For our second week in the UK, having carved out a handful of days between trade shows and work requirements, Charles and I hopped in a hire car and drove two hours to wander in the English Countryside. “No where in particular” was on our itinerary – and what a lovely destination that sounded, indeed. It was time to breathe in some summer air and get lost on purpose.

We happened to stumble on what we later realised is considered to be one of the most picture-perfect towns in all of storybook England – Castle Combe. It was a weekday afternoon in between rain showers, and the streets were deserted, luckily for us…

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In all of my past years of world wandering and the wonderful (sometimes strange) realm that is travel blogging, I never imagined typing the words ‘penthouse’ and ‘checking in’ within the same sentence. Well, what do you know? It happened. And the entire experience at Hilton Bankside – on my first night, back in London, no less – could not possibly have been more magic. Oh, London, the city that will always bring me back to the fold…

As the tube catapulted into the heartbeat of London, my heartbeat quickened in pace, too. Everything about this city feels vivid. We (read: mostly Charles) hauled our many trade-show laden suitcases up the staircases from Southwark underground station, and we reached the street level above, breathless and alive. London was just as I remembered it – recent, almost freeze-framed in time… just so beautifully familiar. I was never quite able to call London my home, but regardless of visa laws, in some small way, it always, perhaps defiantly,  will feel like returning home by heart.

The Bankside Precinct is busy, and purposeful. There is a juxtaposition of old and new: a backdrop of old, important buildings whispering untold stories; cobbled uneven streets, archways and alleyways that speak of quintessential London. The Tate Modern is off to the left, The London Shard is off to the right, and the Hilton Bankside is nestled right in the middle of the magic.

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It was July, and after leaving behind behind a frozen-over Melbourne, we descended on Manhattan in the blistering heat of their summer. This was my third time in New York City. It’s strange how a huge, anonymous, forever shapeshifting city can hold indelible memories of such significance. My previous two visits had both been cornerstones in my becoming – with certain headspaces and pivot-point life decisions I can almost attach to certain streets, or  intersections, or city precincts…

The first time, I was twenty one, on a ‘round the world ticket, solo. The world was new and unknown and I craved to get lost in ‘postcard’ New York. I ticked off the clichéd must-do’s – soaring up the Empire State, a cream cheese bagel outside Tiffany & Co on Fifth Avenue, and pretending I was Carrie, wandering the backstreets of Greenwich Village. Five years on – my second visit – I flew in from London, palpably vulnerable. Raw with heartbreak from a failed relationship, for that visit, New York felt… nourishing. I wandered the city with a best friend from home, and we spent those days together  sprawled out on the grass in Central Park, hopping between thrice daily breakfasts and generally eating and drinking our way through the surface area of the city. New York brought back a sparkle – it was like the city reconstituted me.

Fast forward another two years, and this visit had greater purpose – New York wasn’t to widen my eyes or to enable healing – this visit one was all in the business of  dream chasing. My love, Charles, had been offered a place in the prestigious Accent on Designsection of NYNow trade fair. I wanted to be by his side, and scope the show for the ‘one day’ when I might be ready to tackle it, myself.

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You know that feeling, where you have so much to say that you don’t even know where to start? The past three months have been so hectic that just thinking back and remembering what has happened makes my head somersault. My energy has been flung in so many different directions and to put it simply, these months have just required all of me. They’ve been equally unforgiving and inspiring, and steep, in terms of learning and becoming.

I shifted base from Adelaide, over to Melbourne to be with my love. I designed – and launched a new collection. There were design markets, a Melbourne trade show, a London trade show, a week in New York helping out at a trade show. There was family, and health, and times when nothing else mattered more than being all there. There were photo shoots, and videos filmed, and a certain campaign dreamed up, actioned and pulled together (- and it launches this week!)

I’ve felt constantly out of my depths and at times, utterly petrified about how fast life is moving, how fast business is growing, and how everything I do now seems to need to be more measured, accountable and prioritised, less spontaneous and free. And I’ve felt grateful, to be feeling all of these feelings and in this position of stretching, expanding, of course.

This coming Tuesday morning, the project I’ve poured all of myself into for these past months launches (if you missed the big announcement via my mailing list and Instagram, read on below).

And, now that all of the hardcore figuring out and preparatory phases has been moved through, I’m experiencing a beautiful feeling of coming back to myself – settling the frenetic energy down a notch, making more considered, confident decisions, allowing myself a moment or two to simply digest and feel into the excitement and anticipation all. And here, as I sit tapping away on keys late into Sunday night in the calm of my studio, I feel hundreds of words circling, floating around in my head, tweaking and tightening into sentences, forming stories that I know will pour out as they will, before long.

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I know Adelaide inside out. I was born here, I grew up here, I moved away, and after years of working and wandering, living and loving, I returned.

It’s always been dubbed the “20 minute city”; hop in your car from the city centre and drive for twenty minutes to find yourself at the pristine, rugged coastline. Drive for twenty minutes in the other direction, and you’ll find yourself among rolling, vineyard lined hills. Everything feels close, and not just in geographical proximity. It’s a city where community is close knit, and support of local is next level.

Some places are mirrors – you can return somewhere that remains unchanged, to take note of your changed reflection, distilling and observing vividly how you have changed yourself. On returning after a few years away, Adelaide completely surprised me – the city is abuzz right now, and change is afoot. As I discovered, Adelaide’s done a lot of growing up lately, too.

The idea of being a tourist in my own town has always charmed me, but ‘far’ has always tugged at my wanderlust more than ‘near,’ so I had never properly made the time. Until last weekend, that is.

Art Series Hotel Group invited my lovely friend Rachel and I to experience the newly launched Gather & Indulge package – a collaboration between Art Series Hotel’s [The Watson] and The Lane Vineyard. On the cards? 48 hours playing tourist in my own town, with a bottle of wine on arrival, Smart Car hire, a tour of The Lane Vineyard, wine tasting paired with canapés, sleeping over in a Deluxe Studio Suite, and a late checkout of 1pm for departure.

We jumped at the invitation, naturally! And gather and indulge… we certainly did. Here’s how it all went down.

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Over a February summer night in the balmy hustle of inner city Sydney, with wine and laughter and storytelling, I told my friend Jaclyn that Bali was up next on my itinerary. It was instantaneous; her eyes softened and sparkled. It was some mix of nostalgia, and love, and connection – a gentle veil of knowing. She warned me that this island would be like nothing and everything I had experienced before. Intoxicating, charming, completely chaotic and calm; a beautiful juxtaposition, and utterly immersive. “Give it two days, and then the rest of the world will abruptly fall away,” she said.

And I so, completely get that now. Because… it just did.

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Last year, I cracked open and unfurled, cautiously, then vividly. I retreated into my bow then launched my arrow straight and direct, full tilt with precision towards my dream. When I think about the words that call me for sweet sixteen, soar comes to mind – in business, in becoming. Play comes to mind – in exploring further, wild and untethered. And lumière (light in French) comes to mind – light in spirit, in approach to life, in love. I think my one word is R A D I E N C E. I want 2016 to be about seeking ease, to go about things in flow. To trust what is written, to live out every little moment from a place of light-filled joy.

The first moments of 2016 began in the orange afterglow of a bonfire in the Byron Bay hinterland. They say that the way you spend your New Year’s Eve says a lot about what’s in store with your year ahead. I spent the night with brand new friends I met on that day, beside my best one, laughing and alight and free. We drank gin under the stars, slept on blow up mattresses and woke to fresh country air and an apricot dawn.

After some days I returned back to Adelaide to immerse in my creative cave and birth some new designs, to extend my Wild Hearts collection, but I was restless. Sometimes you just need to take time to live, to inspire your work. And so, I did. I jumped on a plane over to Victoria, to explore somewhere that’s long been on my bucket list.

We wander to get lost and found. And as it turns out, sometimes things just have a way of finding you.

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It was October and I was a world away in Morocco when the message first arrived from beautiful Tess. “Quick question darling, when are you home, and would you be interested in a 6 day trip to Samoa at the end of November?” It was one of those moments when your breath catches in your throat and life freeze-frames still for a few moments as the world spontaneously opens right up. Suddenly, you need to fit some kind of unfathomable magic into a new reality that felt much smaller just moments ago.

Fast forward one month, and there I found myself flying headlong into a grizzly night sky from Sydney direct to Apia, Samoa. The air felt heavy; our plane rocking and tumbling in darkness through an early summer storm. I sat in the last row of the plane staring out into utter blackness, dog-eared passport in lap and three seats to myself, bound for an untapped paradise. A cluster of ten islands make up Samoa – and our itinerary included both the main island Upolu (home to the capital of Apia, and Faleolo International Airport) and Savai’i, the largest island but much more rugged and mountainous.

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