The fear of moving home

I’ve moved to New York, I’ve moved to Edinburgh, I’ve moved to Vancouver, but moving home was the most terrifying move of them all.

For 10 years since leaving New Zealand, it had just been my partner and I moving from place to place collecting passport stamps.

No responsibilities, no commitments, no possessions, no one else to consider.

Then at the end of 2017 I left a great editorial internship at a magazine in Vancouver to move back to New Plymouth, a relatively modest city probably not much bigger than a Vancouver suburb.

I knew New Plymouth like the back of my hand. I grew up in Taranaki. But coming home scared me witless.

The thought of not getting a job in my field when I moved home, where media jobs are few and far between, made me feel like a failure.

I was pretty sure I would become a statistic. Another person with a wasted degree, drowning in debt, forced to become a street sweeper.

It gave me anxiety, verging on panic attacks, in the weeks leading up to the move. It was like postholiday blues on steroids.

I had been the envy of Facebook friends for years as I posted photos each week from a new exotic location. Now I was going to be just like everyone else.

Even though it was my decision, I thought others would see it as me crawling home because I couldn’t cut it overseas. In other words, a failure.

I was full of doubt. How would I manage bumping into that girl I hadn’t seen since high school, or having to hear about Aunt Erma’s dodgy hip at weekly family dinners I’d been able to skip for years.

How would I keep my cool when people pried about if I would have kids and what would be my response to relatives who assumed they were invited to my wedding.

I mean these were the reasons I left in the first place.

Growing up I always had travel goals rather than career goals. So as soon as the opportunity arose, I was off.

During our time away we visited 40 countries and when it came to our last move to Vancouver, we were exhausted.

It didn’t feel as exciting as the other moves. We could no longer ignore the fact it was time to hang up the backpack and settle down. It was time for a lifestyle change, but was moving back to my old stomping ground the answer?

Because when I left Taranaki at the naive age of 17, I said I would never come back.

It would always hold a special place but never again would I be surrounded by the rolling green hills of a rural region or walk the New Plymouth’s Coastal Walkway.

Or so I thought. But actually I’d been away so long, the thought of living in Taranaki began to feel foreign and new.

Mt Taranaki started pulling me back. Even though it’s behind clouds 99 per cent of the time, I wanted to be close.

I could learn to surf, climb the mountain, become a snowboarder. None of which I have done, but the option is there.

We started browsing jobs back home and applying for one or two.

Soon enough my partner got an interview and a few interviews eventually led to him getting a job offer. So after only six months in Canada, we were moving home.

Travelling had changed the way I viewed Taranaki. I saw it through tourist eyes and realised how stunning it was. The mountain on one side and sea on the other was something I never appreciated when I was younger.

After travelling the world, it held up next to any of the cities I visited.

Alleyways are filled with street art. Long-haired hipsters wearing knitted cardigans and beanies sitting above their ears make your coffee.

Even though New Plymouth had stepped up its game since I left, I was still terrified of not getting a job.

However, two days after we landed I got an interview and well, here I am, writing this and not sweeping streets.

Fear usually stems from the unknown. And that is exactly what it was moving home.

I didn’t know if I would get a job, I didn’t know how family pressures would affect me, I didn’t know if I would get bored in a small city.

However, it’s proved to be better than I could have imagined.

We have more responsibilities, commitments, and possessions than ever and the stability is nice.

And should it ever stop being nice that backpack is always in my cupboard just waiting to be dusted off.

Travelling had changed the way I viewed Taranaki. I saw it through tourist eyes and realised how stunning it was.