As a kid I always loved the idea of being a part of my very own choose your own adventure story. Battling it out as an intrepid explorer. The type of escapade where all I had was a pirate map found conveniently in my parents attic, a mysterious diary written by an evil dark wizard… and a half-eaten Penguin chocolate bar because snacks are important!

Whether this big adventure was making a fort out of a mattress dragged from my bed then propped up against a wardrobe with a bed sheet and a broom as a weapon… or going on a bike ride with my friends as an attempt to replicate the entire movie of The Goonies! I longed to fight my way out of danger, slay the dragon and rescue the princess!

But then I grew up.

And as an adult you’re all of a sudden told to grow up, stop dreaming and be realistic until all fanciful thoughts of being whoever the hell you want to be, is knocked out of you by the perpetual hamster wheel of a 9-5.

I was recently made redundant from a job I had for 10 years. My safety net has vanished. My routine has gone. And my anxiety has me in a headlock!

Some days I feel bold with a head full of notions whilst reading inspirational quotes to help perk me up, and other days I feel like a ringmaster of my own shitshow! I now find myself in a position where I need to figure out my shit, get my shit together and also start to give a shit.

At the fine age of 37 I find myself in my own adventure called, adulting. And in order to turn the next page and advance through my quest, I have to make certain dangerous choices.

In an ideal world I would throw myself into my love of writing, creating content and designing more retro t-shirts, as I live my best life as a bohemian artist from a Disney movie.

BUT reverting to fantastical, inventive musings goes against everything I have come to know. My heart says, “fly my pretty!” but the apprehensive voice in my head says, “Bitch please! You’re not a Christmas miracle! So, stay in your lane.”

I’m a dreamer but I also can’t pay my rent with a spoken word performance or a witty blog post about vanquishing a metaphorical dragon with a broom! Surely my hobbies and my too legit to quit passions can’t actually pay my bills. Right? (desperately searching the room for someone to tell me I’m wrong!)

So, here’s the thing. I have instead promised myself to stop dicking around with the mundane thud of life, waiting for a serendipitous moment to propel me into the adventure I have craved since I was a kid.

Now is the time grab my proton pack, throw on a cape and be my own damn hero! Now is the time to belly flop into the unknown and exorcise my demons!

Now is the time to trust myself and try to block out the clatter of nervous laughter as I attempt to carve out my own adventure that will make my heart sing.

This is how I see myself! A winged half elf half human warrior with nothing but impeccable dress sense and a banana as a weapon. Because… I’m a pacifist! There’s also snacks in my bumbag!

I am fully aware that adventuring into 2020 with as much of a clue as Boris Johnson(!) won’t be easy… and my naivety levels sit at a strong 9.7 out of 10 right now. But I don’t want 2020 to be a year of disappointment and regret. Disappointment in myself and regret for being too scared to even try.

For those who have supported me by giving my blog posts your eyes, time and patience, I thank you. AND to those fine folks who have purchased a retro tee or hoodie… you’re awesome!

Here’s to 2020! Wherever your little adventure takes you…