Leaving to come back

It has been a long time since I took some time for me. Selfishly and exclusively. So I took myself to Bali, leaving the responsibility of family and work for a deliciously selfish week.

I didn't go to see the tourist sights.

I didn't overload on shopping and fill my bag with meaningless tourist junk.

I went to recharge myself, physically and mentally.

That meant walking on the beach every morning, watching the swarms of surfers slipping along the swells as the sand slid between my toes.

That meant walking along the tiny lanes and pulsing roads of Canggu, smiling and waving off streetwise trinket vendors and optimistic motorcycle taxis.

That meant navigating the streets on the back of motorcycles, weaving between cars, buses, trucks, bikes, walking people and dogs, not to mention wild roads with live construction, open sewers and booming bars, thirsty Australian's spilling into traffic with one too many beers under their belt.

That meant visiting local restaurants to eat local food and talk to local people.

And when I sat alone, I got many looks and lots of questions too.

Are you travelling alone? Yes

Do you have children? Yes

Where are they? Cue an incredulous look.

It seemed like travelling alone when I had family was more than most could understand.

I couldn't tell them I had been working to hard for too long.

My cup was empty and I was tight as a guitar string.

I had to take a break.

I had to leave so I could come back.

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Handstands

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Cogito, ergo sum - I think therefore I am

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