The older I get, the more I’ve come to savour and enjoy being housebound for the day. In years gone by staying put and purposely choosing not to go out seemed anti-social and a bit of waste, but now the ability to hide away for 24 hours seems a luxury.
In the last week or so, both Adam and I have succumbed to our second dose of of winter sickness (methinks perhaps neither of us actually fully recovered from our first bout of sniffles, coughs and chills in February). That combined with busy work and full on travel schedules has meant it’s been weeks since either of had the opportunity to just spend a day at home.
It’s been close to five months since stopped working as a journalist. Taking a break 10 years into my career so I could move to England was once of the scariest decisions I think I’ve made. I had a good job that paid well, worked with a wonderful team and enjoyed what I did. Why leave all of that?
I was never one of those kids who dreamed of being a reporter, I sort fell into journalism. My year 11 English teacher had suggested I investigate a degree in journalism. It seemed interesting so I applied and got accepted into my university of choice to study for a Bachelor of Journalism. It was only perhaps half way through my first year of that degree that I knew that I’d made the right decision. I got such a buzz from writing under deadline. Researching, interviewing and penning stories gave me a thrill like I’d never experienced before.