Brave is Turning Right

Everyone has a different definition of ‘brave’.
As a child, if I didn’t cry when Dad took a plaster off, or when I scraped my knee (a bi-weekly occurrence) then I was being brave.
You get older and you’re brave when you try new foods, or take a bus for the first time. When you go to the theatre on your own, or head into town by yourself with a good book to find a cosy corner of a coffee hole to cuddle up in and lose yourself for a few hours.
You’re brave when you head off to Uni, or when you start a new job.
I kept being told I was being brave for moving to Australia.

But I didn’t feel brave. It just felt like a thing, that I was doing.
Granted, I didn’t know anyone, I was going entirely on my own, but I knew I’d be living with people – that’s 4 new friends immediately, and then there’d be the people I met once I started my course and my job.

I did feel brave today.
Today, brave meant going for a walk on my own and turning right out of the flat instead of left.
Brave meant buying an artisan loaf of bread and asking the bakers where the best place to get Eggs Benedict was.
Brave meant taking my change and not looking at the money like I’d never seen it before, and remembering that blue notes are $10 and red notes are $20.

I’m not normally shy, or scared of exploring new places, but I hate feeling lost. Feeling like you have no idea where you are or how far you are away from home, like you’re completely on your own. Feeling slightly uncomfortable; no obvious reason, but a low level tension, tainting your experience.
I felt a bit lost yesterday, I’ve got no routine yet and I’m still trying to work out public transport, I’ve not got an Australian phone yet and I’m still working on setting up a bank account – I feel in between identities.

So today I decided to go out and be lost.
Being
lost is a different matter entirely, this morning I got lost wandering along the rail way tracks, turning left and right and following the road, the boy in the red cap, the girl with the long hair walking her dog, the workman in search of coffee.
I’m still yet to find a Post Office and all the streets look desperately similar, but I think Melbourne will feel like home.

My quest now is to find the best eggs Benedict in Melbourne.
Because quite frankly I live for brunch.

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