Feather, brick, truck

Six days ago, I told my boss I was going to travel the world for a year. I expected shock. I expected some incredulity. I was aware there was a small chance of being escorted out of the building. Instead, he simply said, "Sounds like quite an adventure".

I've been lucky. Once Rachel and I had made the decision that we were going travelling, everything else just fell into place like clockwork.

A good friend of mine, Deano, has a theory called feather, brick, truck. The crux of the theory is; if you pay attention, the universe sends out little messages telling you what you should be doing in life.

The first stage is 'feathers'. These are little nudges in the right direction. Whispers amongst the cacophony of life. Three friends recommending you read the same book about travel in the same day. Meeting a bunch of people who all rave about the same lake in Guatemala. It's Lady Destiny's way of saying, "Have you thought about changing tack?"

However, if you don't pay attention, along comes a brick. A brick is a slightly more vociferous pointer to alternate paths yet explored . It's the metaphorical equivalent of someone hole-punching your testicles; It hurts, but it's not going to kill you. Like when your career is going swimmingly, then everything suddenly changes. Or your landlord decides to raise your rent the same week you get told that you're not getting a quarterly bonus. Or you get made redundant.

However, if at this point you're still licking windows oblivious, life hits you with a truck. Truck is a life-changing event that forces change upon you. The death of a loved one. The end of a specific way of life. Life changing illness or injury.

I really like the theory. It's not for everyone though. Deano once told it to a girl who had actually been hit by a truck and spent two months in a coma. The only thing that could have made that funnier is if her name had been Laurie.

Me though, I like to think I picked up on the feathers. When the brick came I knew what it was. I had plans on standby, sitting in the skyrocket ready to be deployed like torpedoes against a life of banality and mundanity.

So, here we go. I'm taking time out from the job. Packing up the house. Selling the car. Losing the wardrobe. Dispensing with income. Culling the shoes. Hanging away the suit. I'm saying goodbye to the whole caboodle and taking the only thing I really need on a trip around the world - a best mate to share it all.

Along the way I'm going to do all the things I've always wanted to, meet up with friends in places I've always wanted to visit and do what I've always wished I had time to - write a book.

I used to hate the idea of being mediocre. I think I've changed. Now, I'd rather be mediocre at something I love, than brilliant at something I don't.

23 days to go...