Why the Hell am I Moving to New Zealand?
Original post date: July 24th, 2018
I grew up in a small town in the Midwest. I was homeschooled. I was really shy and unconfident for the first 20 years of my life.
When I was a child, I would play “imaginary games.” Basically, I created narratives and storylines for myself and acted them out, either with my friends or just on my own. I could lie in bed and daydream the whole day away playing out scenarios in my head of the many different types of lives I wished to live and adventures I wanted to have.
As I grew older, I got really, really sad, because I began to believe the lies that we are all told: that our deepest desires are impossible or unrealistic. I would never adventure in a far-off land with just a backpack and map. I would never be able to jump on a plane and explore an exotic location where nobody knew my name. These things were my childish daydreams. I gave it up.
I went on a trip in high school that sparked something within me. I joined a tour group for 13 days in Greece. When I first read about it, I had the same passing thoughts I always do: Oh wow, if only that were possible for me… but something stopped me. I hesitated before pushing it aside this time. Why? It was truly an act of God, because I was so numb to my dreams at this point, and so out-of-touch with who I was at 17. Regardless, I paused. I thought, timidly, maybe?
I asked my mom, and to this day I don’t know why she said yes. I am thankful that she did, because this was the start of something important for me.
Obviously, I loved it. I got to jet off on a plane all alone to an exotic location! Albeit, there was a guide and a group and I lived out of a suitcase, not a backpack, but it was a start. “Oh, she’s been bitten by the travel bug now!” Everyone said when I returned. I smiled, but a part of me still doubted that this type of life was something sustainable, however much I wanted it to be.
It took me three more years before I took a trip again. I spent most of my money on other things and continued with the ups and downs of believing in and relying on myself. I trusted nobody less than myself. It’s hard to chase your desires when you can’t rely on yourself to even know what they are.
With time, I started to understand. I took another plunge; I went to Japan. Then I went to Canada. Then Brazil and the Dominican Republic. All in the same 12-month span. If the bug had bitten me three years prior, I was madly infected now.
How did I do it? I worked and saved and sacrificed material possessions and creature comforts. I budgeted, stayed in hostels and dorms and with friends. I taught myself how to use the public transportation; never once was I inside a taxi. I shopped around for hours to find the cheapest flights. I became resourceful.
I had to take breaks, retreat into my cozy small midwestern town, work my jobs and save my pennies. I eventually studied abroad.
Europe. Several more countries off the list, not that I’m counting, really. I began to realize that the world really was mine. The same girl who gave it up after I thought that imaginary games were unattainable, was doing exactly what my younger self could only dream about. Sometimes I think of her, curled up in her room, painfully sad and happy at the same time that she could think up all these thoughts and stories, even if she could never live them out.
And that brings us to now. It’s been more than a year since I’ve had a crazy adventure. University, depression, saving and other twists in my path have slowed me down. The fire burned lower for a while, but it’s still there.
Over the last several months I’ve been a bit bitter that there hasn’t been a whole lot of adventure in my life. Friends and family have stopped asking me “Where to next?” After I kept shrugging and saying that there wouldn’t be anything for a while. I’ll admit, I grew impatient. But now I see what I was waiting for.
When I graduated and realized that now I had to save for retirement, pay all my own bills and think about my future farther than a couple semesters out, I lost my mind. This was it, I thought. Only two weeks of PTO while working my youth away? How could I do it?
When I wasn’t expecting it, it fell into my lap: A New Zealand Working Holiday Visa. Randomly and completely unconnectedly, I heard about this idea from a couple of people. The first time I dismissed it. The second I realized that someone was trying to tell me something.
It’s a permission from New Zealand that allows US residents between ages 18-30 to live and work for up to 12 months in their country. Many young people do it and find work, friends, and a hell of a gap year. It’s easy to apply for and receive; I got mine in 2 days, all fees waived. It’s almost like they want me there.
Here it is: the perfect compromise. I am able to jet off to a land where nobody knows my name and have an adventure with just a backpack and a map, and I can support myself at the same time. I don’t have to trade anything: I really can have it all. Or I can at least have my all.
They say some things are “worth the wait,” or “better when you work for it.” I suppose I’ll have to let you know. But I can say that for the first time I feel like I’m on the right path. The break I’ve had is coming to an end, and it was productive. I am back in touch with my hopes and desires. And, most importantly, the person I have the most trust in is myself.