I am a creature of habit. My routine keeps me sane while navigating this entirely new place and I’ve since disregarded the largely unhelpful “there is no typical day when you’re abroad” platitude as my life in Sydney has settled into a strict schedule.
7:30 am – Hit snooze eighty times before trying to avoid my three other roommates as I get ready in our one bathroom flat.
8:30 am – Make breakfast including the all essential cup of coffee.
8:45 am – Dodge pedestrians as I cross the street into Victoria Park and the University, trying the whole time to not look completely winded from the Bascom-like hill I just climbed.
9:00 am – Listen to the hypnotizing accents of the Aussie professors in lecture before realizing I’ve been just staring at them for the past 10 minutes.
11:00 am – Sprint home to make lunch and change into a business professional outfit.
11:21 am – Change again.
11:25 am – And again. Ok, perfect.
11:30 am – Catch the 412 bus to the Central Business District of Sydney and be intimidated by real adults in Hugo Boss suits on their way to real jobs in enormous skyscrapers.
12:00 pm – Say hi to the secretary at my business and administration internship as I make my way to my desk to continue slaving away at my project.
5:00 pm – Wash out the office coffee mug I have claimed as my own before calling it a day and bussing back to my apartment.
5:30 pm – Meet up with some mates and eat dinner at that Thai restaurant in Newtown I’ve been dying to try out, catch up on the homework I’ve been procrastinating, socialize over drinks to live music at the Marlborough Hotel (fondly nicknamed the Marley Bar), cook some outrageous recipe in my closet of a kitchen, dance at the bi-monthly silent disco at Scary Canary downtown, cheer on #6 in the local pub’s Monday night hermit crab races, or even gawk like a tourist at the Opera House during Vivid, a three-week festival of lights over the entire city. And that is just the weekday.
On my weekends, when I’m not jetting off to the Gold Coast, Cairns, Brisbane, Byron Bay, or Uluru, you can usually find me at the outdoor indie thrift market on Glebe Street searching through racks of second-hand jean jackets before taking brunch at Badde Manors and savoring the fading summer air. Or window shopping at the ridiculously expensive Westfield mall (like seriously, am I even allowed in here?). Or people watching behind dark sunglasses at Bondi as we sip our dragon fruit smoothies in the soft white sand. There is not a day that goes by that differs from this.
As you can tell, I am a creature of habit. My routine keeps me sane. My advice to you is to embrace the routine, the routine of the unexpected.