Recently, I’ve been craving adventure. Mad, spontaneous, rebellious adventure. After dreaming of London every night for a week in April, I was absurdly close to throwing caution to the wind and booking a ticket to just go.
But I also intuitively knew it wasn’t London calling me (this time); it was a change of routine. It was spontaneity. The un-planned-ness of Life. The feeling that you get when you stretch yourself that liiiiittle bit further, try something new, go somewhere new, meet someone new, leave your creature comforts at the door and propel yourself into a space you’ll need to adapt to – and fast.
Which is quite hilarious to me now, because I’ve completely manifested what I wanted. But it looks nothing like what I’d expected.