Imagine having an idea of how your life is going to go. I mean, don't we all? I remember wishing that I would marry a Wallaby player who was good at cooking and gardening. (Literally, that was my dream for years. It started when I was six.)
I grew up on the land while wishing I lived by the beach. I remember going to cafés on family holidays along the coast and being served by beautiful, tanned girls who looked like they'd just walked out of the ocean. I remember wishing that would be me.
I had a plan for how my life would go when I was six, ten, fifteen, eighteen, twenty-one... the list goes on. Really, I thought I'd be close to getting married by now, maybe having kids in a couple of years, and definitely owning my own house. I used to think you just sort of ended up with a house, like there wasn't really a process—it just happened when you were ready. I guess money isn't really a thing when you're young. Even now, if I think about money for too long, my head starts to hurt. Really, it's just numbers. Imagine if you could somehow just change the numbers in your bank account.
I had a plan for my whole life—or at least for the part of life I'm living now. But I'm learning. I am learning so, so much. I'm learning that there is no rush. I'm learning that I have a deep trust in God and the angels. I believe in my higher self, and I feel connected to it. When I am in alignment, I trust. I trust in what I have, and I trust in where I am going.
I think it's so much easier to let go of that inner knowing and instead create the path that you think is perfect—the path you think should be your life, the one you believe will make your life. Often, we're wrong. Often, we want the easy fix, the latest trend, or the "perfect" job, partner, house, or car. We get so caught up in moving and wanting that we rush. We rush through the parts that are actually asking us to trust. We move towards the noise.
Noise and rush.
That grows, and eventually it becomes normal. It becomes our life. But more often than not, it isn't our real life. It isn't our aligned life. Then there's the other side of the coin.
The side where it all works out. Where it all just flows.This is what it feels like to live your truth. To live what feels right. What feels like ease. What feels like the deepest inner knowing and complete trust in what you have, what you're doing, and, most importantly, who you are at your core.
I've been there before.
I've been in the noise and the rush. I think we all spend time there. Sometimes it's only for a moment, and sometimes it's for years. I spent a good part of my twenties surrounded by noise and constantly moving.
Yes, if you looked at my life on paper, it seemed impressive. I'd travelled the world, met incredible people, started a business, worked in remote communities, and collected endless stories to tell.
At the time, I thought that was what success looked like. It was cool to be that person doing it all.
And yes... I loved it.
Yes, I learned.
Holy shit, did I learn.
And yes, I have incredible memories.
But I was done.
My body was done.
I was moving so fast and so caught up in the noise that I couldn't hear—or see—the signs that were all screaming at me to stop.
So I stopped. I was burnt out.
Absolutely burnt out.
What came next was a year at home. A year where I barely moved. (Which was huge after almost ten years of constantly moving.) A year where I found my roots. A year where I reconnected with the land. A year where I came home. It took me a year to find my feet again. To land. To land on my path. The path of love. The path of trust. The path of truth.
So... Here I am. I'm on my path. And if I'm being honest, it isn't the path I thought I'd be on. I live in my hometown. I paint and teach art for a living. I travel when I want to. And now...I holiday. I'm leaning towards taking things slowly. I'm leaning towards rest. And now I know this is home.
The travel I've done over the last year has reminded me that I am a girl of the land. I love the earth beneath my feet, the smell of fires burning in winter, and the sound of rain on a tin roof. I love seeing old farming hands leaning on a fence, hearing stories of how properties came to be, and listening to the generations that shaped them. I love the connection that exists in a country community—the way people know one another, show up for one another, and carry stories that stretch back decades. I love watching gum trees line the roads and seeing the paddocks change colour as the sun begins to set.
For so long, I thought I was meant to become someone else. I thought happiness looked like the beach, busy cafés, and a life somewhere far away.
But every time I leave, the land calls me home. This is where I breathe differently. This is where I slow down. This is where I belong.
We are all on our own path. No matter where we go or the choices we make we will always come home.
