So I am leaving for Valencia in the morning, and I couldn'tn be more nervous/depressed/flatlining. I feel full of resentment for both the world around me and myself. My belly now hangs over my belt line, I feel as though I have about 10 pounds of cement in my stomach and I can't concentrate on one thing for more than about 30 seconds. I don't think I need much more evidence that it is time for a new challenge.

I have a day or so to get settled into where I will be staying before starting my teaching course on Monday. The house I will be occupying a room in is owned by an English speaker so there won't be quite so much urgency about learning Spanish. I am very much going to miss home and my family. My feelings towards 'Home', same as everyone, are rather complicated. It's not so much a longing for home itself as it stands that preoccupies me, but the fictitious idea of my ideal home. In my head I could be the happiest person alive if I just had the right conditions in place. The fantasy always centres around being back where I grew up, but isn't really reflective of what I have experienced. One day I hope that I will find away to carve out a nice lifestyle for myself and a family, enjoying a couple of trips away to the continent, pottering around at the weekends and also enjoying a decent social life with friends. But for now I know that in order to have any chance at this I must first go away, and for some time.

I am not expecting to step off the plane tomorrow and suddenly feel completely at ease with myself and the challenges that face me. But forward movement is essential, I have been treading water for too long now. The depression I have felt this week is just the doubting part of me trying to convince every other part that I will ultimately fail. The only way to silence this is to try. All we can really do is try.