The domino effect that led me to decide to move back to Australia
Synchronicities galore
Not sure if you guys are familiar with the idea of synchronicities.
It’s a term coined by Carl Jung that refers to meaningful coincidences—things that seem connected but, logically, shouldn’t be. They’re those little (or sometimes huge) moments that feel like they were placed on your path for a reason, even if they don’t make sense at first.
Looking back, it’s actually wild how many seemingly random things happened to me over the past few years that, when pieced together, all pointed in the same direction. Different, disconnected events that, in hindsight, were all nudging me towards the same thing.
So, let’s rewind to mid-2023.
Yup, the synchronicities technically started two years ago…
One of my closest friends—an Aussie firecracker I lived with for two years in London—had been stuck in Brisbane post-COVID (not the worst situation, considering she met her now-husband). In October 2023, her wedding invitation landed in my inbox, and I was buzzing. Not just for her, but because it meant I had a reason to go back to Australia, a place that’s always held a special place in my heart.
Around the same time, I wrapped up my advertising job in London and planned six months of solo travel through Central America. But before heading to my friend’s wedding in August 2024, I’d also been talking to another friend about stopping over in Singapore for a week. From there, I mapped out an itinerary: Singapore to Perth, Perth to Uluru, and finally, Uluru to Brisbane for the wedding. The perks of freelancing meant I could work remotely, and if I was flying halfway across the world, I wasn’t about to miss out on places I’d never seen before.
Fast forward to the actual trip—my friend and I flew to Singapore (somehow scoring a Premium Economy upgrade!), spent the week stuffing ourselves with hawker food, and marvelled at the city’s greenery spilling out of the sky-rise architecture. Then, I was off to Perth—my first time in Western Australia.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting.
Synchronicity #1: I lost my adapter and plug at my hostel in Perth. Not usually a big deal. But when I went to buy a replacement, the only option was an Australian plug. I remember thinking, well, that’s a waste of money, but I bought it anyway. Looking back…I think a part of me made a very small, subconscious commitment to this country in that one tiny decision, without even realising it.
From there, I headed to Fremantle—a place my parents had raved about for years after visiting themselves. I booked into a converted fire station hostel, but let’s just say the vibe (stale beer, feet, and mould) wasn’t it. So I treated myself to a last-minute cheap hotel and, with no hostel friends to meet, turned to dating apps for a tour guide.
That’s how I met a local guy I clicked with instantly. We only hung out a few times, but we’ve kept in touch ever since, despite the literal oceans between us.
The real whoah moment though came when I left Perth for Uluru.
Mid-flight from Melbourne to Uluru, I burst into tears. Out of nowhere. Like full-body, what-is-happening kind of crying. Thankfully, no one else was in my row so I avoided total embarrassment. It wasn’t tears about leaving a person—it felt like I was leaving behind a place. A place that against all odds felt significant.
That night, alone in my Uluru hotel room, the tears hit again. So I did an hour-long breathwork session to ground myself. I’ve had some wild experiences in deep breathwork before, but this one? Different.
I saw Uluru pulsing with energy. An Aboriginal woman letting red earth run through her fingers, gesturing toward me. A pond full of butterflies and dragonflies. And then, crystal clear, I got a message in my mind. Almost a whisper:
Don’t settle just yet. You’re not done travelling. Come back to Australia.
It knocked me sideways. But I ignored it.
I left Uluru feeling slightly unsettled, went to my friend’s wedding, soaked up the love and joy, and then flew home to the UK thinking I was on track to move to Lisbon. I had a plan—stay with my cousin, apply for a digital nomad visa, and finally have a place to unpack for once.
I loved being in Lisbon, especially spending time with my cousin, who feels more like a sister to me.
But my head? Still in Australia. And I didn’t even realise it.
The day before my flight to Lisbon, I texted my brother-in-law asking about flights after Christmas—casually suggesting I might hop over to LA with him… and then Sydney.
Lisbon was incredible, but something was missing.
I’ve thought about what that missing piece is a few times, and I honestly can’t quite pinpoint what it is.
Meanwhile, my Portuguese visa process dragged on. I needed to leave Europe for three months. My Australia holiday visa was valid until May 2025. A friend in Sydney had a spare room.
It was an obvious choice over winter in the UK.
Originally, I planned to stay in Sydney for two months, then spend a month back in Perth in the summertime. But freelancing being freelancing, I decided to detour to Bali in February—cheaper rent and living costs, better surf, and easy to work remotely.
Bali had its ups and downs (rain, weird vibes at my accommodation, the occasional pang of loneliness), but I found my people—Indonesian surf instructors who took me out to a reef break in Sanur, and a crew on Nusa Lembongan, where I swam with manta rays (lifelong dream, check).
Then, back to Perth.
I met up with a friend I’d crossed paths with in Central America (El Salvador → Guatemala → Mexico City → now Perth). We road-tripped around WA’s southwest—drank wine at local organic wineries, spotted wild kangaroos, and even found ourselves at a rodeo (where we were definitely the only tourists).
It was on that trip that I asked the universe for a sign.
I don’t usually do this, but I had this deep, unshakable urge to connect, to get confirmation that I was on the right path. Even if it meant looking at the stars and talking to the sky.
So, I asked for a sign—a white or blue butterfly within three days—if I was meant to move to Perth.
And then I let it go.
A day or so later, my friend and I were sunbathing at Hamelin Bay, soaking up the heat, when my friend nudged me.
“Look.”
I turned my head, and there they were.
Six white butterflies.
Not one. Not two. Six.
They drifted in the shrubs to the left of us, moving together, weightless and slow, like they had all the time in the world. My whole body prickled. It was too much of a coincidence. Too perfect.
“Well,” my friend said, “I think that’s your answer.”
I didn’t say anything. Just watched them disappear into the distance.
A few days later, it happened again.
I asked the universe something more personal, and to send me a dragonfly. Again in three days.
On the third day, I was walking back to the car when a dragonfly—huge, iridescent, impossible to miss—hovered right in front of me.
My friend and I stopped. It hovered there for a moment, then lifted off again, darting into the air like it had delivered whatever message it was meant to.
My friend said, “Did you just see that?”
I started laughing.
And that was it.
I knew.
So I intentionally missed my flight home and extended my stay.
And piece by piece, everything started slotting into place.
I found a co-working space that felt encouraging and uplifting. Got back into a routine. Started forming proper friendships, not just fleeting travel connections. Spoke with migration agents about visas and moving here long-term (turns out I have a ton of options). Even the random Australian plug I’d bought months earlier—thinking it was a waste—now had a permanent spot in my bag.
It all clicked.
Looking back, I don’t think these moments were just coincidences. They were nudges, little breadcrumbs leading me here.
To a city that feels easy.
To a working life that feels balanced and full of potential.
To a life that feels expansive.
To a version of myself that feels right.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this?
Trust the pull. Even when it doesn’t make sense yet.