Taking risks

I took a pretty big risk this year. I met a guy on a trip to Rome and moved to Canada to be with him after knowing him for three days. Sadly, it didn't work out and I ended up having to come back to the UK.

When I've talked about this, a lot of people have asked what's wrong with me. Wanting to know why he told me to leave, insisting there must be something so bad about me that I caused him to treat me in the way he did. At the time I laughed it off, hiding how I really felt because deep down I was agreeing with them. Asking myself why things turned out the way they did. Only now, that I'm finally  ready to deal with it, am I realising this wasn't my fault.

I took risk, it didn't work out, it's as simple as that. To all the people that mocked me I'm finally ready to ask if they would do the same, if they would move their entire life across the globe if they had a chance to be happy. I'm guessing that a lot of them would say no.

As I said in my last post, I'm leaving the UK in January with no current plans to return. I'm building my savings and taking French lessons as the only things holding me back are my finances and inability to speak another language. Come January 5th I'll be ready to go.

I took a risk, it didn't work out, sometimes these things just happen. But I'm going to continue to take risks over and over again until things work out the way I want them to. After all (cheesy line alert) I'd rather jump and get burnt than never have the chance to fly.

xXx