimulation in our world between phones, computers and television that we forget the most breathtaking display of nature is waiting for us right outside our front door.

I’ve never felt as connected to this planet until I spent the most part of six months outdoors. Every smell, sight and touch I experience when I’m back in the wilderness often ignites a feeling inside me that wasn’t there before. A true appreciation for the gift of life we were given, and the glorious planet it was packaged in.

This is not to say the world is a perfect place, it’s far from it; but if we don’t appreciate the glory of its small miracles every once in a while then what are we holding on for?

At your next opportunity go outside; view a sunrise, a sunset, or simply breath in the fresh night air under a blanket of stars, just to remember how lucky we are. We may all be guilty of ignorance towards the troubled state of our world, but we shouldn’t be guilty of ignoring the presence of nature’s beauty so close to us.

I felt a little displaced this morning after waking up on my friends’s couch in the middle of her living room, while she and her partner raced around in the early hours preparing for a six-hour birthing class. Her newly bought house in the northern suburbs of Melbourne has become my new ‘base’ while I’m back visiting friends. I peeked my head out from under the blankets to wave goodbye, thankful it was her and not me getting out of bed after an eight hour wedding party yesterday. As the door closed I was left in an eerie isolated state. It’s that time of life for those born in the early 80’s; marriage, houses and babies. I can’t say any of the aforementioned are on my current list of things to do, but every time I come home I notice the world around me is gradually changing.

I’ve always been the one gallivanting across the world on some kind of adventure. It’s got to the point where most of my friends have completely lost track of where I’ve been or what I’m doing, and naturally the most common question is always ‘what’s next?’. My friend’s partner put it down to basic curiosity around how I manage to avoid the ‘regular’ flow of life that most people find themselves in at this age; stable jobs, rent, bills etc. I have done a fairly good job at avoiding most of these obliations, but all good things come at a price. Displacement, bouts of loneliness, a sore back from sleeping on couches. Luckily I’m learning to revel in these things, realising this lifestyle ain’t gonna last forever!

While still on the couch I started flipping through a few of my favourite blogs to see what other like minded folk were up to in their separate nomadic worlds, and strangely enough I stumbled across a post from Cat regarding an award she’d just received from a fellow blogger called Stick.

It’s called the Liebster Award, and the theory behind it is celebrating the writers whom you enjoy following by placing them in your top 11 and asking them to answer a list of 11 self-designated questions. This exposes your followers to new blogs and thus a healthy promotion of new literature, opinions, experiences and adventures circulate around the cyber world.

Reading through Cat’s questions and answers I reached her list of 11 blogging hopefuls. What brilliant intellectual sporty superheroes could possible inspire a woman with her own following of intellectual sporty superheroes? Lucky last at number 11 was the name ‘Serial Nomad’. Is there someone else using my name?

Apparently not. Underneath some of my own adventure heroes was me!! Similar to the notion that I don’t really see myself as a ‘hiker’, I also don’t really see myself as a ‘blogger’, though obviously I love both. Thanks Cat, you would have been way up on my list if I could re-nominate you!!! I’m even more honoured that I get to respond to the 11 thought provoking questions you’ve developed. These will come in my next post, along with my own questions for the next lucky 11!