It wasn’t until I decided to move back home at 31 that I realised equated it with failure.
When I made the decision, I had finally reached a level of success in my life I’d been dreaming of and working toward for so long.
The last thing I ever thought I would want, sitting on the trendy linen couch in an inner city loft apartment I rented, furnished and made a home of on my own, was to realise the place I actually wanted to be, more than anywhere in the world, was the postage stamp sized granny flat in my childhood backyard.
For a few weeks, I could hardly admit it, not even to myself.
The fear of what others would think almost crippled me, completely.
But if I had learned one single thing from the past decade of building myself up from the ground, it was that the most insane, embarrassing and inconvenient decisions, the ones you want to avoid but cannot seem to turn away from no matter how hard you try, tend to be the best decisions of all.
But now I also w
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