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Its 05.52, I’m smoking a ciggy, listening to an interview with Alan Moore while my PC formats my soon to be travel hard drive and its Saturday morning, and I don’t have to go to work ANYMORE IN THE NEAR FUTURE!

And I don’t feel excited.

Yesterday I worked my last shift at work, which was a bit chaotic but a pleasant last fling at psychiatric nursing. But out of all the good lucks, hugs and general thanks from patients, it was a domestic that gave me the most pleasant compliment. She said quite simply that when I was on shift she felt safe. This really summed up everything I really aim for as a nurse. So that felt kinda good. And also made all the crap and stress and frustration involved in being a nurse, worth it.

It’s funny how these little pieces of validation come from the most unexpected places.

So, this week I have to sort all the remaining shit of my life while simultaneously seeing people who I won’t see for a while, if ever again. People asked me if I was coming back to my home town and the same job, because I guess in the mind of people who don’t pursue such a wayward life as mine, this is the norm. Because that’s what normal people do. They have holidays as a form of a break from their working lives, but then they come back and get back on the hamster wheel, until the next holiday. And I guess I do that, but in a more life shattering way. I give up my home; I sell or dump most of my belongings and leave the country of my birth to wander around some foreign land like an Alzheimer patient, waiting for things to happen.

This is not the norm.

In retrospect, it’s possibly insane in the context of modern society.

Now, I am not some hippy free spirit, who is comfortable living in a caravan or tent. I’m forty four at the moment and these things are not really me. I have my own weight of insecurities and personal fears, and I’m not a social animal by any leap of the imagination. Yet I am compelled to destroy and recreate my life on a regular basis, tearing my comfort zone into fragmented pieces and leaving them behind me as I move on.

I have a plan if you can call it a plan, in this present case, it will be to be free of mundane routine and allow myself the time to write and draw. I have a book to finish, and numerous ideas and beginnings to play with and discover any potential they might have.

That’s it.

It’s all about having psychic and spiritual space, which is a rare commodity in the life of a wage slave.

So I should feel excited.

But I don’t.

Yet I’m waiting for that pop, as I finally realise its happening for real. Then my survival instinct will kick in as it has in the past, I will stop thinking and just be.

That’s the real knack. Being willing to just be and let it all fall into place. On the outside, it looks insane or irresponsible thing to do, but I know from previous experience that it always happens.

Its kinda cool as life unravels about you alone in a strange place and you find your feet.

It’s an expression of faith in the Cosmos, like that scene from Dancing with Wolves, right at the beginning of the film where Kevin Costner suffers a personal crisis and decides to kill himself by riding his horse through the middle of the two battle lines, his arms out in cruciform.

Its abandon to the Cosmos with the faith that it will catch you. If it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to.

Simple.

People need to give up on hiding from life, in the foolish hope that it will prolong their lives. It won’t.

Give it up and jump.

You will be surprised what might happen.

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