These boots were made for walkin

The story goes something like this:
   
Girl comes into large(ish) some of cash and can either use it as part of a down payment on a property, or she can go travelling the world. She decides to pack up Cellini Euroline and head for the hills.

The hills turn out to be America. Girl traverses said America for six months. She sleeps on couches, on bunk beds, in hostels and strangers’ homes. She just keeps moving and goes right across The States. Newness oozes out of everything around her and for the first time ever Girl thinks:

“This is what it’s like to be alive! This is what it means to be free!”

Six months later her visa expires, her money disappears and her heart aches for her Lover left back in South Africa. Girl hops a plane and arrives back to turmoil and confusion. Said Lover wants nothing to do with her and has found new love in the arms of Other Girl Living Next Door. Who could blame him, but Girl’s disappointment is staggering. She spins and spins like a top that won’t stop. At night she dreams of planes and airports, of faraway places. She dreams of falling down rabbit holes and meeting strange characters in strange lands, and on waking her heart aches. She finds the perfect place to live, but she turns it down. Can’t figure out why. She struggles to get back to work. The idea of working for somebody else makes her throw up a little in her mouth. Eventually she rents another flat at twice the price and unpacks her life piece by piece. It’s not as fun as she thought it would be. Every now and again she still tries to convince the Lover to come back, but he won’t and he doesn’t. Somehow she feels out of place, like a sore thumb sticking out.


Life returns to what it was before she went on her journey (bar the love interest, the job, the cash flow and sea view) and soon boredom returns with a vengeance. Her money dwindles. Her cat dies. She finishes her crying quota till like the age of 60. The new car and apartment suck at her wallet like a vacuum cleaner on vendetta. She struggles to pay the rent.  Life turns a little grim.


The dreams of faraway places become overwhelming. When she closes her eyes she’s transported to Hawaii, Amsterdam and Panama. She starts spending large portions of her time fantasizing about these places in detail, conjuring up un-taken journeys and when she wakes she shakes uncontrollably. She buys herself a map of the world and stares at it for hours. The lottery becomes her religion and she spends the little money she has on buying up tickets and then praying loudly and continuously, but she doesn’t win. During her internet job searches she ends up on doing research about "how to find the perfect backpack", "location independent living" and "how to travel the world for free".


Ten months after her return to Africa she's flippin tired of it all. She lets go of the Lover. She lets go of the cat. She wakes up one morning with a hangover and gives notice on her flat when she's not looking. Contrary to what she expected she feels enormously relieved, perhaps even a little excited.  She gives in to herself, to her desire for awe and adventure.


She lets go and goes shopping for a new pair of boots!