My story of rewriting my story and making a brand new start of it.

The day I was born, my parents were handed my birth certificate. And I was handed a document even more significant. It would shape my life and dictate the script of my personal story.

That is, until I made the choice to re-write my story.

You see, the day I was born, I was handed a blueprint for life. It went something like this: go to school; go to university; travel; get a job; find a boyfriend; marry said boyfriend; buy a house; have kids. Ever notice how no-one tells you what to do after having kids? And for sure, no-one tells you what to do if your life doesn’t follow the blueprint at all.

So when I found myself 40’ish, with many items on my life’s to-do list still unchecked, I naturally thought there was something wrong with me.

Not once did I stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I was the perfect actress, reading off an incomplete script, on the wrong stage.

I say incomplete script because, looking back, I feel my blueprint was missing a few instructions. It didn’t tell me what to do when I hadn’t achieved certain outcomes within the prescribed timeline. It didn’t teach me to ask questions about what I wanted in and around life’s checklist. It didn’t really encourage me to dream. In fact, my blueprint was missing a key factor. Me.

In the absence of chasing dreams, I chased milestones.

And in the absence of instructions for a contingency plan, I spent years and years trying to wriggle my way into my pre-determined script. From the outside, I would have looked like a toddler trying to fit the green triangle into the red square of a Fisher Price toy. The harder I tried, the more it didn’t fit. And the more it didn’t fit, the more frustrated I got.

At this point, let me take a step back in my backstory to give you some context.

I grew up in South Africa.

At a time when the country was as divided as it was united, as exciting as it was scary, as soulful as it was superficial, and as culturally rich as it was poor. Life was uncertain. It was a time when every dinner conversation sounded like The Clash on repeat: “Should I stay or Should I go”? 

With heavy hearts, my family chose option two. I’m not sure anyone really wants to leave Africa. There’s a reason some people call it the Motherland. She has a hold over you, a strong energetic pull. Yet, we chose safety over insecurity. Our destination of choice: Australia.

Newly single at the time, I personally didn’t want to go to Australia. Not because I had anything against the country. Not at all. It’s just that my wings were yearning to fly somewhere else.

Like “the one that got away”, another place had captured my heart years earlier.

But, because me and my dreams weren’t front and center back then, I made the choice to follow my family so we could all be together in the same country.

With my life’s blueprint firmly tucked under my arm, acting as both my map and my compass, I headed for the land down under. 

Life was good. There was really no reason not to be happy. I made friends as close as family and I was surrounded by family as close as friends. My new home country was beautiful, welcoming and lots of fun. Yet still, something was missing. I assumed it was those unchecked items on my life’s to-do list. Now I know, it was those unchecked items on my personal wish-list.

What was missing were my own dreams.

When a toddler is defiant, stubborn in proving the mismatched shape will fit, something eventually has to give. Either the toddler has a tantrum or the toy breaks! As an adult, when we’re not aligned to what we should be doing, life usually delivers us a whack to the head that forces our own breaking point. 

I consider myself incredibly lucky. My wake-up call came in the clichéd form of a break-up. At the clichéd age of nearly 40.

I call it my break-up, my break-down and my break-free.

Like an architect reviewing plans that aren’t going according to plan, I rolled out my blueprint and began to break down my old story.

But the real game changer happened when I woke up to the fact that I could actually write a new one. I could take my blueprint, examine it, change it, fill in the gaps, complete the script and choose a whole new stage. Most importantly, I could write myself into the lead role. How had I not thought of this before?

And so, with my new plans in progress, I slipped my small, narrow feet into some seriously tough boots. I fastened my belt and marched myself right out my comfort zone.

As I said goodbye to everything that was familiar, I turned the page on a new chapter.

In fact no, make that a whole new story book.