A week has passed since I gave up my job and began this year-long life experiment, embracing flux in the form of uncertainty and novelty. Not to sound deliberately dramatic, but my first week has been spent in recovery. Twelve years of near-constant work has left it’s indelible mark on my soul, so before heading off to travel the Americas in a couple of weeks, I’m enjoying the familiarity of a safe environment (staying with an elderly relative in the country) and the unfamiliarity of 8+ hours sleep a night (albeit fitful sleep dominated by anxiety dreams about important daily tasks at the job I no longer have), a cooked breakfast every morning and time to read the paper in the afternoon. In short, dull, dull, dull – just what the doctor ordered.

You’d think this kind of recuperation would allow pause for thought about any number of important things – my departure from the working world, our imminent voyage across the Americas, giving up our home in London, whether I can achieve anything from spending a year in flux – but in fact it has simply allowed the initial numbness (caused by leaving my work behind) to recede a little. I’ve also found myself still clinging doggedly to semblances of structure – anxiously checking my phone for emails despite having no reception for the entire week (nor expecting messages of any note) writing to do lists, reviewing my finances and continuing my Spanish studies.

But here’s the important point – despite very little idea of what the next year has in store, not once in my week of recuperation have I regretted setting out on this great journey. 1 (quiet and relatively insignificant) week down, 51 infintely more exciting ones to come.