As I pick up my things and ship overseas, Camera Obscura’s “Let’s Get Out of This Country” is ringing in my ears. It’s been stuck for days. The song’s bouncy aesthetic appears an astute parallel for my situation; after all, the prospect of lands unknown and times unheralded is nothing if not exciting. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But for all of its vivacity, there is a dark edge to this innocuous ditty.

The protagonist in “Let’s Get Out of This Country” asks “What does the city have to offer me?” and fails to see why it is the “bee’s knees.” Recently I have felt the agitation experienced by those within reach of something desirable. Heck, I have even wondered aloud why I am still in this neck of the woods rather than gallivanting through Europe. I am a writer; my life is always tragic.

However, no amount of melodramatic angst could bring me to Camera Obscura’s depressing statement that “I am bored with me.” Don’t get me wrong, as I head to Amsterdam—with its infamous world of Red Light Districts and marijuana cafes—I am looking to push my boundaries. I would be surprised, if not disappointed, if I were to return an unchanged man. Drink and debauchery surely transform a soul. However, I don’t feel the sinking dissatisfaction revealed by Camera Obscura’s lyric.

Despite my excitement at leaving, I have also had a chance to reflect. Again, I am a writer: it’s what I do. And this reflection has seen me consider what it is I hope to gain from my journey. Am I trying to find myself, like the troubled individual in “Let’s Get Out of This Country”? I don’t think so. Am I instead searching for a new home? Again, no luck there—I can’t speak a word of Dutch. Six months in Amsterdam will be interesting enough, without extending my lingual inadequacy into permanency.

Beyond that minor practicality, I am not wont for a home. Floating through my mind is Youth Group’s “Booth Street,” a sweet alt-country tune from their debut album. Booth Street is in the Sydney inner suburb of Annandale. I can’t say I’ve ever been there. I may have made a fleeting trip, but my attachment to this song has nothing to do with geography or patriotism. Booth Street as an address is as meaningless to me experientially as Penny Lane.

As always, the connection is in the music. The swooning slide guitar plays to the dreamer in my head. The crooning backing vocals are the chorus in my dreams. The swaying beat is the last dance of the night. But the most important thing to find at Booth Street, as so astutely pointed out by Youth Group, is someone “waiting on two feet there for me.” Youth Group’s Booth Street may be in Annandale, but it could be any juncture or intersection or footpath anywhere in the world. I can’t say I’ve ever been there, but I hope to find it soon.

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