Week 9 - Sydney, Australia

If nothing else, do it for the stories.

Sydney's one of those cities that makes you stop mid-step and ask, "Wait, could I live here?" And if you didn't think that—even for a second—maybe you didn't really see Sydney. It wasn't just the skyline. It was the stories—the ones I'll tell everyone, and the ones only a few people will ever hear. 

The biggest memory I can actually tell?
Surfing Manly Beach.
All we had was two hours. It was a glorious challenge. Getting out past the wave break—usually not on your first try. Not without a few turtle rolls or full-body dives.

And once you’re out there, chest still heaving, the wave shows up. You turn. You paddle. You stand.

Then you walk up the beach, curls looking fabulous, and your instructor says:“Wanna have another go?”

I felt done after two, yet I went out six times. 

 If this is what I could fill my mornings with—where do I sign? 

I know I’m heading to university in Ireland. That’s already written.
But there’s something about Sydney—something about the surf, the sun, and how easy it was to believe that this could be life. A year. Maybe three. All it takes is an Aussie work visa.

Truth is, if I can’t become the most-traveled sibling, maybe I’ll settle for the title of coolest uncle, most interesting friend, or that one cousin who always shows up tan, barefoot, and full of stories. 

They say something's always happening in the city—you just need to know where to look. But when you only got six days it helps when the event finds you.

For us, it was Halloween. 

You see traveling with people gets you to say yes to things you might never intend to do. Somewhere between the inflatable pumpkin our tour director wore, and the bright mustache of the Lorax—I knew I needed a costume. 

My first idea?

A speedo and goggles...which to the disappointment of literally everyone I told that plan to fell through. 
Not because I lacked shame—but because I was too far from the beach to actually buy them. Which is how I ended up in a costume store , leotard and leggings in hand, looking at two strangers and asking, 

"You think I can pull this off?"

They said yes. 
The outfit? Committed. 
The confidence? That was there long before Halloween ever rolled around. I just think it took some striped knee-high socks, and orange sweatbands to tap into.

And that weekend?

• We received a noise complaint before I ever said a word. 
  
  
• I struck poses anywhere and everywhere.
  
  
• I’m not saying I deserved the bite. But I’m not saying I didn’t. I think I earned at least 35 of the 52. The rest? Probably just friendly fire.
  
  
• I found out if you want to win me over, it’s not dinner.
  It’s an Aussie playground with a zipline. 
  
  
• I nearly froze in the ocean, and no—I wasn't surfing this time.

Somewhere in the middle of all that—I climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge, looked out over the skyline, wind in my face, and asked myself:
How does anyone live here and not get swept up in this?

Here I am seven months later. 

I miss the moment, but man am I glad the moment didn't miss me. 

It's funny what confidence can do. 
Funnier still what hesitation can leave behind. 

My advice?
If nothing else, do it for the stories.

The ones you'll tell. 
The ones you'll save. 
And the ones someone else will reveal at your wedding, mic in hand, and the infamous line "remember that time?"