That is how I feel sometimes. Like an errant nomad; a defectuous missile travelling in the wrong direction. I left home when I was 18. I left my beautiful Asturias to go to a distant province in my country to study Journalism at the most renowned university Spain has got in that particular field. I didn´t feel like leaving home, but I knew I had to, if I wanted to learn how to write properly (please, note: I mean write properly in Spanish! English is a whole new challenging world to me).
At Uni I had a great time: neverending chats till 7 in the morning with fantastic friends, love adventures that made me finally feel alive, lots of studying and hard work, despite what people tend to think about journalism careers, and a very challenging internship that started by covering the crazy international party Los Sanfermines, and forced me to come out of my shell in the very first minute.
After finishing my career, I had to leave the amazing Pamplona and come back home to work in a newspaper, to apply all that knowledge that I had gained. It was a great experience: I met wonderful people, I had fun, and my writing style improved considerably. But the most enjoyable part, without a doubt, was interviewing many different people: I learnt something different every day!
Besides that, I used to write in a weekly section of this newspaper, and I cannot express the joy I felt every time someone told me how much they liked my reports, who were apparently simple, but never failed to achieve to captivate people´s essence. Well, at least that is what they used to tell me, and I want to believe it.
After two years, though, I got bored of covering the same type of news: Christmas markets in December, The Carnival in February, Easter processions in April, Schools on holidays in June, and Halloweens in November. What was the point of doing it all over again? So I felt the need to move on. It also felt unfair to work many hours per day (sometimes 12!) for just getting a maximum of 300 euros per month, to be honest, but the main reason was the pure boredom. One day I could not take it anymore and shouted to my manager: I had enough! I am leaving! Bye! It was quite dramatic, but sometimes I love drama, I gotta admit it. He totally saw my point.
I didn´t quite know what to do with my life but my father, a very wise man, decided for me and sent me to London to improve my English. He kinda said: “English is the only language that matters”. Or something similar. He was right and I never regretted to have come to London. That was 11 years ago already. And it has been a hell of a journey where I met truly amazing people who made me laugh and also who made me cry; and to all of them I am pleased, because without them I wouldn´t have grown the way I have.
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all” said the unbelievable Helen Keller (Alabama,1880-1968).
Helen was a perfectly healthy baby who at the age of 19 months, because of an illness, became deaf and blind (and, therefore, mute). It wasn´t till she was 7 that Anne Sullivan came to her rescue. She was teacher for blind kids, who had been almost blind herself till the age of 16, and she gave Helen strict discipline.
It worked, and Helen became this incredibly determined person who not only learned to speak and write but also graduated with honours, and spent her life giving motivational speeches, writing articles, and helping people with physical and mental limitations, achieving to raise $2,000,000 for them.
So after a super challenging life she reached such a clever conclusion: you have received this wonderful present that is life. You can sit in your sofa, watch others´ lives in films, watch the news to feel you are engaging with others´ problems and all that, or you can live and enjoy all wonderful things life has to offer, interact with others, help them in everything you can.
I wanna do just the same! I feel I have been in the utter darkness (of the English weather). Hidden in a boring office for 11 years now. Trying to fit into the so-called “normal way of life”, where people go to an office and then come back home to their happy life. But guess what? I don´t have a happy life. I love my life, don´t take me wrong, I love the people that are on it, but at the same time I hate it as well because I feel that this chapter has come to an end.
I wanted to find the love of my life and have a house that I would wonderfully decorate (I´ve been raised by the most tasteful woman on earth!), and I would then come back home happily to my wonderful husband and kids and I would be happy. But… I don´t have any of that: no husband, no house, no kids, so… what is left? That horrendous office which has given me laughs but more than one headache. And don´t get me wrong, I have had wonderful moments in that office with people who has made my life heaven, but in the last year it has become absolute hell; a nightmare from the one I want to wake up, and the sooner the better.
It is just time to move on, and grow, like on other occasions I have. I am still a nomad; an errant nomad; and I say errant because I seem to be travelling in the wrong direction, as everybody who loves me believes I should be back in Spain having a normal life with a normal -boring- husband and one of those office jobs… But the only thought of all this send shivers down my spine.
I don´t think I can ever be happy with that. I want to write and do my own thing. Be my own boss. I promise to get mad at me if I arrive late to work, but I also promise not to be a robot and not to be too hard on myself. I want flexibility and enjoyment of what I do, and feel that what I do is valuable, and do a job that only I can do. Because jobs should be just like that, and the day you don´t do your job, your job then won´t get done, because you are the only person who can do it.
Perhaps in eyes of my family and friends I am an errant nomad. I never wanted to be a nomad, believe me, but I suppose life is a journey, and so we have to travel this journey that is life.
The only issue is that I walk through life scared; with fear of everything; of getting ill, and old, and die, and even live sometimes! Scared of missing planes, of arriving late anywhere, of disappointing people. Scared to love and being loved, to try and to not try… I live with fear of a thousand things. I am not going to pretend that I am brave. What would be the point? I don´t care about not being cool. For me to be cool is to be honest, and human; to be myself above all things.
That is who I am: A panicky, full-of-fears and errant nomad, who sometimes hates living but who, at the same time, Loves life so much.