Sitting on the U-BAHN, on my way to Prenzlauer Berg, I look at Berlin's city skyline and I can feel the history of this city. Its communist legacy is very much evident in the architecture passing in front of me. Alone on the train, I sit nervously as my thoughts drift to my current situation. My head's filled with questions:

"What have I done? "

"How could I quit my job and life and go on this trip with no plan?"

My mind goes blank. I don't remember the reasons for blowing up my life, but I'm sure they must've been good.

The sound of the Adan El- Fajr (dawn call to prayer) woke me up. Looking at the ceiling I can feel my body unfurl from a long sleep after a stressful trip to Morocco and chaotic arrival to Riad Zam Zam. I still feel dazed and confused after the events of the previous day. The manic nature of the city, the maze like streets bustling with people and the aggressive street kids (who know the look of a lost tourist) looking to milk money.

I knew Morocco wasn't a rich country, but I wasn't prepared for the city's grittiness. The streets are chaotic, the city landscape had a orangey hue and a cacophony of people, children and sometimes animals zip by my face as I look out of the cab at the passing city.

I'm 40 years old (turning 41 in two weeks) and eight months ago I quit my life. In all respects I had a great life. I lived in Kuwait and worked for a large bank for almost eleven years and had reached a very good management position with a great six figure salary. Yet for the longest time I wasn't happy.