F*ck it, I’m going to Australia.
Exactly two years ago today, 14 December 2014, I reached peak fuck it level.
I was heading back to my apartment outside of San Francisco after yet another work trip to Houston. Coming back to the quiet suburbs of Walnut Creek without the feeling of coming “home” or seeing friends to have a beer with, I felt lost.
Not literally lost. I’m bad with directions but come on guys, I can use a map.
Lost in the sense of not knowing where I was going with my life.
Why did I move across the country away from my friends to a city where I knew two people? Where was this job taking me? What did love look like? How can I work from home without losing my mind? Why was I living in the suburbs at twenty-six? How do I find happiness?
In a moment of mildly-poetic justice, I searched for the furthest escape my frequent flyer miles could take me.
110,000 miles and $114.50 later, I was set for Sydney.
Without a plan in place, any idea where I would stay, who I would meet, or if I had enough vacation time (beg for forgiveness, right?), I felt free.
When I look back on this moment, and the two weeks wandering solo abroad, I understand just how much this trip changed my life.
Travel, and in particular, solo travel, has a way of doing that. It forces you to understand yourself in a new context, seeing how you react to uncomfortable situations and different environments. When you have no one but yourself to rely on, you make it work.
I was uncomfortable, awkward, charming, scared, excited, happy, lonely, and free. Most of all, I was present. For the first time in a long time, I felt like myself.
This almighty fuck it moment set into motion a series of events that changed how I understand and express who I am.
I moved into San Francisco. I quit my job and found one that I’m excited to wake up for every morning. I found a community of my people — not people like me, but people that push me to be a better me. I joined a cause much bigger than myself. Ultimately, I better understand who I am, who I love, and how I want to live.
What’s the point of me sharing this? Besides nostalgia.
I want you to try-on your own fuck it moment.
Do something you’ve been wanting to do. It can be irrational, or totally logical. Your choice.
Just fucking do it.