Why I took a gap year at 30

Never doubt the freedom of mobility

I doubt myself a lot. I doubt whether I’m making the right choices, using my freedom wisely, saying the right words, and at times I doubt the ability of my own body.

All this doubt came to a head end of 2018 with a single surgical screw. A broken and redundant screw no less. Having served its purpose, split, and headed north, causing Oxycodone level foot pain. Pain that would regularly cast my mind, and by extension, my body back to the initial surgery I had in 2016, and onerous recovery that followed.

Surgery was always on the cards; a nonunion fractured navicular doesn’t heal without surgical intervention. I’d been lucky to delay such intervention for just over a decade. Sure, my mobility and choice of activity had been restricted, and at times I was inconvenienced with pain and discomfort, but I was yet to pass an important pain threshold — being kept awake at night by acute, stabbing pain.

In 2016 I eventually surpassed this threshold and resigned myself to a 12-week masterclass in mobility scooters and unilateral load-bearing courtesy of a mid-foot fusion. Whatever mobility inconvenience I experienced prior to surgery became a distant memory as my left calf shrivelled to the size of an emaciated chicken fillet, and learning to adjust my gait became a physio-aided exercise in retraining my brain. Full recovery took a generous 12 months.

Eventually, I ditched the moon boot and regained my strength and more. Lunging and squatting were back on the program, and I could move beyond swimming and cycling. So, when the pain resurfaced imagine my response to the realisation additional surgery was required to remove the offending screw and surrounding hardware. Let’s just say, I had my doubts. I was reassured by my surgeon that the operation and recovery would be brief, nothing like 2016. However in my mind, time, and more importantly, mobility was of the essence.

To be fair, deciding to leave my job and travel around the world for nine and a half months wasn’t all on this broken screw. Taking a gap year was something I’d wanted to do since my mid-20s. However, life detours: surgery, recovery, doubt, relationships, jobs, finances, work-life balance, doubt. My thirtieth birthday was on the horizon, and with every deterrence, the prospect of a gap year gradually turned into a pipe dream.

Also, in my mind, I hadn’t earned a gap year. Unlike my peers, I wasn’t on a clear career trajectory and taking time-out to displace myself would further delay this. I’d gone straight from school to university to full time employment. Sure, I’d holidayed in between semesters, and briefly worked interstate, but I wanted to gain international experience, travel, and study. Instead, I continued to work and save. I was stuck. Immobilised. Anxious about turning thirty, and weighing up the successes of my adult life.

It was January 2019, the surgery to remove the offending hardware was scheduled, and a brief recovery period lay ahead. By this time my self-doubt had faded. Well, the absence of self-doubt had been replaced with the acute presence of job dissatisfaction, restlessness, exercise and consistent training, wanderlust, and hard earned savings that were yet to be invested to obtain the “coveted” asset — a property.

I decided very quickly that an opportunity to travel the world for an extended period of time would unlikely present itself again. It was time to act.

I approached the task of trip planning with militant focus. I experienced clarity in the process, aided by research of course. (I heart research.) It was liberating to claim this time for myself. I knew if I didn’t, I’d regret it. After all, is there ever an opportune moment to take a gap year?

The experiences I gained while travelling alone, with friends, in a group, and with my boyfriend over the course of ten-ish months are mine to hold and treasure. I climbed Pidurangala Rock before sunrise, made it to top of Poon Hill for sunrise, and walked 28,603 steps over 136 floors exploring Petra after sunrise.

Every day brought a new challenge, sometimes physical, sometimes psychological, often a combination of the two. I apply no valuation, cost-benefit analysis or measurement of success to these experiences. Doing so would limit myself to the domain of self-doubt. Like self-doubt, the process of justification is human nature and sometimes you’ve got to experience life as an immobilised cyborg to move beyond these self-imposed boundaries.

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