What made the pan refuse to grow was that the hook brought you back. These are the Differences between Runners and Chasers.

If you've lived abroad for any extended period of time, you know that there are generally two types of people. Those that chase, and, those that run.

Some think runners are looking for something that they’re afraid to have at home. I think their adventures abroad are induced by fear of something; could be a poor economy with few jobs for very qualified people (and many of the runners I’ve known are quite qualified), or it could be a relationship, it could be a shit family, it could be a “grown up life.” It could be another degree they don’t want to admit they need. It could be a job that doesn’t fulfil their needs. It could be anything. 

But people run from their responsibilities - this much is obvious and I don’t feel that I need to substantiate this.

I think the fear of running is completely normal and I think there are many reasons people run from their country of origin; a boyfriend that they hate plus a shit family (as per one situation with a good friend in Asia), or a grown up life (as per one situation of another good friend I have in Africa). But whatever the reason, I understand why people run.

People run because they don’t know what else to do.

People have a hard time with that. Which is why I understand. I had a hell of a hard time finding out I wanted to do what I do and I fully understand that. But runners are still looking - while running away from something that they won’t admit they’re passionate about - because they’re afraid. They’re afraid of many things and this is to not pass judgement upon them for that - but they are afraid - they’re afraid of responding to their passions, to their decisions, their degrees or to their qualifications. And then there are chasers.

Chasers: Those of us that are after things we cannot have in our country of origin.

But we also think that chasers cannot chase when there is the same opportunity in their country of origin. We think there is a huge difference between someone who chases something they’re after and someone who runs from something they’re afraid of. Although I completely understand their fear, but we, after many real-talks, also challenge them to chase. To stop running.

But often, they get caught up in the notion that they’re a chaser, not a runner. They justify; they rationalise, they run and find themselves cognitively dissonant to their life abroad. Because they #YOLO; because they #liveinthemoment, because their 100 followers on instagram demand more pictures. Because they like the life of living in another culture.

But they can’t admit that they could do the exact same thing they do in Australia - in America. In Korea - as they can in America. In England - as they can in Australia. In Canada - as they can do in Indonesia. In France, as they can do in New Zealand. They can’t live in their country of origin because they can’t #YOLO. Hell, they can’t live without their culture or their way of being in their world - even if they’re in another part of the world. They run from it but expect it somewhere else.

If you’ve ever lived abroad - you know exactly who I’m talking about.

Chasers cannot sit still for too long - we’re after our best opportunity - forever flexible in our definition of the “best” opportunity. We don’t #YOLO. We enunciate the hashtag  in meetings and use our words to explain our lives though our well written blogs. We focus more on work than we would ever focus on twitter or hashtags. We warn those who may choose a life abroad, because we’re (god damn) sick of meeting you. We can live without our cultures; we can adapt, we can live the same way and we can live without our favorite things. Runners cant. Runners can't adapt. But chasers can adapt to an opportunity in Texas.

Chasers spend more time focusing on the work that brought us here and never find time to write their well written blogs - runners focus more on twitter and instagram - they’re too hungover to write well, much less work. Runners run from their possibilities. Chasers find success elsewhere.

Chasers take responsibility. Runners feign it with #YOLO. It’s as simple as that.

Here’s to having my dream job elsewhere and chasing the same damn thing back home.

Live it high y’all.

Waiheke Island, New Zealand

This is day I was thinking about the "worst case scenario"- and this is also when I took the above picture."

14 February: 11.43 PM: 2 Months later

I chose to wait until 11.43 to write this because i think it’s important to see how quickly life can change. I went down to the office today to tell my landlord that I really have no clue what’s going to happen with my life, but I should know by the end of the day, that was at 12.00. 

It was funny, because his assistant and I got into a conversation about how quickly life can change. With one email - Korea can happen. With one email UQ can happen. The patience in between in what breaks us all. 

A few hours later I heard from Brianna at Kids Help Line. She did not care about my visa, nor did she care about my possible employment. After a plethora of platitudes, she said that I needed more clinical experience. Something I am far too aware of tonight. 

I’m ok losing - but not failing. I lost on that one, beat out by those who have experience. 

I chose to pick myself up by my sandal tops and head out for coffee - thinking maybe some caffeine will help me decide where to head from here. I went to Indro, had a coffee at my favorite place and realised that I’ve got just a few more weeks left in Brisbane. As it really makes no sense to apply for a visa if I have no job. UQ ain’t gonna call. They would have by now. I’m, out of time. 

I remember watching the cars and people go by at this cafe - thinking that they’ll be here in a few weeks and how much of a difference only a few weeks can make. Hell, how much of a difference one phone call or one email makes. I thought about how I will leave Australia; leave Brisbane, leave the swamp, leave me mates, leave Alice at Taringa food market, leave Piggy, leave this amazing coffee shop i found. I thought about how much I would be leaving. Just like I was thinking about at Cafe 11 in Mokpo. I just kept thinking about how much I would be losing by going. The friends, the memories, the rugby, the coffees, the life. 

It was like I was dying yet again. Just as I did at cafe 11 in Mokpo. 

As per my ‘glass-half-empty’ mentality I got into it a bit and worked to reframe the whole ‘leaving’ thing. I remembered Shiner, Iced coffees, Texas BBQ and the Dallas Cowboys. I thought about everything I would gain by leaving - but I was still hit with the same and ultimate realisation that I was leaving Brisbane. That I would no longer live at 35 Morrow St. That everything I hoped for is now, as dead as I am at this coffee shop. 

A gorgeous blonde friend was there, her name is Chloe, but I chose not to say hi as I was already dead. 

It was like that point in a football game when you know your team is going to lose. When the other team gets the dreaded first down; a minute 30 hangs on the clock, running out so slowly and drains out all the blood in your favorite team, as you watch everything you worked for run away with those 90 seconds. its watching your team bleed to death - just as I did with that phone call. 

I remember writing an email about the Lord giving and the Lord taking away. I remember thinking about how much UQ has given me, how much Australia as a whole has given me, how much I have to be grateful for. 

Hemingway did pretty well paraphrasing it: 

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”

It’s like watching your favorite team lose the 2013 NBA Finals. Then walk off the court with class. Their heads high as they know they’ve tried their best. Just as I did, walking from Indro coffee to the train station. I walked with my head high, I thought about what I had done in Brisbane and what I can provide Texas: Caverly, 2014; NPT anxiety, my clients, everything I learnt in my MA, everything. I thought about a loss as a win. As anyone does, as they call it a ‘moral victory.’ At the end of the day though, they still fucking lost. 

And then something weird happened - just an hour from the time I got the phone call from Brianna. 

UQ called. 

Floated a job. 

It’s important to see how quickly life can change. Quickly as a cup a coffee and an hour thinking about what I’ve lost by losing my ‘dream’ job offer and therefore my dream life - Pardon my metaphor - but it seems like that opposing point guard turned the ball over. Now its up to me to take my team down the court in a second. We’ll see how this UQ thing works Immigration dept. But my flat line has turned to normal sinus rhythm. I have been revived. Everything I was leaving, has been revived. What I started on this doc, has been revived. 

Live high, y’all. 

Websites and the problems with living abroad

We will fail. It's a part of life. 

If we’re batting 200 we’re not doing too well - if we’re bating 300 hundred we’re doing well and if we’re batting 400 we’re doing pretty damn well. 

The point is, that we will fail. A lot. 

But we can’t if we don’t go to the plate. So, having said that, and knowing full well that I may fail. I will attempt to fight arbitrage, the Australian immigration, the poor reputation of counsellors here, the bullshit and the lack of control that we all face. I will fight - for my dream job. 

Arbitrage: Had I of applied for my student visa only a week before I did. I would be ineligible for the visa I am eligible for now. Funny how life turns out that way. Funny how I wasn't able to apply for my visa today because a website is not functioning. Funny how life actually works. 

The Australian Immigration: I am, not, a “skilled worker.” My job, counselor, does not meet the requirements for a “skilled” worker. Because down-regulating an amygdala is not a “skill.” Right. Good on ya. 

The poor reputation of counsellors: Counselors here can get a 1 year ‘degree’ in ‘counselling.’ That’s the equivalent of someone who is a junior in High School quitting High School and then going to become a ‘counsellor’ after 1 year of ‘university.’ You cannot engage the mind until you understand psychology. Understanding psychology takes an undergraduate degree; takes a mind that accepts subjectivity, takes a understanding of who people are in their world, takes a realisation that everything you thought you knew, is now wrong. Because psychology, like all science, will change your mind with every degree you receive. Understanding counselling takes a post-graduate degree. Because it does. I do not feel the need to substantiate that. 

The Bullshit and the lack of control: I have no control over the bullshit above. Regardless, I will hope that those that are in control of the X, Y and Z’s can figure it out. I will hope that the X works with Y - and they and we are all happy when Z happens. I will hope that the bureaucrats create logical arbitrage. But, I have no control over that. 

Give me a pitch I can hit. 

The upshot is, that living abroad complicates all of this. I have no house to live at after graduation, two of my damn good friends just left Australia, my best friends are at home, I pay twice as much but make nothing, my former job is in Texas and I have to deal with visas. Living abroad, versus traveling, is different. 

Because you may see Green Island. 

But I see, where I may be if all of the above works out. I see the hopes and aspirations of the above working out. Not, the glory that is Green Island. This is not a life of Green Islands and adventure. It’s adventure where life allows. It’s adventure where finances; where student loans, where work and where bosses allow. It’s a life. It’s Green Island when Uni allows. It’s New Zealand when the immigration dept allows. It’s a life. Simple as that. 

It’s a life full of failures - may I cite the GRE on this one. It’s a life full of arbitrage. What life isn’t? But you can’t see Green Island without the Australian immigration, the arbitrage, the bullshit and the lack of control we all face. Life, regardless if it is on Green Island, is full of failures. But, if I get it right 4 out of 10 times, I have done pretty damn well. 

It’s a nomadic life: full of goodbyes, last hugs, facebook messages and skype calls. 

This life is stressful - my anterior cingulate cortex hurts. If I strike out - I’m glad I went to the plate for my dream job. This Green Island may speak to the glory of Australia. But you can also see the arbitrage that is involved with this process of having the opportunity to go to Green Island. 

Live high y’all. 

I could be Sitting at a Coffee Shop on South Congress in Austin, Texas: from Perth to Melbourne.

Perth, Western Australia: I never thought I would see the Indian Ocean.

I'm good friends with the Pacific - this is just the other side of Australia:

It never ceases to amaze me how long you can stare at ocean:

The other thing that will never cease to amaze me are the people you meet while you're travelling - like the random English guy I met when I was trying to get from Shelley's in Perth to Fremantle. 

English guy: "I saw you go to the other platform, and I was worried because you sounded North American and you may have thought the train would be on the other side of the tracks." 

Me: "Yah, I've lived in Brisbane for a year now, I should know which side they're on by now." 

Thanks to the random Brit, I was able to make my destination: Fremantle, Western Australia

Fremantle is a good half hour up the west-coast from Perth - its a tiny, tiny town. Perth however, is about 2 million with not that much to do. Its very spread out - like Houston - Its a great city if you're keen for a laid back vacation full of days at the beach. Fremantle was almost where I was going to live - Notre Dame was almost the Uni I would have found myself at.

I'm so glad the cookie didn't crumble that way.

After Fremantle, Shelley and I hung out and reminisced about living and working in Mokpo - the good always out weighed the bad - but we were very able to make fun of the bad 3 years after-the-fact. The next day, I went to the aquarium the next day and was amazed by the size of the stingrays, turtles and the sharks:  

The aquarium only took about 3 of the 8 hours I had to kill before Shelley was off from work, so I sat here:

 

It's like the ocean is breathing; with every breath she takes back into the sea she exposes huge rocks covered in seaweed and algae. Every time she breathes out, the waves pound against this sea wall I find myself on at 2:34 pm on this Thursday. All I can think about right now isn't a deeper meaning behind life but...

damn I'm glad i brought this hoodie

4 days in Perth led to 3 in Melbourne, I left Shelley and her 10 year old daughter Mia in Perth, and found myself in what could very well be Austin, Texas:

That band was playing in Melbourne at a place called "Iddy biddy" - a great little pub. We headed out to do Melbourne's downtown the next day:

Melbourne is a great city - reminds me of Austin. Graffiti soaked walls line the alleys; the beach is 5 minutes drive from downtown, coffee shops and bars are alive with live music from all over the world, i feel like i can talk to anyone, and there's a bum with nothing to his name but a guitar he plays really well sitting next to me as I write this into my phone.

Graffiti: a recalcitrant and disrespected art. 

I could be sitting at a coffee shop on south congress; Mohawks, dogs, coffee shops, live music, and nose rings are as ubiquitous as the laid back mentality so commonly found in Austin and Australia. There's a live band down the street and a comic book shop across the roundabout. People seem to be enjoying this gorgeous (but cold) winter day a much as they did their Aussie rules football game last night.

I'm sitting a coffee shop next to a roundabout in Melbourne - I'm tucked away under a heater because its about 40 degrees. There are three middle aged guys on Harley's waiting for this car to finally figure out how to parallel park, it makes me wonder if I am capable of parking such a small and maneuverable car in such an large parking spot!

Downtown melbourne reminds me of England, with its old cathedrals and fancy facades, everything is around a corner and down the alley. Every alley a maze of hippie coffee shops or graffiti covered bars.

 

I'm here to see my good friend Emily that I met when I was in Mokpo. She and I have seen a lot, but take it slow at every turn. The great ocean road is 4 hours one way and requires a car that neither of us have - it is a bucket list item of course - but I will be back to Victoria when the weather is a bit more keen to such a beach adventure.

Damn near two weeks later I finish this blog - I've been too busy working on Aussie PhD's and their endemic honours degree. The cookie will crumble as she may:

Live high y'all. 

We ain't got no time to waste, we got too much life to taste.

Life will hit ya every once in a while. My best friends were at the same Uni that gave me a chance -  when 11 American schools didn't. These same "mates" have watched me run codes at a psyche hospital in Austin, have heard stories of Asia, have been hit by massive waves in Australia, have seen me at my best and pulled me out of my worst. They've held koalas, hung out with kangaroos, met smelly and douchey bogans, and have been bit by ducks.

I call Brisbane home the same way that I called Mokpo home, and the same way that I also called Austin home. When those homes - and their own definitions of friends or "mates" invades each other - it can really be something. I guess I just never really thought this would have happened:

I started with Brisbane. We took the bus to UQ, then the river-ferry through the city to South Bank and then Riverside. West End for Greek food and Indooroopilly for Yosuf's music at the Pig and Whistle.

After a few days in Brissy - we went to the gold coast for Surfers Paradise.  A day trip that seemed to take longer than we were there - as per life sometimes I guess.

The first weekend we went to the zoo - and we got chased by a rogue duck.

The next weekend - I took them to a tiny place called Maroochydore, about an hour and half north of Brisbane and fifteen minutes north of a brilliantly named place "Mooloolaba."

I pride myself on finding myself off the beaten path - finding that road few have taken - rather than that one google or some travel book suggests. Maroochydore won't be found in a travel book or on a website, but, I can relax at a place that isn't in googles "relaxing beaches in Australia" search criteria.

Honestly, it's a place where old people live….

Its a place where locals find few tourists, or where locals go to drink away from tawdry and pretentious bars. It's a place where Aussies go to surf away from the so called "surfers paradise." It's a place where a nomad can Texan nurses for a kick ass breakfast and a drinking night with a Kiwi called Kim.

It's off the beaten path...Its a place that your friend Rachel will air drum on your head: 

After Maroochydore and Katie falling asleep on the bus...(nope, don't have the heart to post it).I took them down to Syndey for the glory of Sydney. 

Sydney was funny for a few reasons. On the way back from Maroochydore I realised that this would be the first of two times I would have to say goodbye to them for a while; I had to stick around in Brisbane for a lecture from 9-5 on Tuesday, and they left on Sunday. I would meet them Tuesday evening for our eventual goodbye on Wednesday.

I should have planned this better, granted, but I assumed Uni wouldn't start until the semester was set to start. My bad. I should have known...?

So on the way back from Maroochydore they talked me into coming to Sydney on Sunday night, flying back to Brisbane Monday-day, then flying back out Tuesday-day, then flying back to Brisbane Wednesday. Needless to say I was hesitant - the finances at that point demanded it. 

But they helped me figure it out - and I made a decision I cannot regret.

So we do Sydney - we see the opera house and instead of rambeling about it - I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. 

When they were building it the tour guide told us that the builders called this part - "cleavage."

 

Sydney's Oldest Pub

The Government House

Damn - life will hit ya every once in a while - Live high ya'll.