LuLu Land

Tag: writing

  • BRB. DND. TBC.

    BRB. DND. TBC.

    “The magic you’re looking for is in the work you’re avoiding.” 

    Last month I started a blog.

    Then I got burn out. 

    After taking the leap of faith to put myself out there, to share my thoughts and opinions on the world, with the world, my brain then went into total overdrive. 

    I was stressing myself out so much trying to articulate my recent travels and think about how I wanted to share those experiences in a way that was honest and authentic, as well as interesting and entertaining.

    I couldn’t stop myself contemplating how I can/will grow my travel blog, photography and storytelling into a full-blown career, overnight.

    Ultimately, totally overwhelming myself trying to plan for ‘what next’ and why haven’t I already done it all, like, yesterday. 

    And yet, my whole theme (and personality trait at this point) is that I don’t have a plan.

    That is literally how I ended up here – living on the other side of the world, on my own, leaving behind my legal career, my home, my family and starting a whole new chapter of life… I didn’t plan for any of it. And so far, everything seems to have worked out.

    Ok, yes, it did involve some ups and downs, like getting a divorce and loosing the majority of my sanity for the most part of last year, but, yano… every cloud and all… 

    So why have I been so scared to start?!

    Well, I’m human.

    And secondly, I’m delusional enough to believe that I can do anything I want. Which I can. Once I stop procrastinating! 

    You see, being delusional has its downfalls. Not because what us Delulu’s want to do, be or have is completely unrealistic. But because sometimes we dream so big that we don’t know where to begin. 

    *Delulu’s = an established community of delusional people. 

    This is just another reminder that putting too much pressure on planning for the next step inevitably just pauses the enjoyment of the present moment. 

    Everyone says, “you just have to start”. 

    But starting from zero is scary. Especially when you want to do well at something. After all, why would you start something that you weren’t wanting to succeed in. 

    I recently watched an episode of Chris Williamson’s popular Modern Wisdom Podcast, where he quoted: “The magic you’re looking for is in the work you’re avoiding.” Heavily inspired by Joseph Campbell’s famous sentiment: “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”

    By caring so much about whether what I have to say captures my experience in a clever, creative and cool way, that would be interesting enough for a total stranger to give up 5-10 minutes of their day to read whatever nonsense I have to say, I’ve ended up saying nothing at all, and gaining no satisfaction.

    The truth is, the fun in writing and taking photos, for me personally, is simply just this – me sharing my thoughts and perspective. And so, perhaps calling this a ‘travel blog’ is/was too restrictive. Because sometimes the destination I arrive at is just a thought, rather than a perfectly presented place. 

    So, this September, I’ve decided to strip back some of that pressure. This is (for now at least) just a blog. And I am just a girl. I may travel. I may not. But I am going to keep taking a step forward each week, however small.

    Becuase at the end of the day, no one else is going to create my dream life for me. And i’m not forcing anyone to read my blogs. In fact, i’d be amazed if anyone’s made it this far. If you have, hi, and I hope you’ve taken away some thing valuable or, at the very least, some comfort knowing that it’s totally normal to not know what the hell your doing next.

    I said I was going to go ‘all in’ in August with this blog.

    And well, I started. Which actully, i’m still chuffed with myself for doing.

    Yes, I had a minute where I stopped.

    But, September is where we pick back up that speed.

  • Catch Flights, Not Feelings: Twenty Four Hours in Ibiza

    Catch Flights, Not Feelings: Twenty Four Hours in Ibiza

    Hand Luggage, Hï & Hard Rock

    Ok, so, I lied.

    Booking a one way ticket to Australia and moving to the other side of the world wasn’t my first ‘delulu’ act after divorce.

    I started this series with a slightly shorter spontanious trip…

    I went to Ibiza.

    For 24 hours.

    Becuase when one door closes (my marriage & ten year relationship), another one opens on a Jet2 flight to Ibiza.

    Girl Maths.

    You could say divorce made me do it. You could also blame the bottle of wine consumed on a Thursday afternoon…

    It all started with a very normal suggestion: “shall we go out this weekend?“

    Somewhere after the second glass of wine we’d somehow talked our selves into a little city break for the night. Then came the adding up of expenses to take into consideration. Trains. Hotels. Ubers. Dinner. Drinks. Suddenly, our “girls’ night” was looking like it required a financial adviser.

    And then, the third glass of wine was poured…

    “How funny would it be if we just went to Ibiza?”

    Obviously, we laughed. Then, we checked the flights.

    Turned out, Ibiza was cheaper than a city break.

    And so, at this point, there was only one responsible thing to do.

    Book it!

    POA: Our Irresponsible? Ibiza Itinerary.

    Our Plan Of Action was simple:

    Get a flight to Ibiza. Go to the club. Get a flight home.

    No hotel. No suitcase. No sensible explanation.

    It sounded like it could either be terrifc… or tragic… right?

    The logistics were questionable. The only thing we planned on taking with us was a small handbag each; for a bit of makeup, a bikini, and tooth brush, oh, and the unwavering belief that this was somehow a bargain.

    Looking back, it was probably the first glimpse of the version of me that was about to emerge…

    Less concerned with whether something was sensible and more interested in whether it would make a good story.

    And this one definitely did!

    We spent the entire flight in disbelief that we were actually doing this. Most people getting off our flight were more than likely heading towards a beautiful villa, a boutique hotel or at the very least, a bed.

    There was something surreal about stepping onto a plane to go to Ibiza for the night knowing that we had nothing booked once we landed.

    Well, I suppose we did. We had tickets to the club. Der.

    Hello. Hï. It’s me.

    We landed at around 10pm but Hï Ibiza doesn’t open until 11pm, which gave us plenty of time for a few ‘pres’ before our boogie.

    Disclaimer: technically we’d been having ‘pres’ since 6pm at the Weatherspoons in the airport. I know, classy.

    If you’ve been to Ibiza before, you’ll know that alcohol in clubs, in fact, any drink in a club in Ibiza, is boarderline day light robbery. Or night time robbery in this case. A bottle of water will set you back at least 20 euros. And two vodka sodas costs around 50 euros (and the rest!). So our girl maths had calcualted that getting tipsy before we landed was frugal financial planning.

    After all, I had a divorce to pay for.

    Once we got to the club, there was only one thing left to do: dance. And we kept dancing. And dancing. And somehow, suddenly, it was 7am and I’d done a weeks worth of cardio in 7 hours powered by red bull and having absolutley no regets.

    Sunrise & Sore Heads.

    But before we knew it, the club was closing.

    Now, it’s at this point that the sense of achievement for staying up all night starts to split into two; spectacular or stupid. The adrenaline was still high at this point, so it was too soon to tell.

    I’d spent so much of my twenties doing what I thought I was supposed to do; building a career, buying a house, getting married and generally being a responsible adult.

    And then, at 28, I was standing outside a nightclub in Ibiza at 7am with a toothbrush in my handbag and absolutely no idea where I was sleeping.

    Character development, I suppose.

    For most people, once the club starts coordinating everyone out the venue, this is where the night draws to an end. The lines of taxis take over the strip with people ready to take cover in their beds in the disbelief that the following day has in fact already begun.

    But we weren’t going to bed.

    Largely because we didn’t have one.

    And so, we headed to the beach.

    The sun was coming up over the water, the sky had turned this ridiculous shade of pink and, after hours of music and flashing lights, everything was suddenly peaceful.

    We’d come to Ibiza for one night out, but this ended up being one of those completely unexpected travel moments that you couldn’t have planned if you’d tried.

    No itinerary. No reservation. No carefully researched sunrise spot.

    It was completely spontaneous, completely ridiculous and somehow completely perfect.

    Then, it hit us.

    We now had the small matter of an entire day (and a slight hangover) to get through before our flight back home.

    Saved By The Buffet.

    At this point, hanger was kicking in and the lack of a hotel had gone from hilarious to humourless.

    We were tired.

    We were hungry.

    And we had absolutely nowhere to lie down.

    We were starting to question our delutional decision making. But we refused to accept defeat.

    “If we had booked a hotel, where would we eat breakfast?”

    The Hard Rock Hotel entered the chat.

    Given the shortness of our trip, we weren’t wanting to mess around with Ubers back and forth across the island. The Hard Rock Hotel is just a short walk away from the main strip of Playa d’en Bossa, round the corner from Hï Ibiza.

    We didn’t know if we’d be able or allowed to eat at their restaurant as non-staying guests, but we were women on a mission, still carrying some of that blind optimism in our handbag from the night before.

    40 euros (each) later and the deal was done. Breakfast was served and we could finally sit down.

    Yes, ok, it was a little pricey. But after dancing all night for the last 7 hours, you best believe we ate our moneys worth!

    Once the food coma kicked in, it was time to tackle our final task of the trip: find somewhere to sleep.

    We wondered down to the hotels sunloungers on the beach front and were offered two day beds and some clean towels. We could finally relax. We spent the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing; we slept, sunbathed, swam in the sea, ate some food, and sunbathed some more.

    Snap Back To Reality. Ope. There Goes Gravity.

    Before we knew it, it was 6pm and it was time to catch our flight home.

    Back to reality. Sort of.

    For so long, I’d thought starting over meant having some grand plan for what came next. A new career. A new home. A five-year plan. Something that made sense on paper.

    But starting over doesn’t always have to be that serious.

    Sometimes it just starts by saying: “fuck it, let’s go to Ibiza” .

  • Another Trip Around The Sun

    Another Trip Around The Sun

    Carrying Blessings In My Baggage

    For my first ever blog post, as a travel story teller and aspiring travel blogger, I wanted to share my most life changing trip –

    The last year of my twenties is without a doubt the biggest adventure I’ve ever been on. I checked into this year carrying baggage (mostly emotional, although I did go over my luggage allowance flying into Australia – whoops), but on the ground I’m traveling light.

    Not everything that has happened to us in our lives needs to stay with us for the whole journey. Over time, you start to learn what’s essential to keep in your hand luggage – the lessons.

    It’s a journey of self-discovery, after taking a detour from the life I had previously mapped out. I now have no direction and my destination is unknown. Curiosity is my new compass, following in the direction that my deepest desires take me in. Sometimes the wind blows me back and forth and I struggle to know which way to go, but turbulence means we’re moving forward. Not being able to see ahead, doesn’t mean we’re not going the right way. The clouds soon enough part ways for the sun and you start seeing the clear sky ahead.

    Life is often compared to a journey. Because it is. I personally love the train station theory – it suggests that life is a ride with many stops and departures, many greetings and goodbyes.

    The Train of Life poem by Vincent Moore puts it perfectly:

    “The mystery to everyone is:
    We do not know at which station
    we ourselves will step down.
    So, we must live in the best way,
    love, forgive, and offer the best 
    of who we are.

    It is important to do
    this because when the time 
    comes for us to step down
    and leave our seat empty

    we should leave behind beautiful
    memories for those who will 
    continue to travel on the train of life”.

    I never thought that part of my journey would be me travelling alone, and certainly never expected my next stop to be living in Australia. The railroad switch has rerouted me to a new life, new experiences and with new passengers along for the ride.

    I celebrated my 29th birthday living on the other side of the world to where I have spent my whole life growing up, and within only a few months of being in Australia, I was lucky enough to spend the day surrounded by all the new wonderful friends I’d made. My head was well and truly in the clouds (number nine obvs).

    I’ve never felt so far away from the person I was last year, and so close to arriving at the person I’m destined to become.

    You don’t always need to know where you’re going in life, the detours and delays are all part of the journey, because you’ll always end up exactly where you’re supposed to be.