In July last year I decided to take a short holiday on my own; a break, inspired by a desire to revisit the footsteps of my youth and to romantically recapture something lost in me for which I’d spent years searching.
That was the headline. In truth I was running away.
I’d been made redundant for the first time. I was leaving a job I loved, leaving friends with whom I’d worked for more than 20 years and all the certainty and security that went with that. I was upset, fed up and tired of showing a brave face. Damaged. Scarred. Scared. I had responsibilities and promises to keep. I was terrified I had and was going to “let people down”. I had no plan, no idea and no knowledge of what I was going to do next.
So I left the office, drove to the airport, got on a…
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