I’m officially overwhelmed. Only 7 sleeps left till we leave. How did that happen? It seems only yesterday I was nervously handing in my resignation at work and announcing to friends that we were actually leaving and that we had actually bought a plane ticket. Back then time seemed to go so much slower; South America was just a hazy daydream and it felt so far away that it didn’t really occur to me it would one day become a reality.

But now it’s almost here! And my emotions are slip-sliding all over the place. I’m happy, I’m teary, I’m excited. The other day, my voice quavered when my grandma asked me just how long we have till departure.

‘About a week,’ I told her, my voice breaking a little bit and my eyes fighting tears. Half of me wishes that I could take her with me.

This morning I’m feeling a little scared. Last night a friend told me that he reckons Rio is the most dangerous city he’s ever visited in the world.

‘Brilliant,’ I told him. ‘Rio is our first stop.’

All of the “lasts” have started. Last Friday drinks at work. Last catch up with a beautiful friend who’s fighting cancer. Last session at my local gym (I actually love that place). These are mostly sad, although ‘last end of month finance’ at work was a pretty good one. These ‘lasts’ are making me appreciate all the little details of the life I’ve made for myself in Auckland – conversations with friends seem more special; dinner out with my grandmother has more gravity because I don’t know when – or even if –  it’s going to happen again.

Part of me wishes I could take my beautiful granny along too!

One thing I do love is when people ask me when we’ll be back.

“We’re leaving it up to fate,” I say. “We only have one way tickets – we’ll just see where the road takes us.”

At that point their eyes mist up a little, and they’ll say something along the lines of how good it must be to be young with that much freedom at your feet.

The thought of my future right now – rich in adventures unbeknownst to me – makes me feel breathlessly, excitedly alive. Courage, dear heart.

A ship in harbour is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for. 

– Mark Twain