The Downfall of Planning
I left the house in a dazed state. Stressed beyond belief at the infinite possibilities that rose with every step and the decisions that I will ultimately have to make. Within a week of arriving here in Australia I had been constructing plans for the next trip abroad.

“Let’s go to Europe,” my buddy said.

We booked tickets almost immediately and I begun the obsessive planning process that seemed to keep me going this whole time. Complex financial tables complete with variable rates of income were designed. Budgets for food, transportation, and every conceivable expenditure were calculated, tested, and re-calculated. Time tables spanning far into our newly spawned year of 2011 mapped out what sounded like good routes to travel. So much time and energy invested into this yet I stand before you truly lost. To say the least, things have gone horribly awry.

This is what it’s all about though. Diving into the deep unknown. Into potentially perilous situations that either eat you alive or see you become the wise world traveled adventurer that you always knew you could become. But let me tell you something, it’s not all flower necklaces and adventure treks out here. There’s a lot of stress and suffering that must be endured in order to keep this kind of thing going on a shoe string budget. Almost always before departure or arrival I experience a breakdown of some sort…and this moment is now.

Catch and Release
I imagine that traveling is a lot like fishing. Having to continually hold tight and let go. This place is amazing, grip tight, wind the reel, and hold on for dear life. You’re leaving in a week, unhook the most beautiful thing you’ve ever caught and let go. This process is repeated over and over again, manifesting itself often and in unpredictable ways. You let go of clothing, mementos, control, pride, and routine. Sometimes forever, sometimes for a newly acquired thing. You hold onto memories, and people, and places, and change. Taking snapshots with your mind so these things, you hope, are never lost.

The Price of Ambition
So far my experience here in Australia has been solely guided by the desire to make money for the next destination. “Every { x } you don’t buy here is an { x } you could have in Europe, becomes the typical rule. Be it a sit-down meal, or a train ticket, the rule remains the same. Don’t spend money unless you have to and try to have as much fun as possible within that one confine. Not that I haven’t been enjoying myself in Sydney, but if I were to leave and never come back, what would I be able to say that I had actually seen? But had there been anything I even wanted to see here in the first place?

Let’s meet in KL
The plan was to meet in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. AirAsia has a killer deal on a newly established route going direct to Orly International in Paris. My buddy would be flying in from South Korea for less than $100usd, while I had mapped out a route to get me there for around 300. Of course the optimism of the journeys success had been based on a high paying job that I would only work for two weeks, as opposed to the 10 weeks that my finely tuned numbers had been based on.

“Sorry mate, we have some boys coming off a job who need the work. Have to look after our full-time employees first.”

My plans crumbled along with the optimism and hope that they were built upon. “How the fuck am I going to pull this off now?” As the weeks tore past I settled into yet another routine. Wake up, eat a bowl of Weet-Bix with honey, wait for the internet cafe to open, apply for jobs, try to scare up some cheap form of entertainment like snorkeling or surfing during the hot part of the day, and return to the internet cafe to see if there was a job waiting for me in my inbox. I had practically given up until a couple of weeks ago when a friend said he knew a tiler who was looking for an assistant.

“The pays pretty crappy,” Dave said. “But it’s work.”

I pulled the rod and reel tight. “Don’t let this one go.” I thought. While simultaneously giving up on all of the planning, and graphs , and tables that led me to falsely believe that I was on track. I had been fighting this battle from the shadows, now it was time to duke it out on the front lines. It was time for grit, and instinct, and a messy struggle with the battle cry, “get there or die trying.”

Monday. Jack hammering tiles off the wall of some poor bloke’s sad gray apartment. Carrying bucket after bucket of cement down from his crappy sixth floor walk-up. Tuesday. Sitting in the back of a pick-up truck on the hottest day of Australian summer. Forty degrees Celsius. One-hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit. Throwing number one of the four-thousand newspapers we had to deliver that day. Wednesday. Roughly one week out from my departure date and I just didn’t have enough money to go there and come back. If I got a one way ticket from Sydney to Malaysia, I could make it to Europe and probably make it back to Malaysia. But then I’d be stuck. Everything began to unravel. I began to unravel. Any plans that I previously had went out the window like Tuesdays paper. “Malaysia’s not so bad,” I thought. The food’s great. The culture’s interesting. The women are pretty. I wonder if I can make enough money there to get back to Sydney. Maybe I can just stay and work in Europe and put my flight to Malaysia on hold. What’s the job market like? Do I need a work visa? Is there anyone I can stay with for free? Or is it simply time for me go home?

…

Sometimes you have to take a step back and ask yourself, “Just what the hell am I doing?”