I came across a quote by the edgy and marvellous Anaïs Nin awhile back. It struck a chord – the type that might shift the octave of a life. Her words were, “We write to taste life twice.” I don’t know who “we” is referring to, but I’d like to count myself among them. These words speak of what this blog has become for me over this past year. I started with the intent of staying in touch with our people and documenting this trip for our family history, but it became something else, something much more for me. In these few words, Nin verbalizes the immense value Mapping the Gap has gained in my life since January. It articulates the essence of what this blog has meant for my wakefulness of being human.
When I’ve written these posts, I have been able to fully digest the experiences this trip has offered and the transformations I have undergone as a person. I have not just swallowed these days whole, gulping down fantastic feasts without recognition, like many of us often do. In articulating these experiences here, I’ve allowed these pieces of my life to melt in my mouth. I have allowed them to be deeply absorbed and metabolised into the cellular structure of who I am. And I can see now, as I close off this blog, I won’t be able to progress in this life without more of these second tastings.
I’ve never labelled myself a writer, but now I can see that I am. I need to write. It’s an instrument for deeply living. Doing so affords me such great pleasure and such full possession of my days that I realise I may never be fully living if I am not reflecting on my moments in this way. I don’t know what form it will take after this trip is done, but, I must say, I am forever grateful for the readers who have kept me coming to the keyboard for this second seating of my own life. You have no idea what this space has helped me to claim. You cannot imagine what madness I may have fallen into if I didn’t have this fertile plot in which to unearth a voice and speak order to the swirlings of my mind. You will never know the service you have done me… but perhaps you have some inkling…
I, also, shudder to think of the great treasures that would have sunk irretrievably to the bottom of memory’s ocean if I didn’t have this net to save our family’s story from density’s draw to the depths. I feel dread when I consider this narrowly evaded loss of a million moments. What if I’d been too afraid to share? I almost was.
And, I am also haunted by how much of my past has already dropped into the deeps without having been properly honoured and savoured. I wonder, too, how I can keep this electrifying introspection alive in my “normal” days ahead. I have long been one to ensure wakeful possession of my days, but this blog has taken it to the next level, a level I’d like to maintain… at least for my own private re-feasting.
It’s not just the words, either. It’s the images too. “A photograph is the pause button on life,” Ty Holland said. Don’t know who he is, but he’s right. Click and save. Click and save. Click and save. Every time we tap that circle on the screen, we get to chuck one of our moments into our massive backpacks of memory. We get to offload the burden of recollection onto the cloud of our image galleries. How amazing that we have the power to do this. What a trove of moments, the one-life-to-live snapshots, the thousands of instances that make up a life. And, thanks to all the giants-upon-the-shoulders-of-giants in the teetering tower of technological advancement tucked in our pockets, all these bite-sized memories are just sitting there on our phones, waiting for us to return and pay homage to the glorious days of our already-lived lives. And we can sip from these memories any time we like. It’s astonishing, really.
What a superb gift technology offers us: the power to pause Time. This is no small thing. There is an almost sci-fi ability at our thumb-tips that we forget to fully recognise, I think. To suspend a moment in such detail. To stem the flow of life. To seize far-off lands. To pause pulsing people. To forever possess a setting sun, a child’s smile, or a meal long-ago consumed. This ability is almost preposterous. We are magicians. Let us not forget to enjoy this great power bestowed upon us. Let us remember to revisit the imagery of our moments with an awareness of how magical this experience truly is. Let us not be fooled by the shroud of numbing normalcy that technology casts over our world. This access to our past is absolutely fantastical.
And, that’s a good thing because this epic Gap Year is now behind us. My reflections finally arrive at the end of the trail. And, I must admit, I’m real happy to be here. It’ll be nice to be back in Australia. I miss the colourful, characterful birds and the scent of the ever-green gum trees. I miss the silly things, like familiar greetings and certain snacks. I can’t wait to hold our dog and smell her fur and watch her bound about in the grass. I’m looking forward to waking up early, cuddling into my robe and Ugg boots, and sitting alone in a quiet and unchanging space.
I’m even ready for routine life- ready to set some recurring events in my calendar, to sign the kids up for activities and sports, and I’m ready to drop them off at school five days a week. Hallelujah. (As cool as I think homeschooling-worldschooling is, we just aren’t that family.). I’m aching for sustainable routines and practices of wellbeing. I am excited to get back to work, to make money, and to feel capable of my assignment once again. I’m ready to stock the pantry, not having to calculate by what date it all needs to be eaten. I’m ready to use my staple-yet-impossible-overseas recipes, and I’m ready to see what my new cooking partner can whip up from all our encounters with foreign cuisines. I’m ready to have certain products available so I can stabilise the variables in our systems to see what might be contributing to symptoms. I’m ready to get us back to doctors, dentists, optometrists, and an osteopath for my crooked back. I’m ready to get closer to our next home… on the right continent, at least. I’m ready to see us all settled and relaxed at a level I never knew was important, to know we will stay, to know no more movement will be required of us. I can’t wait to see rooted and contented boys.
I have loved this gap year and all we have done. I will miss the adventure and the respite from all the to-dos. I’ll miss the special foods that will cost a fortune in Australia. I’ll miss the unique cheeses, pastries, coffees, wines, and beers. I’ll miss the diversity, the languages, and the endless observations of culture, hi-story, art, and architecture. I’ll miss all the novel wonders. I’ll miss sharing all this as a family. I’ll miss chatting and closely mothering my boys. I’ll miss this special passage of gap year time.
But, I’m tired. Dog tired. Many-layers of tired. I’m tired of wearing the same seven outfits over and over again. I’m tired of wrinkles and stains. I’m tired of trying to take it all in, tired of seizing the day. I’m tired of sitting in the hump-seat of a rental. I’m tired of wondering about our budget. I’m tired of squeezing schoolwork out of the boys. I’m tired of feeling like a world-school slacker. I’m tired of cringing about how we cope by heavily leaning on devices. I’m tired of consoling boys who just want friends, everyday normals, and kid-friendly diversions that make them feel challenged and strong. I’m tired of settling us all into new beds, fridges, and cupboards, and I’m definitely tired of packing us all up again (We’ll have had 36 stays by the end of this trip). I miss books. I miss baking pans. I miss watering cans. I miss friends. I miss roots. It is time.
Yet, in a way, this gap year isn’t over yet. We have less than two weeks in our former hometown before we head off on a two-day drive to seek our fortune in South Australia. And… what awaits us there? Would you believe… another AirB&B booking. Fancy that. Hopefully, this one will buy us enough time to get near a house purchase and a true arrival “home.” I know. We didn’t set up an easy return, did we? One life to live… Boldness… surely, we have some left in the tank. We will certainly need it with three boys facing a new school to navigate, new friendships to forge, and new activities and sports to settle into. We’ve got to keep this gap year spirit swirling for a while longer now. Much “luck, sweat, and balls” lie ahead in the replanting of this family, but I’m thinking it’ll be a sweet relief, and I’m feeling like we’ve all become Boldness veterans. These boys know how to charge into any situation, I think.
I’m certainly ready for it. I’m ready for the root-laying and home decorating. I’m ready for finding all the new pathways of a life. I’m ready to meet our new walks, our new Thai place, our new birdlife, and all the new routes of our family routines. I ready to meet our new neighbours, co-workers, teachers, classmates, and friends. They are out there, and they don’t even know what’s coming. In a few months, I’ll be hugging friends I haven’t met yet, toasting drinks with presently nameless souls, and the boys will be running to meet kids they’ve never laid eyes on. How cool is that?
Yet, when I say this, it makes me ache for the people we already have, and it makes we reconsider why we are leaving. I’m sure that’s a question many people have wondered about us, actually. Why aren’t we going back to our previous home? I could say that real estate is more affordable in South Australia and that we have struggled to find a nice neighbourhood we could afford. I could talk about career stalls and kids’ struggles, that sort of thing. I could talk about the enduring sense that we belonged somewhere else or the social scene that made us feel alien. I could mention the dryness of the South Australian climate and how I think it might help the boys. I could talk about the allure of wine country and educational opportunities for the kids. Or how Adelaide was just named “the happiest city in Australia” for 2025 (by Happy City Index).
But, that’s not the whole deal. For me at least, the draw to South Australia is something different. It’s a knowing. You know, that knowing you’re supposed to listen to, the kind you shouldn’t ignore, the kind that gets louder if you try. The words “South Australia” pop for me. They sparkle. They prick my ears. They lift my head. They beckon, summon, flirt, and promise. So, why South Australia? Beats me. I’ll let you know.
In fact, I’ll plan on that. I’ll plan to post an update near New Years. Seeing as the first post of Mapping the Gap was on New Year’s Day 2025, it would be nice to round off this gap year blog at the year mark. I’ll plan to check in one last time and fill you in on what we’ve found. Tingles rise when I consider all the potent happenings that will constitute this update… three months in the hands of a knowing. Good stuff is stirring, I’m sure. This reservation for a second tasting is one I’ll await with pregnant pleasure.
For now, let me sign off this grand endeavour with a massive burst of gratitude to my small but mighty audience. I won’t ever be able to repay you for your time, but I whisper thanks to the trees for this space you made possible. You didn’t know it, but my sanity was in your hands. You know not what you have afforded me. I thank you for donating your hours to follow our family’s escapade and for absorbing the rambles of my reflections. I have felt less alone in being heard. Thank you for being one who was listening.
As I sit on this Spanish veranda, my partner sleeping off a late night work session, the boys occupied on the trampoline, and our host at a Monday afternoon appointment, I get to savour my last moments of this gap year. When I just glanced around to take in the surroundings, to breathe in these last unrooted breaths, my eyes fell, as they often do, on words that seemed significant, words meant for this moment of finality. The backboard of the basketball goal in the back garden says, “Keep Playing.” Indeed. Indeed, we will.
Mapping the Gap 
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