Sometime in mid-June I went for a run as I often did in Filopappou Hill, an oasis of pine forest and ruins in the center of Athens, well known for its majestic views of the Acropolis and the prison in which Socrates was condemned to death. Little did I know it would be my last run before leaving Athens. The heatwave hit only a few days later, and it became unbearably hot to exercise outdoors at any time of day. Although a jog through Filopappou Hill had become an evening ritual of mine, this was the first time that I heard traditional Greek music carried on the wind from The Dora Stratou Dance Theatre.

I pivoted, cutting off my last mile, and slowly jogged in the direction of the music. After bushwacking off trail for some time, I found myself in a clearing overlooking the Saronic Gulf in the direction of the theater. I could only see the low glimmering lights shining through the pines from the theater, but the sound that carried on the wind was crisp and full. I perched myself on a rock facing the theater, the sea, the rising strawberry moon, and the emerging stars. 

When I was younger, 14 or 15 maybe, I had a recurring dream that I was standing between two ancient towering pillars. In my dream, I was an adult woman wearing a long white dress that billowed and rippled in strong winds. As I stood there, the pillars on either side of me began to crumble. I looked up to see the whole dazzling universe above me, and as the pillars crumbled beside me, the strong winds, like an outstretched palm, lifted me into awaiting ether and blazing stars. Waking up from those dreams, my body would still be tingling with the sensation of being lifted into the universe. 

Sitting on that rock listening to whimsical strumming from lyras and other long necked lutes, I was reminded of those dreams and of that strange sensation. 

I sat there longer than I should have, letting darkness fall around my single female self, alone in a city park. But I felt protected, and I felt that it was important that I had sat there for that time. It allowed me the space to reflect on my situation in a way that I had admittedly been avoiding.

The truth was that I was struggling to live in Athens, and it was only a matter of time before I would go home. 

A few pillars of a stable life in Greece had crumbled. Although my student visa was granted, my work visa was not. I did not hear back from my dream internship, which I was sure I had in the bag. My school in Greece, or some poor soul from the admin office, had mistakenly told me I only had 2 years left to graduate, and then upon arrival, apologized and told me that it would be 3. Although living with my best friend in a country I was falling in love with was an adventure I was certainly not ready to leave behind, I was coming to terms with the fact that it was not working out as I had hoped. I had two options: dig my heels into the ground and continue on my path of magical thinking and unnecessary stress, or pivot. 

So, just like when I heard the music in Filoppou Hill, I pivoted. 

Sometimes we pivot when we hear beautiful music, we allow ourselves to be swept away from our routines for the sake of romance and novelty. Sometimes, we pivot when we find ourselves facing a barred door with barbed wire and a beware of dog sign. This is what life in Athens was beginning to feel like. It felt like I was standing in front of the door with a ring of wrong keys, trying each one and feeling increasingly disappointed by each failed attempt, but had I bothered to look up, I would have noticed that the door was barred and finding the right key wouldn’t have made a difference. 

Did I spend my savings, and am now back at my parents’ house? A bit painfully, yes. But there is good news. I am admitted into my state university on a full-ride scholarship starting in two weeks, I only have a year and a half left now instead of three, I can legally work in this privileged country where I speak the language, so the money will flow back in easily. And I have the best support network that a girl who is attempting to follow her dreams off the beaten path could ask for. And thanks, of course, to you for being a part of that as a loyal reader and vicarious travel companion.

A bit on how I’ve made it all work, you know, financially

I hope that in writing with honesty here I can do my part in lifting the dreamy filter I know my life must look like to some. I bring this up because some of you lately have asked me how I support my lifestyle. The last thing I hope to do is give off the impression that my lifestyle is out of reach. It takes courage, humility, patience, passion, and at least a somewhat regulated nervous system. A supportive family is a major advantage. But it does not take a trust fund or the perfect remote job (although these things would make it a lot easier).

Bushwhacking off the conventional trail isn’t easy. I second-guess myself all the time. I feel insecure about being behind my peers, having spent the majority of my 20s working for stints in the service industry and then spending everything on plane tickets and experiences. This lifestyle has both humbled me beyond belief and given me more confidence than I could have ever imagined possessing. I have taken financial risks others in their right mind would never.

I have always been free-spirited, have always hated being told what to do, and a tight schedule has always felt to me like a prison. Dragging myself back to university is a testament to my desire to grow my career, but it has not come without a lot of kicking and screaming from my inner ADHD child. So, for those of you asking why I do it, the traveling and the pivoting, I do it because if I don’t, my soul will slowly shrivel and die.

As for the how? Honestly, working in the hospitality industry has been my ticket. If you somewhat enjoy it and you’re good at it, and you’re doing it in a country with tipping culture, that’s where the money and the flexibility is. I also utilize work-stays while I travel through Workaway, which makes my savings go a long way especially in more developing countries. If you’re curious about how to organize and prepare for a Workaway abroad, I’ve written all about it here, complete with all the mistakes I’ve made so you don’t have to.

Some might call me a bit reckless and short-sighted, I prefer to call myself courageous and inspiring. I personally live with the philosophy that when I’m old and looking back on my life, it’s the experiences that I will look back on, not the money I’ve spent. It’s something I’ve gotten away with being an able-bodied, mentally stable, adventure-hungry person in my 20’s.

Now that I’m nearing my 30’s, a more practical side is starting to kick in and I’m definitely taking less financial risks than I was in my early 20’s. For example, when I moved to Berlin when I was 23 I had $1500 to my name, which might actually be the definition of insanity and I do not recommend doing this. Also, learning how to budget has been my best friend.

But more than learning how to be money savvy, this lifestyle has demanded that I sacrifice stability, consistent friend groups, romantic relationships, and a lot of unpacked suitcases. But I’m telling you, if you’re like me and an insatiable hunger to gain a deeper understanding of the world around you gnaws on you like an animal who gnaws its own leg to free itself from a trap, the sacrifice is worth it every time.