6. The Same Questions On Repeat

The questions didn’t stop.

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6. The Same Questions On Repeat

The same questions. On repeat.

From the moment I handed in my notice, they followed me everywhere.

“Where are you going?”

“What’s the plan?”

“How long are you away for?”

At work.

With friends.

On trains home to see family.

Different voices. Same words.

And for three months, that became the soundtrack to my life.

“The clock was ticking.”

That’s how I ended the last post. And it’s exactly how it felt.

Three months.

That was the space between handing in my notice and walking out of corporate life.

Long enough to prepare. Short enough to feel real.

On paper, nothing changed straight away.

I was still a senior editor.

Still responsible for major projects.

Still managing stakeholders, deadlines, digital resources — all of it.

If anything, those final months demanded more precision, not less.

I had to wind everything down properly. 

Document processes. Hand over responsibilities. 

Make sure the people taking over knew exactly where things stood.

I didn’t coast. I didn’t mentally check out.

I worked hard right up until the end.

I wanted to leave cleanly. 

I’d invested years into that role — I wasn’t going to disappear and leave chaos behind.

But internally, something had shifted.

The pressure didn’t land the same way anymore.

When deadlines tightened or problems flared up, there was a quiet reminder in the back of my mind: This is temporary.

And strangely, I slept better.

Which is ironic, considering I had no real plan.

Yes, I had a one-way ticket to Bangkok booked for a couple of weeks after my final day at work.

But beyond that?

Nothing mapped out.

No itinerary. No route. No timeline.

And the questions didn’t stop.

For three months, it was the same conversation on repeat.

Left, right and centre.

Most of the time, I’d give the same simple answer: “I’m flying to Bangkok.”

And then there’d be that pause.

As if something more detailed was supposed to follow.

But there wasn’t.

At weekends, I was often taking a train about an hour north out of London to see my family.

Those visits started to feel more intentional as the departure date crept closer.

And my dad would ask, calmly and consistently, “So have you got a plan? Where are you going after Bangkok?”

He wasn’t questioning the decision. He wasn’t doubting me.

He just wanted to understand what it looked like.

And the honest answer was — I didn’t know.

The strange thing is, the more I was asked about a plan, the more I seemed to retreat from making one.

It’s funny how that works.

When you’re asked repeatedly to define something that isn’t fully formed in your own head, you sometimes pull away from it. 

Not out of defiance. Not out of immaturity.

Just because you genuinely don’t have the answer.

I’d spent years living inside structure — schedules, projections, carefully managed timelines.

Everything accounted for.

This time, I didn’t know what to account for.

I didn’t know how long I’d stay in Thailand.

I didn’t know whether I’d head north, south, or somewhere completely different.

I’d heard about the islands. About Chiang Mai. About the chaos of Bangkok.

That was about it.

I was flying 6,000 miles away with a one-way ticket and little more than curiosity.

Meanwhile, life in London carried on.

I spent time with friends.

Nights out felt different — slightly heavier, slightly more aware. 

Football matches meant more too. 

I had a season ticket with my hometown team, and suddenly it hit me that I’d be missing that weekly rhythm.

The build-up. The atmosphere. The familiarity.

It wasn’t just a job I was stepping away from.

It was routine. Identity. Comfort.

The months didn’t feel fast or slow. They just moved.

Workdays blurred. Conversations repeated.

And beneath it all, there was a quiet, steady awareness:

This was actually happening.

As the final week approached, everything began to sink in.

Relief.

Nerves.

Doubt.

There wasn’t much excitement — if I’m being completely honest.

Which felt strange, considering I was about to step into something most people would jump at.

But I wasn’t chasing a clearly defined dream.

I was simply walking away from something that no longer fit.

And in a matter of days, the routine that had shaped my adult life would stop.

What replaced it…

I still didn’t know.

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