I Never Planned to Become an English Teacher
Part 1: The Beginning of Everything
I found myself with the realisation that I could do absolutely anything I wanted with my life. I just had that feeling. I felt invincible.
But before I get to the moment when that thought really hit me, I need to rewind a little.
I graduated as a business student and moved to London, where I ended up working as a Management Information Coordinator for a government department. I enjoyed the job and I was good at it, but there was always something nagging away at me. Most of my friends had travelled shortly after graduating. I hadn’t, simply because I didn’t have the money. By the time I was 27, I’d managed to get some value out of my house, sold it, cleared my student debts and thought:
Right. It's my turn to travel.
So I left.
Thailand was my first stop, and I fell in love with the place almost immediately. And, as it happens, I fell in love in Thailand too.
What a place to begin a new adventure. Everything felt vibrant, warm, chaotic and alive. At the time, the people there seemed to me like the happiest people in the world. I also made a real effort to speak some Thai, and I loved it. It was the first time I’d ever felt that little buzz you get from connecting with someone in another language, however basic the exchange might be. I’ve forgotten almost all of it now, apart from one phrase: “Poot pah sah Thai dai nit noy” — I can speak a little Thai.
I was joined for a couple of weeks by one of my best mates, Roly, and together with Ian and Jip we formed the legendary (in our minds) rock band: Can’t Play for Toffee.
Before anyone gets tempted to Google us, I should point out that we were a completely fake band. None of us could actually play anything particularly well and, as far as I can remember, we never performed a single song in public. But we looked and acted the part!
Nevertheless, we went “on tour” and somehow developed a small cult following. That probably deserves a story of its own some day.
From Thailand I flew to Australia to meet up with another one of my best mates, Paul, and his wife Ruth, who had settled in Sydney.
This was Paul and I at our graduation. The photo's about as blurry as my memory of the occasion!
We spent the Millennium period together, which made the whole journey feel even more like the beginning of something new.
Australia was another chapter in itself, but eventually I moved on again, this time to New Zealand.
I got hold of a camper van and drove straight to Cape Reinga — the northernmost tip of the island to get the best view in the entire world of the MIR Space Station crashing back into Earth's atmosphere. I got there just in time to see the dark clouds descend and totally block my view, whilst everyone back in Auckland was enjoying a perfect view of this once-in-a-lifetime spectacle!
Never mind. Life is actually full of those!
So, I hit the road again, with no particular schedule and no great plan beyond seeing where the road took me. Eventually, that road took me to Mount Maunganui.
One day I walked into a surf shop there and suddenly thought: I've always wanted to surf. Why don’t I just do it?
There were some fantastic waves, and the man running the shop was called Derek — Derek Winter, I think. He was about 50 but looked about 25. He had that classic surfer energy: completely relaxed, completely alive, just a joyous character. He offered to teach me. So the next morning I was up at the crack of dawn, wetsuit on, and straight into the sea. I absolutely loved it. I loved getting battered by the waves. I loved being dragged under and spat out the back — always with a massive grin on my face! I loved the sheer power of the sea and the feeling that you were never really in control of it.
I was terrible at first, obviously, but gradually I began to get the hang of it. I was surfing and I absolutely loved it!
And then one day I found myself sat on my board just beyond where the waves break. If you’ve never surfed, there’s something extraordinary about that spot. Behind you, the waves are crashing towards the beach, but just beyond the break everything suddenly becomes calm.
I was sitting on my board facing the shore — facing ordinary life, decisions and responsibility — and then I turned the board around 180 degrees and looked out across the Pacific Ocean.
I had this enormous feeling of possibility.
I’d learned to surf. I’d travelled halfway around the world. I’d already done things that, not long before, had seemed difficult or unlikely.
And sitting there, looking out at the ocean, I genuinely felt:
I can do anything.
So what did I really want to do? Who had I always wanted to be?
Suddenly, I knew.
To be continued…
