Lesson one: If a plan doesn’t go to plan, it’s not the end of the world

I am someone who likse to have a plan. Not in an OCD way (and certainly not in a very long-term way, I have ZERO ideas on where I want to be in ten years; apart from happy), but when it comes to the things that will make life easier, simpler and a lot more logical in the short-term I’m all over it.

Living in London (and doing the job I do) over the last 5 years, has only compounded this lust for order. In the stressful, chaotic ecosystem of life in the capital, thinking ahead gave me an advantage. It meant I was better prepared, could research solutions to potential problems before they existed and feel calm and secure that I was doing whatever it was in the most efficient way, ultimately benefiting everybody involved.


Place you fancied for breakfast full to the brim? No worries, I read about another great place around the corner while looking up this one. Client needs to change a date urgently? All good, I pre-empt it and checked to make sure it was still “do-able” in the event we needed to. A million places to see and hardly any time? Not a problem, I’ve checked out a route that gives you the most bang for your buck (anyone who saw my 2 week Sri Lanka travel itinerary can vouch for this). In short, Loren’s got you covered.

This is all well and good, but for a while I’d been feeling like the spontaneous, carefree and uncertainty-embracing part of my personality was being slowly eroded; replaced by a slightly more stressful character, that freaked out when something didnt’t go as it should, or when I didn’t have the immediate answer.

So much in London depends on right here, right now (or, in fact, yesterday in many cases). Its so easy to get caught up, thinking that things that really aren’t important in the grand scheme of things, are. It can drive you crazy, make you more neurotic, anxious and afraid of the unknown and in the few months before I left, I was really noticing this in myself. Truth be told, I was hoping the move would help me claw back some of my “chill”.

Ahead of the big move I’d been super organised. I had a plan, and that plan was going to make the first few days and weeks go by a little more smoothly, and give me more time to explore my new city instead of spending hours on life admin. I’d meticulously worked it all out, and I was super confident in the plan.

But it didn’t all quite work out as expected.

Don’t get me wrong, nothing has gone awfully, horribly, disastrously wrong. But a few things here and there haven’t been quite as I’d hoped they’d be (including most recently rocking up for a meet and greet at my new office, to discover I was actually in their old building…on the other side of the city..).

The first couple of times things didn’t work out as I’d planned in my head, I will put my hands up and say I had a minor meltdown. Perhaps I can blame a little of my reaction on jetlag and fatigue. And maybe an even greater percentage came from the acknowledgment that I was actually over ten thousand miles away from the people I could always turn to when things didn’t quite work out, who could help me figure out the next best step.

Since those first few roadbumps there ‘s been plenty of other hiccups, but with each one I’ve found myself panicking less and less and instead thinking “ok, its not the end of the world, I can figure this out in my own time”. I’m only on day ten, and I’m sure I’ve got all sorts to come my way, but I’m going to try and embrace life without quite as much structure while I’m here.

It seems to be the Sydney way.



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