David Kerrigan is going through a quarter life crisis.
In his late 20’s, he realises he’s next in line for the house, wife, 2½ kids, dog, fish and the office job. He has trouble breathing sometimes.
Facing a life where he’ll march up the stairs every day from a grey car park to his grey desk to sit behind a grey computer with a picture of a tree as the screen saver, a phrase a close friend one told him comes to mind:
‘Don’t aim to be material-rich. Aim to be story-rich.’
His quits his job, says goodbye to friends and family and with little more than a backpack strapped to his back, a one-way ticket is purchased. He finds himself in Nepal and India.
Without a checklist tour of predetermined places, David sets out on his trip having intentionally planned it very little. Armed with no more than a shitty little map – he hungers to face the spontaneous nature of things; to run his fingers through the sands of adventure, to attain the polar-opposite feeling of life in the office, and discover things without warning; the gritty in-between towns with names too long to pronounce, to encounter social situations worthy of old-man-campfire telling, or, more candidly, to exhale the soul-decaying poison of anything resembling routine, and inhale the freedom of unhindered existence.
A motorbike is purchased; new friends are made along the way, and one day – on the side of the road – he finds a suitable companion for the trip, a pup named Charlie.
A six-week stay turns into six-months and despite the early cold showers, a 10-day silent meditation retreat, unidentifiable food, being chased by the police at the border, a Maoist riot and the Boxing Day Tsunami, David learns that its not where you are, but who you are. And while knowing where you come from is all very well, it’s ok to not know where you’re going next.
By Carrie Kania