It’s like skydiving. Except it doesn’t seem to stop. You just decide that it’s a good idea to throw yourself out of a perfectly safe airplane. You really do have good, logical reasons why it’s a good idea, how it’s a bucket list thing, or how your overcoming fears. You have a logical basis for why it will be perfectly safe. But really, your not doing it for those reasons, you want it to be dangerous, you want to feel that panic, you need to feel it. If you don’t, you stagnate. And when your still seeking yourself you sure as hell won’t find it where your complacent.
The first few seconds of a skydive your brain can’t handle the tumbling of the earth around you, the illogic of throwing yourself out of a plane at 14,000 feet and plummeting at 120 mph. It just shuts down, says f*** it and enjoys the ride. The first week or so of being across the world from everything you know is like that. Except when your abroad, it never seems to end. There really is no way to process it, you just keep your feet moving and live on that adrenaline rush. You wake up everyday and still aren’t sure in the least what your really doing, or why you had this desire to chuck yourself out of the things you knew, things that were good for you, safe and healthy for you.
It’s such a strange thing, because literally as soon as you get on that airplane you immediately feel a different person. You would expect to be one on return, but to have it take shape while there is still an ocean to cross is unexpected. And the next day, you wake up across the world in lands unknown to you. the feeling grows stronger, but your still tumbling and disoriented. And the next day, you find yourself petting kangaroos, koalas, watching gargantuan crocs, and playing the digeridoo. Your still constantly in motion, feet skimming above the ground, and you can’t help but feel euphoric. And then you hit freefall, and before you know it, you scuba dived the Great Barrier Reef, went skydiving, met some incredible people, heard their stories, flown across Oz, gotten dropped on a doorstep and somehow not only survived, but loved every single second of it. And had a few ridiculous adventures along the way.
I didn’t think you could cram so much stuff into a single week. And on top of all that, the nightlife is just as fun. I’d feel as if I was doing myself a disservice if I didn’t take advantage of every opportunity. I feel as if I have been here for months…it’s been a week and a day. If you designed a city to be as good as possible you’d end up with Melbourne. The architecture is so varied, but all of it beautiful. The food is cosmopolitan and always delicious. The air is clean and crisp, the weather beautiful, and most importantly the people are quite simply enjoying their lives. I have not seen a single stressed out person on the street. I’ve seen a good bit of the city, and every part seems to one up the last. It’s unbelievable.
I still can’t process this, and I don’t have words to make you understand what this is, which is such a shame because I want so badly for others to understand, to have this experience and feeling. I can see why they say it’s tough to go back, why one of the people out here for a year said that all of his friends who went home after the first semester are dealing with depression and other issues. It’s such a beautiful world out there that it would be a shame to confine yourself to s single corner of it.