Age is no barrier to travelling - a story of a 63 year old traveller

In Boston, Massachusetts I’d not long arrived at my hostel. I quickly popped out to CVS to buy a few things – a new water bottle, some diet coke to stash in the fridge, a packet of museli bars. I came back and was stashing my things in the communal kitchen and I spied an elderly woman with a mug, she was standing at a cooking sink in the kitchen confused – I assumed she ws looking for the dishwashing equipment. I told her that there was a dish room just to the side – I’d seen it earlier. We exchanged polite words and not long after I was sitting down snacking on Swedish Fish and she came and joined me. I wound up chatting to her for about an hour.

She is 63 and a half years of age – interesting that she pointed out the half. I suppose just like how half years are important as a child, when you get older, they are equally important. I think it is important to point out that she felt like an old 63 – she looked and dressed like, well frankly, a grandmother. Slipper like shoes, a saggy big floral dress, no attempts to dye her grey hair. She referred to sometimes taking it one step at a time when climbing up the stairs at the hostel, pausing each step to rest.

She told me that she is travelling around the United States on a 60 day Greyhound Discovery Pass. This isn’t the first time she has done this – she does it every couple of years, changing the time of year she travels. She has travelled lots in Europe, her home being London. She referred to going to Malta just a few months ago. And when she travels, she nearly always stays at Hostelling International hostels.

Hostelling life is her passion – she loves meeting random people, the bigger the dorm room the better because she gets to meet more people. She will talk to anyone who will listen to her talk, she loves sharing travel tips and taking hostel recommendations from people. She has this remarkable memory for addresses – I’d commented that I was booked into a HI Hostel in Sacramento and she said an address and asked if it was that one. She travels without using the internet - she has a book filled with hostel phone numbers and addresses. She decides with only a couple of days notice where she's headed, depending on where she can get to next logically with Greyhound and where there is a hostel with an available bed, after calling around.

Her friends at home think she’s brave for doing what she’s doing but for her, she doesn’t know any other way of travelling. Most of the places she visits, she’s been there before, she’s done most of the ‘siteseeing’ and so more than anything, her experiences are truly centred around the hostel and meeting people. She isn’t jaded by the unusual experiences and encounters – with a twinkle in her eye, she told me about waking up in her hostel in Australia one morning and seeing the girl in the female dorm across from her asleep with a man in the bed.

I understand from our conversation that she doesn’t have a next of kin – I’m not sure if she never married or if he passed, if she is estranged from family or if she was an only child. Bu she referred to having no need to leave behind any money, and while she feels ‘fit as a fiddle’ she’s going to make the most of life and see as much as she can.

I can only dream to maintain her kind of passion and zest for life and such an open minded approach to the budget travel lifestyle into my later years.

Moments: Being scammed by an elderly Lithuanian woman

The full entry about my experiences in Lithuania is still to come, however I really wanted to capture this moment in time. I’ve used tags before about ‘moments’ – those magic moments and experiences that in so many ways encapsulate why it is that I love travelling and seeing the world. I had one of those in Lithuania which I’d really love to share.

Approaching the end of my time in Vilnius, Lithunia just a couple of weeks ago, I knew I had way too many Lithuanian Litas left. I decided that rather than exchanging it for another currency, I’d buy myself a present, and I wanted to buy a scarf. Scarves, as in light scarves, have been the most practical addition to my travel wardrobe this year. If it is sunny they help to protect me from sunburn (a relevant thing when you look more like a Scandavian in winter than Australian) and if it is a bit windy you can wrap it around you and it provides that bit of extra warmth. On transport they can fold up and be a pillow. And sometimes when going into churches and places, it helps you to feel somewhat more ‘appropriate’ if you chose a lower top that day. Moreover, they fold up small so they don’t take up much room in your luggage. I’d seen some gorgeous scarves around the various market stalls in the old town but hadn’t looked at prices, just seen the rows and rows of various colours in all their gorgeous glory. I was on my way back from the bus station and headed past the market hall, which was a ‘to see’ in my siteseeing anyway, so I headed in.

Market hall in Vilnius, Lithuania

I saw a gorgeous, gorgeous little stall, like in an enclosed area, with hundreds upon hundreds of scarves in rows from floor to ceiling in all different colours. I stepped in to take a look and I’d been in there no longer than about ten seconds before the stall owner popped up from nowhere, she’d grabbed a scarf from the wall that matched the royal blue shirt I was wearing, and she draped it around me. She began to speak to me in Lithuanian. She was an older woman, probably in her sixties, and I said, “I’m sorry, I speak English.” She wasn’t deterred, despite not knowing a word of English, pulling down more scarves and draping them over me and nodding and making approving sounds at some and deciding herself that others weren’t suitable. I gestured to her which colours I liked (pointing to purples, pinks and blues) and made a yucky face at the green, orange and brown ones she had down. She contemplated for a moment, turned around and produced from nowhere the most gorgeous scarf of different purples, ranging from so dark it’s almost blue to so bright it’s more like a magenta pink.

I think I’d been sold that I’d buy something from her before seeing ‘the’ scarf but seeing a gorgeous scarf that actually would suit very well with my clothes made it an even easier decision. I asked how much. She was tracing the figure on her hand, but because she was doing the figure and then ‘Lt’ for Litas (which I didn’t realise she was doing) I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. She scrambled around, produced a pencil and scrap of paper, and wrote down the figure. I handed over the money, and she blew me kisses as I left.

As I wandered through town feeling so happy and delighted with the random encounter, I stopped by a couple more market stalls and saw some more scarves for sale – for half the price I’d just paid.

Now, I could be naive and tell myself that my scarf is superior, that she had hand tailored each and every single one, that the material is some sort of exotic weave. But I’m not naive.

The old Lithuanian bat played me, and totally ripped me off!

Nonetheless, I’d paid not that much in the scheme of life and ultimately, it isn’t about the dollar figure – it’s about the experience that comes with it, the story that I can tell.



The scarf! With a background of Freedom Square, Tallinn, Estonia

The other scarf I have came from Primark in Westfield Stratford, London – not quite as riveting of a tale, is it?

The Lucky Ones

I’m very fortunate to be doing what I’m doing. I know this. So many people who I meet, whether they be fellow travellers or tour guides or people who work at the hostels, they ask, “so you’re a student? You’re on a gap year?” And I tell them I graduated two and a half years ago, and they ask, “what kind of job do you have where they let you take off four months?!” When I announce that I quit my job, I often get looks of being impressed – the “I wasn’t happy so I quit” announcement caused a big group applause and then a cheers, clinking our sangrias together at the Tapas tour in Madrid while chatting with some Americans. Some people though, I suspect, think that I must live some precious spoiled life to be able to make such a decision.

 I know that I’ve worked hard to be able to afford the overseas travel that I have done. From my very first pay cheque I earned from my first waitressing job, I started saving money and many a time I’ve not done things for myself in order to ensure that I kept working toward the ultimate goal of travelling. Whether it be concert tickets, CDs, clothes, that I didn’t buy even though I really wanted to. My work colleagues would go out for drinks after work and I would go home and have my laptop to keep me company. I stayed living at home longer than most of my friends, forgoing the experiences of independence. At the same time, I know that the generosity of my parents in supporting me staying at home, that I’ve never had to pay off a car loan, that only in 2012 did I buy my own car insurance – yeah, it’s a mixture of hard work and being fortunate that has led me to where I am today.

Auchwitz-Birkenau

I was already in an interesting state of thought – contemplating my own life and my role within society. This may have been the perfect mindframe to be in when going somewhere like Auchwitz, or maybe it just put me into a vulnerable state. I would recommend for anyone who is travelling to Europe, however you are going, for work or study or backpacking or on a guided tour, to make sure that you can go to one of these sorts of locations – I went to Dachau from Germany in 2008 and I know there are others. I think it is something which should do out of respect, and out of a willingness to open your mind and to really confront the realities. You go to school and you’re told statistics but they don’t compare to being right where such tragic events took place.

Logistically, just to cover off on the how and the scheduling before going on more of an emotional tangent.

Transport

I chose to not use a tour company and instead to make my own way independently to Auschwitz. I literally showed up at the bus station at about 8:50pm and there was a bus leaving at 9:00am. I bought a return ticket from this particular driver – it appears that there are different companies which do the trip to Auchwitz. The one I took cost 24 Zloty return, which upon conversation with other people who I met throughout the day, was comparable. It was a 16 seater bus, and it didn’t just go to Auchwitz  - it also stopped at some random stops in a couple of villages on the way there and seemed to service like a regular bus route. By booking my return with him from the outset, I was restricted to when that particular bus service was returning, and I was given a card with all of the departure times. Really it worked out fine, I was sitting waiting for maybe half an hour longer than necessary – if I’d booked the single, there was a different bus with the times listed. If you want to have flexibility, then don’t worry about booking a return, there are many different bus options available, particularly if you’re getting there around when I did.

The tour

During peak hours (I think 10am – 3pm) you are required to purchase a guided tour. To be honest, it is the kind of place where you are best having a tour guide, or an audio guide of some description anyway. At the main Auchwitz site there are lots of information boards so you could still go bright and early (if the buses run then) or later in the day after the block out period and get the appropriate details. I enjoyed the delivery of the guide, it was very appropriate that we all had headsets as there were about seven tours leaving at the same time, plus other independent groups, and if all the guides were shouting it just wouldn’t have been appropriate given the environment. You are being taken around like sheep so you don’t get the option to spend longer in particular areas if you desire.  It is timed very well, we finished the first section at Auchwitz, had about ten minutes break time then the shuttle bus was departing to go over to Birkenau (about 3km away) which is actually the larger of the sites. Birkenau you are not required to have a guide, however there are not many information boards so I think it is worthwhile to be there with a guide who you’ve come over with from Auchwitz. We finished at Birkenau, the bus was leaving about five minutes later, and then when we arrived back at Auchwitz about ten minutes later a documentary was beginning – not in English, but still some moving/horrific imagery.

Guided tours from Krakow

Multitudes of companies do a guided tour from Krakow. Between the price of the bus and paying for the tour at the site, I probably only saved about 10 Zloty by doing it myself. The advantage would be that, if I had wanted to, I could’ve stayed back longer at Birkenau; or when we went back to Auchwitz it was after the ‘peak hours’ so I could’ve gone back in. By arranging my own transport I gave myself that flexibility. However, for the convenience level, it isn’t much more cash for a guided tour. I’m not sure if those sorts of tours offer any sort of general ‘Krakow’ or area commentary while on the bus on the way to Auchwitz and back. To me this would be something that might make it more worthwhile to simply pay one fee for the whole package.

Reflections

My experiences in Poland were really hard hitting for me. While I was in Ostrava, a lot of the conversation that Craig and I had revolved around how lucky we are to be Australian. We’re lucky to have English as a native language, we’re lucky to have grown up somewhere with good social support systems. Craig recalled stories about basic things, like items of stationery, which you physically cannot buy in the Czech Republic, they just don’t exist. We talked about missing just regular white bread, the kind that would zoom round me at Tip Top Bakeries and I wouldn’t really think much of it. Going to Auchwitz was important for me because even after just a few weeks away from home, I was missing petty things. I think a dose of reality is healthy. A dose of ‘you have your whole life to eat bread, you’re in Europe, embrace it!’ kick up the ass can be necessary.

As I already touched on, what I find the most striking when going to concentration/death camps is the reality of it all, hitting you right in the face. Some of the buildings are reconstructed or they are upgraded due to deterioration, but on the whole they are authentic and a large volume of it is original. When you study these horrific events at school, you can’t truly understand it, not if you’re a middle class white Australian with no (known) Jewish ancestory, no one in your family affected. But you go to concentration camps and suddenly ‘extermination’ has a whole different feelings. When you’re told ‘this is where 10 people would sleep’ or ‘this is the train track where the train would pull up and they would then sort them – into who will be killed immediately and who will be kept around to do labour.’ When you’re standing in a room with toilets and told they got to use them once a day, when you’re walking through collections of glasses and childrens shoes gathered from the camps... it’s all very real. Sometimes I feel like what went on during World War II seems so unreal, so outrageous, that you cannot comprehend it as being something tangible. It’s like a story they tell you in school to discourage racism and promote democratic ideals. But it was real. 

 

Homelessness in Europe

Outside Russian Orthodox church in Tallinn, Estonia

After my time at Auchwitz, I found myself spending more time contemplating me and my experiences travelling and my role within wider social responsibility. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to ignore someone on the street who wants money in Europe, I could fund another round the world trip. I know that on a certain level for them, the mentality is “you’re rich enough to travel, what’s a dollar to you?” and my God, so many times when I walk past homeless people holding out cups in desperation, I think that maybe I should’ve just never travelled and taken all this money and donated it to some amazing charity which helps create support systems for these people. It really, really hits me when I see people who are homeless and disabled – often disfigured in some way. I think to myself that in a western country, more of these people get government support with disability payments. It’s so sad to see someone who is maybe in their 30s or 40s who is disabled and homeless – to me it means they probably have no family, and they don’t live in a world where the government will arrange housing and send them a cheque every week.

When you’re in countries in eastern Europe and doing a tour or something of the like and they go over a brief history, I’ve had more than one tour guide say with this sarcastic roll of the eyes as they recount the conclusion of World War II: “And we were liberated by the Soviets.” I don’t know a lot about the realities of life under Soviet rule, but apparently a large contributing factor to homelessness in eastern Europe is a flow on affect of the fall of the Iron Curtain – particularly in some older generations who have less skills, less education and under living for years under Communist reign, the inability to build wealth. Suddenly capitalism was in and here they were without the skills or ability to make money for themselves; and the building of social support systems from a government level obviously doesn’t just miraculously happen overnight.

Is Australia ‘the lucky country’?

This was a debate topic we did back in high school. I mean, from a debating perspective, it comes down to your interpretation of the word ‘lucky’ - the negative team can break it down and say that yes we are ‘fortunate’ but is ‘luck’ (definition: sheer chance, fluke) anything to do with it. We seem to have tragic weather related events (floods, bushfires) but on that deeper social level, Australia and Australians are so sheltered. We get ‘kind of’ involved in these world conflicts but on the whole, we are fairly isolated. When your average person wants a big ‘cultural’ experience they go to Phuket or Bali and shop at markets and laze around at the beach. Maybe this is why we’re laid back and carefree – we haven’t had the experiences of time and world events to jade us into being guarded and wary.

But at the same time, I feel like it is only the people who travel who really understand how fortunate Australians are, who appreciate the opportunities that we have. Whether it be from the perspective of social welfare and benefits, government assisted job find and upskilling, our education system supporting people to study and if you choose not to study, having other options available which are equally supported. We are lucky to not have to go to the pharmacy to buy simple things like sunscreen and panadol. As a white Australian who speaks fluent English who has a university degree – I am in a position of greater power in the world. If I was prepared to work anywhere, the colour of my skin and my mother tongue, things which I take for granted every day, are things which make me ‘powerful.’

Sure, alcohol is expensive but maybe people should drink less and read more, just a thought!

My German homestay experience – seeing the ‘real’ Germany

When I was planning my trip, I put the feelers out there in an online community that I am a part of to see who might be interested in meeting up. One of the first people who put their hand up high was my online friend Tess, or the German variety being Thessi -  since I was with her in Germany, this is how I shall dub her throughout this entry. From the beginning when I was talking about coming to Europe, she said that if I was in her area she would love to meet. Not wanting to impose, at first I was planning to stay for a night in the closest big city to her. However the youth hostel was booked out, and when I told her that my only option would be to pay for a hotel, she invited me to stay with her family. I was a little wary simply because I didn’t want to impose but it turns out my worries were entirely ridiculous.

I played around with my plans, and finally made arrangements to stay for two nights. I arrived at midday, after surviving the hectic train ride from Frankfurt filled with football fans headed to a big game in Munich – as I referred to in my last entry. I had to struggle to fight my way out of the train; the moment I emerged I heard Thessi call out to me. We did our hugs and headed excitedly to the car. From the moment we started driving, I was so excited to be there. She lives in an outer suburb of a small town – so where she is, is like a little town, and she lives in the outskirts, right by the farms and the tiny narrow country roads. Her parents, who speak a small amount of English, greeted me in the driveway. From that moment until the moment that I left, the kindness of Thessi and her parents never failed to touch me. I was being given her brothers room and he was being sent to stay with his girlfriend (punishment, I know) which was a step up from a spot in the bathtub that I was originally promised! Lunch was in the process of being cooked, with what, to me, felt like a feast being presented for lunch. I am told that in Germany, often lunch will be the bigger meal of the day with the evening meal being more like what I consider to be lunch food.

My first real homecooked German meal.

Thessi’s mother is one of those real mother types, the ones who stuff you with food and check constantly if you need anything and bring umbrellas in case it rains on a blue blue blue sky day. I think she was genuinely excited to have an Australian in the house and to be able to show off German things and to share their culture and region. She came along on Saturday afternoon with Thessi and I and we went to Wurzburg, which is the closest big city to where they live. In Wurzburg we went to the Residenz Palace which have delightful gardens, wandered through the city centre looking at different sites, monuments, churches and the usual; and stopped for a break by the river at a restaurant where I got the fanciest iced coffee I have ever seen. When we got back from Wurzburg, Thessi took me to the grocery store so I could replenish my supply of toiletries. Dinner was a salad and what was kind of like an egg ham cheese slice thing, like a quiche sort of.

The Residenz Palace in Wurzburg, Germny

 Sunday morning was another feast, where every possible item of breakfast food was put on the table to select from. I gather this isn’t normal – it was more about wanting me to have choice in case I didn’t like what was served. I was able to do my laundry and leave it to dry in the sun – always a better option than having to hang around and keep your eye on the dryer at a hostel! Sunday we spent the afternoon in nearby Rothenburg, which is on the ‘Romance Road’ in Germany – basically it is identified as a strip of towns/cities which are pretty and have traditional German architecture preserved/not destroyed during the war. To get to Rothenburg, we drove on the autobahn (the motorway) where we drove at a top speed of 220km/h. Absolutely awesome and slightly terrifying! In particular, the terrifying part isn’t driving at that speed, but it is how quickly you have to slow down sometimes, because everyone doesn’t drive that fast – the average pace is more like 130 – 150km/h; you will come up behind slow cars and have to slow down quickly and wait for them to merge into the right lane so you can zip past.

The wide open road, cruising at 200km/h+

Rothenburg itself is just ridiculously picturesque. It does have an element of tourist kitsche, but the reality is that as travel and tourism becomes more accessible, cute picturesque towns all over the world will be taken over by a tourist market. Just wandering around Rothenburg is delightful. They have these famous all year around Christmas shops which we explored, and the famous ‘schneeball’ which is this sort of.... biscuity ball of yummy fun. I bought two to go right at the end and ate them on the bus to Prague/for dinner in Prague. We walked up 103 narrow rickety scary stairs to the top of one of the city wall towers, being treated to a spectacular view of the city. Late in the afternoon we went to a gorgeous little garden restaurant for coffee, which had this really fancy bathroom we were all amazed by – it’s interesting how despite cultural divides, individual hand towels, like actual towels, are something which everyone is amazed by.

Such amazing preservation of traditional style buildings

Rothenburg from above, after climbing 103 stairs.

The drive back on the autobahn, traffic came to a standstill, so as soon as we could we got off the autobahn and took the ‘scenic route’ through countryside and teeny villages, before getting back onto the autobahn where we could hit that top terrifying speed again.

Sunday night we went out for dinner at a traditional German restaurant with some family friends of Thessi’s parents. The first place we went to was closed – I am told this is normal in ‘the country’ for restaurants to just randomly alter their opening hours. We had success at the second restaurant. Thessi had to sit and translate the menu for me – none of this tourist cafe with an English menu! – and finally I just decided to get the bratwurst and have a real ‘German’ experience. Thessi did an amazing job with translating the necessary things – she didn’t try to sit and translate the whole conversation because frankly, that would’ve been tedious for her and I. But if someone said something particularly amusing or interesting she would translate. The parents friends were so lovely and nice and tried to include me and were asking questions about Australia, the differences with Germany and my travel plans. After dinner we went back to the parents friends place where we all had drinks , including a plum liqueur, a glass of champagne and it was insisted that I try ‘a little bit’ of German beer. I must admit, I tuned out a bit – it gets really strange sitting among conversation in another language for hours! But in the end there was laughter and I left feeling really positive about the experience.

Bratwurst and potato salad, at a real German restaurant

Monday, my departure day, came so quickly. Thessi and her mum took me around their town of Kitzingen. It may not quite have the same picturesque feeling of Rothenburg but it felt very authentic. They do have tourists through because the town is on the river Main and apparently tourist cruises go through departing from Frankfurt, but it isn’t overrun by that ‘catering’ to tourists vibe – there is a tourist info centre, one souvenir store, and occasionally signs are in English, but mostly, it felt like just a normal German town – how normal people live.

The leaning tower of... Kitzingen!

This is what I enjoyed most about my experience – I was touched that they wanted to take me out and show me other places, but it was the little things that I loved the most. I’ve been to Berlin and Munich in 2008, I’ve seen ‘tourist’ Germany and now I can say that I have seen ‘real’ Germany – as we kept saying, I was in a house with a ‘German cat’ and if we saw a duck in the pond, it is a ‘German’ duck.



A German cat who understands German, not English.



The farewell to Thessi’s parents at her house had me so teared up. I wanted to say so much to them, to thank them for their hospitality. They could’ve just let me be ‘Thessi’s friend’ and left us to our own devices but they took me into their lives, adopted me as a second daughter for a couple of days, and when you’re out travelling on your own there are no words to explain your gratitude to people for being so wonderful. The train station saying goodbye to Thessi was even more tearful and I am thankful I wasn’t surrounded by more Munich football fans because I could slink into the corner with my sunglasses on and cry!

From the moment that I arrived in her town of Kitzingen until the moment that I left, I felt so overwhelmed by the incredible hospitality that I was shown. It wasn’t me staying with a friend; it was me being invited into her life, into her family, and her family including me and going out of their way to show me a great time. I feel indebted both financially and just generally, to repay their kindness somehow. When backpacking, you meet all sorts of people, some leave a terrible impression on you. But sometimes you are touched by people who go above and beyond to make you feel welcome and to help you. These people are the ones who make travelling something that I love.

Moments where you remember why you travel - The easy road not taken

I'm the kind of person who struggles to find the balance between following passions and falling into the traps of ordinary life because it is what is 'expected'. Recently I was visiting friends whom I first met him high school and we were talking about where we thought each other would wind up in life. My friend, whom I love dearly, observed that he always thought I would graduate university and wind up in a high powered job that I hate. This comment was so revealing to me - that's exactly the struggle I've experienced for the last eight years since graduating high school. The fight between studying what I want to study and what I should study. Making the decision that is 'practical' rather than what inspires me. When when I first went backpacking, I tried to fit it into my life with timing which was 'logical' rather than simply allowing the spontaneous decision that it was to simply be. You might say that I am incredibly narcissistic and I don't know if I could disagree; but what the last few years of my life have taught me, is that I believe genuinely in finding your passion in life, I believe that we can all live a life where you do more than simply exist. And it is with this belief that I most recently decided that the job that I was in simply wasn't enough for me, and that I need to explore my passions.

Every so often, I lose sight of my philosophies and feel that pressure that 'society' puts upon you to conform - as high school classmates get married and have children, as the years tick on and I haven't even started paying off my university debt - and it's like there are moments, singular moments in time where everything clicks in and I remember why I have chosen to embark upon this life. I'd like to capture these moments as they occur, because I feel as though they are important in terms of my own journey, and I want to share them.

~

A couple of weeks ago, I had one of these moments. I went to see a movie. An innocent occurrence. I went to see The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. IMDB describes the film:

THE BEST EXOTIC MARIGOLD HOTEL follows a group of British retirees who decide to "outsource" their retirement to less expensive and seemingly exotic India. Enticed by advertisements for the newly restored Marigold Hotel and bolstered with visions of a life of leisure, they arrive to find the palace a shell of its former self. Though the new environment is less luxurious than imagined, they are forever transformed by their shared experiences, discovering that life and love can begin again when you let go of the past.

There was a lot in this film for me to love - the idea that even as I get older, I can travel halfway around the world and embrace a life that is 'different', the themes of embracing your passions and being true to yourself. Some of the critics have labelled the themes as being 'predictable' but for me they were poignant.

The plot which I enjoyed the most and which really spoke to me was that of Indian free thinking dreamer Sonny. His mother is pressuring him to take the traditional path - she wants him to move back to Delhi and live a practical life and marry into a wealthy family. All Sonny wants to do is live out his dream to make The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel into a success and to marry his beloved Sunaina. Sonny says something very poignant, something which resonated so deeply with me and my soul.

His mother tells him that if he follows the path she wants him to, then life will be 'easier.' He responds and tells her that life will be 'smaller.' It was this very response that left me somewhat overwhelmed with emotion and thought.

I often think about this - the concept of life being 'easy.' The job that I was most recently in wasn't exactly affording me an easy life, but as I wrestled with my newfound life decision, I contemplated, maybe I just need a job which has more work-life balance, less stress and a small pay rise - and I could've lived that easier life. Maybe I just need to focus on finding a boyfriend and getting married and living in a house with a white picket fence. However I don't want my life to be easy. I want it to be full. I want to see things, experience the world, find out who I am, where I belong. And this notion of easy equating to small was something that really struck me. Sonny wasn't a businessman, he didn't have the ration and the logic, but he had such genuine passion for his dream that I admired in the character and it is the precise kind of passion that I hope I can find within myself and apply to my life, wherever it is that my life takes me.