The other day I was thinking a lot about the forecast depression that supposedly awaits me on my return to Perth. Being the emotional, susceptible person that I am, it wouldn’t surprise me if said depression does eventuate. For a time I was sure that it would. Then I went through a phase of being so excited about the future, so ripped and ready and roaring to go, so full of plans, full of beans, footloose and fancy-free, that I was sure that I wouldn’t.
There are about a million things I want to do when I get back. And all these plans and schemes and hopes and dreams are THE thing that is pulling me back to Australia. It occurred to me then, that this might be the way that the post-travel depression was sneakily preparing an attack on my flank. Perhaps all this exuberance is what’s going to ultimately destroy me? Maybe the confidence that I can make things happen the way I want is going to turn out to be my Achilles heel.
This is probably truer than I’d care to think about. There’s been plenty of times in my Perth life that I’ve had great ideas and felt highly motivated and have ended up doing nothing with them. Often it seems that my ideas require the input of others that are equally motivated, and when I can’t find that support, I crumble. Maybe the person I am now can make things happen, can keep the momentum rolling through whatever obstacles. Or maybe not.
Long story short, when I get back, if things aren’t going the way I want them to, I think I’m going to move away. If I can’t start the new life I want in Perth than that’s too bad. I can’t wait any more.