I was talking to myself again. Which is not a surprising event. I did this quirky thing in my past life, but this time the urge grabbed hold of me, like an unwanted hand encircling my arm and squeezing.

It all started with my hotel room in Fuzhou. I started pontificating about the size of the bed, how large it was for one person. I gushed with adjectives describing the dressers. Modern and clean. Or the first efficient closet I encountered in China had me in paroxysms. The cleanliness alone was orgasmic. Oh, and the shower, the first one I felt comfortable enough in to not wear shower shoes. I rambled on about this startling discovery in extensive detail – to myself.

In the past, self-talk amounted to muttering under my breath if something displeased me, or cursing loudly in my car at the profound stupidity of Vancouver drivers.

The ghostly impression of that conversation in China haunts me, among other discoveries in the past six months.

I wrestled with a new kind of lonely, even seriously pondering changing my solo ways from one to two. I hashed out my discovery upon meeting travelers in the past year and witnessing their off-kilter, sometimes shocking behavior, questioning my very sanity. Have I changed for the better as I set out to do or have my worst traits suddenly become the forefront of my personality? Do I belch in people’s faces and laugh? Act seemingly normal one moment, then lash out with some paranoid rant about aliens and the pyramids? The prospect makes me shudder.

That wacky conversation with myself was a nail banging into the coffin of the horrible truth.

I’ve been bulldozing alone for too long. It’s time to stop. I’m getting irritable, even slightly panicky about replenishing my savings. What saddens me the most is that I’ve lost something. The spark that first ignited my thirst for other cultures has dwindled. I want it back. Maybe it will be slightly world weary, but it’s my spark nonetheless. My lofty adventure to enter Taiwan by ferry taught me something else essential: I reached my goal. And knowing that is nothing short of amazing.

I know,  I know… you are gasping out loud. What does this mean for Nomadic Chick?

What does this mean for you?

I plan to stop for a set period of time, most likely in Asia. And look for that thing you have to wake up for, moan about, drink away, because they gulp up treasured time.

A job.

Not just any job either. Don’t fret. All I want is to breathe somewhere for a bit, build some friends and a small community, earn some foreign denerio, then be able to focus on some writing and media projects that are swimming in my idea pond. This might involve teaching English part-time or knocking on the door of a local English newspaper or magazine to sell stories.

It’s time. Time to be nomadic standing still.

You knew I hinted at it once, but you never thought I was serious. You might leave a scornful comment, or write a nasty email accusing me of pulling the rug from under you.

You sold a dream that you don’t believe in anymore.

I do, though.

I believed I could change my life through travel. I did.

I longed to be hushed, in awe, and spiritually rewarded through travel. I was.

I was determined to see magnificent places and meet varied, interesting humans who changed my viewpoint and prejudices. It happened.

Constant movement bestowed so many benefits on me, but right now, I’m mentally exhausted. It’s time to take a break.

What this means for you is continued insights on my adjustment to the expat life. The dramas, intrigues and searing sex I will have. Errr… a girl can dream. About sex.

So, dear readers, before you pelt me with angry comments, let me pause as I stroke my 300 cats.

See, crazy never rests.