'I wanted to leave my life behind and run away to Greece. I did this instead.'

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There comes a time, usually not with fanfare but a quiet nudge, when you catch yourself wondering… 'is this it?'

Not because life is bad. It might even be good. You've done the things — home, kids, career, the whole grown-up checklist. But suddenly everything feels beige. Predictable. Like someone muted the colours and handed you a script you don't remember agreeing to. 

Maybe it hits while loading the dishwasher or making spag bol… again! Or driving the same street to the same place you've been every Tuesday for the past five years. It doesn't scream, it hums in the background, a nagging restlessness. 

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The dream of running away becomes a daily fantasy. You in Greece. In linen. Wine at sunset. The scent of lemons and sea salt, tending olive trees and laughing with the locals, fluent in a language you magically picked up overnight. 

But you're still parenting teenagers, with work deadlines, ageing parent commitments, and juggling all of life's curveballs. So the island fantasy lives on... quietly bookmarked for later. 

Here's what I've been trying instead — small rewrites to daily life. Edits that feel like nudging the dimmer switch back toward colour. 

1. I ditched routines that quietly expired.

Habits can go stale. That Pilates class I once loved started to feel like a task on a list. So I switched it out. Weights at the gym. Laps in the pool. Beach walks.

Familiar doesn't always mean joyful. I started asking myself — do I actually still like doing this? Some answers surprised me. 

2. I redefined adventure.

Adventure doesn't always have to mean an airport. For now, it can look like throwing a backpack and tent into the car and heading off on an overnight trip with a friend or two. It's girl-power in a tent with a head torch and some chip and dip.

Those small escapes recalibrate everything. I return feeling a little bit braver and a lot more awake. They're a reminder there's more to explore, even close to home and my inner girl scout is still alive.  

Image: Supplied.

3. Stillness became an act of quiet rebellion.

Turns out, I'm just as addicted to my phone as my teens. Five minutes without scrolling felt very uncomfortable at first. But I stuck with it — one coffee, one chair, no screen. And somewhere in the discomfort, I realised I'd been living through other people's lives, their holidays, their achievements, their curated magic.

But when I looked up, I noticed what I actually have. The birds. The breeze. The ocean. My own thoughts. And slowly, autopilot lost its grip. Now the endless stream of podcasts, scrolling, Netflix shows are paused more often than not.  

4. AI became my unlikely ally.

Weird one, I know. But instead of losing an hour Googling dinner ideas, I ask ChatGPT, "What can I make with sweet potato, feta, and spinach?" Done.

Or I'll prompt it for local campsites, 2 – 3-hour drive away, with a day hike nearby. It's like having a very agreeable, fast assistant.

(Admittedly I have also asked, "When's the best time to pack up your life and move to Greece?")

5. I focused on rituals and connection.

Wednesday mornings now have their own rhythm — run, ocean dip, coffee. It began one hazy post-Christmas week and never stopped.

Through cold mornings and weekly routines, we show up. It's no longer about fitness. It's about remembering we can create joy in our everyday and feel exhilarated and proud of getting in the ocean come rain, hail or shine.

A sense of achievement before the day has started.  

Then there's Saturday "news on the move" — a walk (or jog) with friends to unpack the week. We laugh, vent, catch up, and sometimes just share silence. It's one part exercise, one part therapy, and most importantly connection — the thread that pulls us out of the blur. 

6. I stopped waiting for an occasion.

I started wearing the good earrings on a Monday. Put on the best skirt for a Zoom call. Watched the moon rise at the beach on a weeknight night with a picnic.

There's no award for saving joy for weekends. Turns out, joy doesn't care what day it is. 

Listen to Mamamia's MID podcast. In this episode, Holly Wainwright discusses moving overseas and meeting a new version of yourself with guest, Maggie Lazarre. Post continues below.

7. I messed with the workday.

Some days I move my laptop outside. Light a candle. Play music that feels like a movie soundtrack. 'Drive to work' to a new café to break up my 'office time'.

None of this fixes the inbox, but it makes the hours feel more mine. When work starts to feel too heavy, I remind myself — discomfort might be a whisper that something deeper wants to shift. 

8. I gave myself permission to want more.

Not out of greed or dissatisfaction but out of aliveness. You can appreciate your life, love your community and still crave something more expansive, more awake. It's not betrayal. It's curiosity. Both can be true. 

Home is worth noticing… before Greece.

You don't have to blow up your life to rediscover what it feels like to be fully here. The fantasy of running off to Greece still has its place. But right now, I'm falling back in love with my daily life.

This season is about making the most of the now, not because I've given up on big dreams, but because I'm choosing to show up fully while they wait on the horizon. It's about catching myself in autopilot and gently pressing pause.

Because even while parenting teens, showing up for work and tending to the responsibilities of real life, it's possible to slow down enough to notice again.

And while I'm still plotting that gap year for 2026, I'm now planning it from a place of joy, not desperation. With a new appreciation for what I want more of, what I'll leave behind and what I never knew I needed until I paused long enough to notice.

Feature Image: Supplied.