2014 was the year I turned my life upside down, shaking out the contents like I do with the zip-up pouch I use to carry around everything from my penknife to my rolling papers (thoroughly, not missing even one tiny piece of a sweet wrapper, or a shread of tobacco). To begin with, I didn't really know how I was going to refill that metaphorical bag, but when I sat down on New Year's Day with an A3 piece of paper, and wrote the word 'Travel' in the middle of the page, things started to come into focus.

11 months on, my life is barely recognisable. I don't have a house or a car, or even a job (for the time being, at least), and I have just one bag of possessions (that's if you don't count the numerous boxes being stored by friends and family!). And yet I have so much more than I could ever have wished for - things you can't hold or touch or see. Since arriving in South Africa on July 24th, I have found people who will remain in my life forever, and have had experiences that will always be etched in my memory (or only a few pages away from being remembered, since I've been writing everything down in my travel journal). And now, on the eve of my first Christmas away from England - and with the halfway mark of a year-long trip staring across at me from January 2015 - it seems right to review my journey so far, to reflect on a time in my life which often feels unreal.

Even though I was suddenly thousands of miles away from home, the day-to-day changes were gradual. Over many years, I had become accustomed to routine and structure - to working each week day and fitting in the other elements of my life around that. And as I swapped the radio station and yoga studio for the classroom, similar patterns emerged - I made a packed lunch every night, ready to grab before dashing out for the bus to work each morning, and I found time in the afternoons to do a yoga practice. I put the bin out, went to the supermarket, took my washing to the launderette, and even had a local pub (about which you have heard lots in my previous posts!). Even the weather was familiar, having arrived in the depths of the South African winter.

But, of course, life there wasn't exactly normal - I saw the majestic Table Mountain from what seemed like a different angle every day (once, even looking up its sheer face as I dangled from the abseiling ropes attaching me to the rocks at the top), swam and surfed in an ocean infested with great white sharks, and shared happy times with new friends, up mountains, on beaches, under the bright sunlight and the silvery glow of the moon... I listened to the hopes and dreams of children who know nothing of the luxuries children in England are fortunate enough to enjoy - and I played a part in some of their plans, providing them with an experience of what it is to work in the media that they would never have had otherwise.

Those two months in Fish Hoek, living in a house shared with 12 others, prepared me for the next ten months on the road, and quite possibly for the rest of my days on this most wonderful planet. I discovered that wherever you go, you're never really alone - you will always find other souls whose hearts beat at the same frequency. And you will always see things that both lighten and darken your heart. There, I learnt that the deep wounds caused by Apartheid will take a long time to heal - but that when there is a collective will to move forward, things can get better.

In fact, even when there is nothing wrong, things can get better! I had already fallen head over heals in love with South Africa and its inhabitants, and - after my teaching internship had ended - as I drove my little hire car up the Garden Route, along the Sunshine Coast, up into the glowing Karoo, and back down to the Cape Town sea breeze, that feeling deepened. I suppose this lesson can be summed up with the statement 'Don't limit your horizons' - for it is not the case that when life is good, there has to be something bad around the corner to level out your luck.

That lesson was proven to me once again when my Mum arrived in town and another amazing chapter of my journey unfolded - a chapter we would write together and one we can revisit, or re-read, for the rest of our days. I know a lot of people who would give anything to spend time with a parent who is no longer of this world, so I realise how fortunate I was to be able to live out a dream that I'd shared with my mum for several years. That dream emerged when we entered a competition to win a trip to Botswana after reading Alexander McCall Smith's No 1 Ladies Detective Agency series. And there we were, embarking on the adventure we had wished for.

As we crossed the arid, dusty land - at times, peppered only with cattle and the brittle branches of trees and bushes digging deep into the earth for sustenance - my relationship with my Mum evolved. Of course, we already had a connection that only biology can create, but there's nothing like the intensity of the kind of experiences we were having (walking in the desert with the remaining members of a fading tribe, crossing the placid waters of the Okavango Delta in dug-out canoes, sleeping in a building so close to an elephant watering hole that the gigantic beasts could be heard stomping around just metres away, and cruising down the Chobe River as the big, red African sun set) to turn it into something else, too. My Mum became one of my best friends - and for that, I will be forever grateful.

One thing I've learnt about travelling that came as quite a surprise (even though it was obvious really) was that along with all the hellos, there are lots of goodbyes. I'd already held on tight as I hugged friends I had made in South Africa, who I might never see again, or at least for some time to come, and it was with a heavy heart that I waved goodbye to my Mum at Johannesburg airport - the place from which she would return home, and I would continue my journey. My yoga practice had long ago opened me up to the fact that nothing is permanent, that the only constant in life is change - life itself had shown me that, too. Yet I still wasn't prepared for the sense of loss I experienced at this time.

But immediately, that lesson about never being alone in the world came back to me. As I sat at the airport with a mixture of blood and tears running down my face (the former due to yet another nose bleed brought on by the continent's dry heat), a stranger came to my rescue. He had no need to fetch tissues and ice for me, or to console me, but he did. I didn't even learn his name, and I will never know from where he came or to where he went, but our paths crossed at just the right moment - something which has happened enough times now, for me to be of the opinion that life unfolds exactly as it should, if you let it.

I believe that's what led me here, to Sri Lanka. I'd struggled to get my India visa when I was in England, and again in South Africa, so I let go of my plans to head there straight after Africa and instead opted for a nearby island, where I could continue to indulge my newfound love of surfing and maybe even find a yoga teacher to support my personal practice. What I didn't know was that I'd also find yet more people who would make an indelible mark on my life, and that I'd slip into a way of living that consists of very simple pleasures - King Coconuts, sunsets, the sound of the sea and the taste of tropical fruits grown on trees only metres away. Oh, and long breakfasts spent writing about my travels - like the one I'm enjoying as I write this!

People back at home often refer to the fact that I am 'living the dream' and that is what it feels like; many times I have had to pinch myself, to be sure that it's all real. Yes, I have entirely settled into island life - to the extent that it does actually feel 'normal' - but it doesn't mean I don't appreciate the site of palm trees stooped over the land, their leaves waving to the earth many metres below, or the cows that wander across the sand (and not the green fields of home), or the men whose wives perch on their bikes holding only an umbrella in one hand and their husband in the other. Nor does it mean I have forgotten about or ceased to care about the people and things I have left behind in England - far from it. And I take nothing for granted - I know I am lucky to be able to travel, to take time out from the familiar.

And my luck, for want of a better word, doesn't end here. In the New Year, I will travel to India with one of those souls I mentioned whose heart beats at the same frequency as my own. It's hard to anticipate what we will find there... Of course, I will immerse myself in yoga study while we're living in Mysore, the home of my beloved Ashtanga yoga, and we'll no doubt get tricked and conned, worn out and possibly a little bit poorly! But I know there will be countless other surprises and opportunities, which right now, I can't even begin to imagine. I know that because one year ago, I couldn't have imagined any of the things that have happened to me since. And that's perhaps been the biggest lesson for me this last year: that anything is possible in this wonderful world.