Sauce

Two years ago, like so many young Australians before me, and so many after me, I had decided that I wanted to go live and work in the UK. Just like every course-changing decision we’ve all made at some point, this one would once again signal the start of me changing everything I didn’t like about my life for the better.

If I had of known two years ago that all the things I would change upon moving to the UK would not happen, I probably never would have bought the ticket, and that would have been quite a shame.

I didn’t give up cigarettes. I didn’t party less and exercise more – quite the opposite in fact. I didn’t start reading less fiction and more non-fiction. I didn’t eat healthier, and I certainly didn’t learn to dance.

Having taken that hard left at the last turning point, I had noticed a change of scenery – and temperature range. Frustratingly, though, I was still, like most others, the same slightly interesting, and generally self-interested being that Douglas Adams described in The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy as “mostly harmless”.

Six months after getting on a plane to London, I still felt a disappointment when I thought of the new things that I wanted from my move overseas. I saw that very few of the boxes had been ticked. Some had been completely crossed out. Truth is, though, I didn’t really care. I didn’t have time to care. I was having fun enjoying most of the things I’d planned to avoid.
It doesn’t take long living in the UK to forget that excitement and anticipation of the big plane trip. Everyone speaks your language, if you get sick you can go to the doctor for free, you can drink the tap water, and every store will accept the plastic in your wallet. It just becomes like life, only elsewhere. It’s normality with a different post-code.

The sense of adventure quickly fades. The curiosity is fast fulfilled, and you realise all the good intentions that come with a definitive moment still end as victims of daily indulgence. So I was wondering, what is the point?

Then I started traveling solo outside the English zone. Not traveling with hands clutching a map and camera – I was getting involved. Taking opportunities. Always accepting invitations. I met too many people far too different to remember; went to famous places I’d only seen on Google images or in books. I discovered that language doesn’t have to be a barrier, and that a smile speaks sentences.

All this time I could have been working hard. I could have been paying off a mortgage. I could have been doing some DIY to increase my capital value.

There’s just not time in the day to do all the fun things, as well as all the things we should. Something’s gotta give. In today’s world of expensive marketing textbooks, the things we are forced to desire are increasing exponentially every day. But nobody seems able to remind us exactly what it is we should value. This is the ballad of generation X & Y.

I will probably end up thirty years old with no money, no mortgage, no poorly installed down-lighting, and no career. So the question begs … is it worth it?

Definitely. To quote 18th century poet Thomas Mordaunt:

“One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name”

If you’ve got an open mind and a sense of adventure, you can make new friends without past. Be spontaneous, because you’re not supposed to care. Take opportunities only because they are there. When you know you will only be in this fortunate circumstance for a definitive short period of time, you can feel free to experience some crazy shit you’ll never be able to fully share because no one else was there.

Want to know what to value? Don’t listen to your high school careers advisor; don’t read the real estate guide or the “Money” pages. Get off your arse and work it out yourself. Swap your responsibilities for opportunity. Trade your pay cheque for a plane ticket, your cupboards for a bag, your bathroom for an even smaller bag, and your shiny shoes for some dirty comfortable ones. Find a desert, chew on unknown food, make a life-long friend for a day, and have a long conversation with someone who doesn’t speak your language. It’s simple. Remember to take an open mind and a sense of adventure. Leave your pride at the door, and start crowding those valuable hours.