I dreamed of nomadic adventures, a life free of itineraries and time restraints; of picking fruit and living with travelers; of going where convenience and the calls of my heart led me.
That was over a year ago, before I got side tracked with falling in love, getting absorbed in someone else’s life, making some chaotic decisions, throwing all my dreams to the side, and finally taking the time to heal from a broken heart.
Today, I hear so many people tell me that I have to give up on those dreams now; that you can’t travel when you have a baby, it’s just not practical – or is it just not conventional?
They tell me that babies, children, they need stability, an environment grounded in routine. Who am I to argue? I have no defensive argument, no experience with parenthood.
There’s still an estimated 12 weeks until this kid really changes everything, so until then, I guess I can trek on as per the usual, aside from the fact that I'm hopelessly tired most of the time, and I can't celebrate a day's worth of travel by getting drunk.
I plan to travel the hell out of the world before the Wolf Cub is ready for school. My feet are too itchy to give up on my travel dreams.
I’ve seen a fair whack of Australia already. I did manage to get from A to B last year, and I visited some beautiful places.
But those experiences are tainted by false memories and unhealthy lifestyle choices that are achingly hard to relive.
So I’ve decided to start again.
I've recently become a blank canvas, and my world is a world of reclaiming my independence and redefining my identity. Whether it be with a pregnant belly or a bundle of baby fun, I’m still committed to my dreams, and that includes a lot of traveling!
We began our two day journey from Cowra, NSW, where she lives (and incidentally where I’ve hung my hat until the Wolf Cub is a few months old) to Mt Nebo, QLD, with an evening stopover in Moree, NSW.
There were 3 generations of our family’s women in the car: my mum in the driver’s seat, me in the passenger seat, and baby in utero.
The sun was beating down on us, and I embraced the warmth, letting myself forget that tomorrow is the first day of winter. The landscape evolved; rolling hills became endless flats, wheat farms became cotton farms, and the black ribbon, with its' white trimmings beckoned us forward, while the enormous Jellybean inside me wriggled and rolled to the sound of The Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix.
I forgot how much I loved the tiring journeys, the endless days of driving through changing countryside, of contemplating history and life. And I realised: I could never give it up, its in my blood.
P.S: An explanation for the below average pics - I took them with my phone...at 110kmph.