I can't decide if five and a half months of relative isolation and looking closely at your sense of self is a dangerous game or something everybody should do at some point. At the moment I'm leaning towards the latter.
Before I came up here in November I sat down for breakfast with a friend. She asked me if I was excited to be going to the Mitchell Plateau. I told her, over eggs Benedict and long blacks, that I couldn't decide if I was running towards something or running away from something. Or maybe a little of both. She smiled knowingly. Maybe she was running too. This girl was earthy, soulful, gentle and kind. The truth is I would marry her tomorrow but she's 10 years younger and way out of my league. A man has to be realistic. We were due to meet up in a couple of weeks and share war stories and talk about how that running was going.
Back in November I was probably running from a broken relationship and a few lingering regrets. I was probably running away from a long, uninspiring Wet season in Broome. But I was also running towards something pretty exciting - a real Wet season experience in the North Kimberley, 5 and a half months of isolation and plenty of time to immerse myself in nature. Now that the Wet is quickly drawing to a close I've come to the conclusion in the last week that I'm not running anymore. I'm mellow and content. For now at least. The past is the past. And the future is exciting, even if it's a little different from what I was expecting. More importantly I'm content with where I am and open to whatever comes next.