Birth of a writer.

One day I woke up on a cold and miserable morning in Fitzroy, Melbourne. I sat there looking at my clock, it was five in the morning and the countdown to my daily routine had begun. I felt unhappy and like I was getting nowhere in life. I picked up my phone and sent a two word text to my boss, I quit. I really hated my warehouse job, slaving away for something I didn't have the passion for. How could I be motivated when I truly believed it was a dead end, just filling the time between now and death.

Throughout the day my thoughts jumped around like kids on a trampoline. I was confused, lost and homeless. The only way out of my current situation was to give up and spend my last three hundred bucks on a plane ticket home to Sydney and move back in to my mother's house. It was hard enough to accept the fact that nothing felt truly good in my life, but recently a longing for the life I had while living overseas had come to me. To look back and see that this part of my story was done, finished for good, was painful.

My phone rang and even though I didn't recognise the number, I answered. I had landed a job interview on the following Monday for a sales job that I had applied for when I had moved to Melbourne two months back. The company must have been desperate and tracked the left-over, previously rejected resumes. Suddenly, I felt hint of hope. The situation seemed the same regardless, with a sales job I would still be pretty miserable but at least I would have money, and I needed money if I was going to stick around this town any longer.

Later that afternoon I brought a couple of cheap bottles of wine from the corner store and sat on the hostels patio, put on some tunes and let my mind wander. Unexpectedly, two English lads appeared and asked if they could join me. I like meeting new people as often as I can so I welcomed them to a seat. They asked if I minded them smoking, as I was a little short on cash I told them only if they didn't share.

As the stars got brighter in the clear, cool sky, we exchanged our life stories, and shared some travel experiences as we blew smoke into the still darkness and drank our cheap wine. I discovered one of the lads, Dean, liked to express himself through writing, mostly just a hobby but he had set up a travel blog that he had been adding to for some time.

The three of us sat there for a long time. The vibe was good. I felt better about myself sharing some of my travel stories and talking about where I had lived and what I had seen. They were impressed and a little shocked with how much time I had spent abroad. They seemed to like listening to me talk openly about my experiences, even occasionally chuckling at my lame jokes. Dean asked me if I had ever thought about writing any of it down.

“Yo man, I'm 80% deaf and I can't read or write very well.” I replied with bloodshot eyes. “Writing actually kind of scares me, and it never comes out clear anyway”.

He disappeared, saying he would be right back, passing a girl walking out onto the patio as he ducked inside. I got up and walked over to her for a quick chat, she was a lovely looking bird from Germany, she was tall with short blonde hair and a great figure. Something I would have liked to have to myself for just one night, height difference aside. She looked exhausted and completely jet lagged, having just arrived in Melbourne that evening. She asked for my advice on local bars, poor girl was starving and thirsty, and ready to explore the country she just landed in. I told her to walk along Brunswick street where there are plenty of places to choose from. She killed her cigarette and thanked me for the information before heading out into the night.

Dean had returned and was holding something in his hand that I couldn't make out, although I was hoping for another smoke. He held his hand out and gifted me fine brown pen, my mind went blank, struggling to think of something to say. “I want you to write” he paused for a moment “I think you got some really good experiences and some cool stories and I think a lot of people would enjoy reading about it. All you have to do is write it down, carry this with you and write down anything that comes to you on whatever you can, paper, serviette, even your hand.”

Most of my life I was searching around the globe for my true calling, I had travelled for over a decade and now I had finally found my purpose right back in my home country. I knew after that night, I wanted to be a writer.

#Lifeexperience #Melbourne #Hostellife #Courage #Lifejourney