December 8, 2010 by jessperriam
Earlier this week I had a choice.
Leave the country this Saturday or leave the country in January.
Through a serious of events and various reasons I have been itching to leave the country and return to the UK. I mostly just want laze around reading The Guardian in print format. But I also want a challenge, I also want to meet new people.
I’ll also cowboy up and admit that I’m running away from everything I hate about living in Perth.
What was stopping me from scratching that itch?
I needed to sell my car to make the money to buy the ticket to get back over there.
Selling your car by private sale? It’s horrific. I found a delightful buyer in the end but most of the time you are faced with overly critical people who in all honesty have as much of a clue about cars as you.
Which brings me to my complaint of the month: It’s a used car, not a new car. Don’t whine about carpark dents and scratches. If you want a flawless car, go bug some sleazy car salesman, there are plenty of them on any major highway in middle Australia.
*Rant over* whew.
Anyway, I sold my car eventually but as you can appreciate this time of year is horrendous for affordable flights, job searching and housemate hunting.
The only affordable one way flights to Britain I could find were leaving this Saturday or the 12th of January.
I spent four days agonising over this decision in some sort of indecisive hell. I was tying myself up in knots.
I knew I wanted to go as soon as possible but the logistical nightmare and ensuing head spin paralysed me with fear.
I was booking my flight for this Saturday and I had my credit card details entered and everything. But I just couldn’t push the button.
“You need to find a job, and somewhere to live,” my internal monologue was reminding me, “And you won’t be able to do that before Christmas so, you’ll be treading water before then and that’s expensive – you don’t want to spend Christmas alone do you?”
My internal monologue is a perfectionist, could you tell?
I tried so hard to get myself to push that button. I read some Donald Miller (“fear isn’t only a guide to keep us safe, it’s a manipulative emotion that can trick us into living a boring life”), some inspirational blogs (yo Jacob Black, your domain name has expired, just sayin’), I tried every trick in the book to convince myself that this sudden departure would be amazing and awesome.
And I’m sure it could have been. Life goes on.
But the fact remains, I’m going to leave and live somewhere else for at least 18 months, I want to leave properly. And if that means delaying things for a few weeks to make sure I have a beer with those who need to have beer, to purchase the necessary warm items of clothing, to psych myself up for it, then so be it.
Fear isn’t something to give in to. It does lead to a dissatisfied, boring life. But it’s not something to be barged right through just for the sake of it.
I needed to workshop this with my urban family but they were all AWOL, MIA and other military terms relating to being incommunicado. I think they or God or both were telling me to make this decision on my own.
Eventually it came down to a navel gazing whinge session with El Presidente and a pro-con list. And after four days of driving myself batty, I came to a decision.
So I’m not giving in to fear, I’m still leaving. I’m just leaving in the middle of January. Fear is something I’m exploring and overcoming every day. Each day I do something to try and shake the fear out of me. Small steps for man, giant leaps for Jesskind, that sort of thing.
Perthlings, please feel free to fill my social calendar between now and then.