Wilderness Inked.

“You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”— Winnie the Pooh

When the boxes are packed but you are not.

Even when your mind is made up - when the decision is clear and the way forward feels certain - there’s still the wild in-between. That stretch of time between the decision and the promised land is called the wilderness.

And I have experienced the wilderness spectacularly.

I was excited to go. I was happy to leave. The packing was mostly handled by the company that would ensure my belongings crossed the ocean safely. But somewhere between sorting my personal items and watching them box up the big stuff, I felt something. Lost - not just a little, but a lot.

So I turned those feelings into ink. I wrote them down, to never forget what that moment felt like - especially that bittersweet space when one chapter has ended, and the next hasn't yet begun. Just in case I ever find myself there again.

What I didn’t know then is that I’m a wanderer at heart. I have wanderlust - a deep curiosity to explore distant lands, cultures unlike my own, music that moves differently through the air, and languages that won’t easily roll off my tongue.

And no, I’m not just talking about countries where they speak English. Even in England, the Queen’s English we were taught in South Africa isn’t spoken the same. Their vowels slouch. Water becomes wa-er. Kettle is ke-el. What gets swallowed into wha. I don’t like that.

In America, they have a whole different language: serviettes are napkins, cupboards are closets, nappies are diapers, and chips are French fries.

Don’t get me started on Australia—arvo for afternoon, mate becomes may, barbecue is a barbie, a cooler box is an esky, and a snag is a sausage. It’s a world of its own.

It was during this time, just before I left, that I decided to have my intentions about Ireland inked on my skin: a Celtic spiral as well as a symbol for anam cara—soul friend - and another, placed boldly on my foot. That one nearly had me swallowing not just the wine I was offered, but the glass too. The pain was excruciating. But worth it.

J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote:

“Not all those who wander are lost.”

And I clung to those words as if my life depended on them.

They reminded me that wandering doesn’t mean drifting aimlessly. It means allowing yourself the freedom to explore, to take detours, to stumble into places and people that grow you. It’s about stepping out of your comfort zone, making mistakes, learning from them, and - eventually - finding pieces of yourself you never knew were missing.

Life rarely unfolds in a straight line. The path is often uncertain. But I’ve learned that the unknown is not something to fear - it’s something to lean into. Because it’s there, in the invisible, unmarked places, that the most profound transformation happens.

Every wander I’ve taken has taught me something - about resilience, about trust, and about embracing the wild, wondrous unknown. Your purpose might not be waiting for you at the destination; more often than not, it’s tucked into the journey itself.

When I left, I didn’t even have an address. We had to put something on the form, so I chose Carrick-on-Shannon. County Leitrim was the most affordable, and Carrick was its main town. That was the extent of the plan.

“And how did it all work out for you?” I hear you ask.

We found a cottage for the first two weeks. The landlady introduced us to a man named Gerry, who found us the perfect house. The lease was signed on May 1st, 2018.

And where was that house located?
Just 17 kilometers from Carrick-on-Shannon.

Tell me that’s not magic.

Every time I glance at the tattoo on my right foot, I remember how brave I was to trust the Universe. How strong I was to say goodbye to my homeland. How open I was to step into a new life in the land of forty shades of green.

“Ireland, the one place on earth that heaven has kissed with melody, mirth, meadow, and mist.”

And oh, what a kiss it was.