Growing up in a small northern town in England fuelled my obsession with “getting out as soon as possible”. I was desperate to experience big city living and work in the buzzing, creative hub that is our UK capital. This drove me to skip the whole ‘gap yahhh’ thing, and I’m embarrassed to say, I felt some sort of ignorant smugness that “I already knew myself so well and knew exactly what I wanted from life without having to go travel the world”, at 18 years old. I know, hilarious.
I went straight from school, to college, to uni, to working in London. Was I the only teenager who truly believed I could achieve literally anything, by JUST working hard, surely not?! Travel was never a priority for me, I thought London was the epicentre of the world, and for me, it really was the epicentre of my world for a long while. It fed me in every way I needed; with diverse culture, inspiring people, career opportunities, creative collaborations, unique experiences, festivals, parties, shows, fashion shoots and so much more. I had a maybe some might say naive lack of ‘fearing-failure’, if I wanted to do/make/create something I would just do it, which to be honest usually worked.
I now often wonder where this fearless soul went, at what point did the harshness of London beat this out of me? And can I get it back? But alongside the social life I’d always dreamt of and the job roles I’d be striving for, there were only so many years that cooking dinner in a heating-less flat, sharing a bathroom with 8 people, working your ass off for the ‘experience’ and minimal wage (if I was lucky!), that I could handle.
Suddenly drinking free jäger bombs, blagging to get into random warehouse parties & festivals and after-parties, dealing with insane fashion industry drama and endless ‘going for beers’ that I told myself was necessary for networking became a chore rather than a joy. The fast-paced social-meets-work lifestyle I once thrived on, was becoming the very things I wanted to avoid.
I noticed this in myself, I even mentioned to my best friend once, (of course over a beer) that I had realised my job had become my boyfriend. And before I even explained she nodded and said “yep, you’re basically dating your job, and he’s an asshole.” If you’ve read my other posts you will know my BFF and I are in constant communication via whatsapp wherever we are in the world, and this was the same in London, even though we lived about 2 and half mins walk from each other.
It dawned on me over that last year in London, all my messages to her were essentially play by play updates on everything related to my work. And not much else. I had originally moved to London for that feeling of freedom, creativity, open self expression, the art, the galleries, the events.
I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I had visited the Textiles Museum or gone to Kew Gardens or even Hackney City Farm, all the lovely spots I’d been so enthralled by when I first arrived, that weren’t related to a work event or a job I was obligated to attend and network etc.
As near a decade in London approached, my once insatiable thirst for the capital city life was dwindling, I feared that I had become jaded, cynical, with no self-belief, I was less confident, less driven, less focused and there was not a sign of the once “I can do anything!” attitude I’d arrived with. The clear direction I once had was now murky.
I’d been getting itchy feet, so my first instinct was to simply move house, and change companies, but nothing quite scratched that itch. This unfamiliar feeling was creeping in that I needed to experience something totally new, maybe that would (in the words of TakeThat…) relight my fire. LOL. I’d spent years hustling hard and playing hard in London, then one day I realised – one of the best things about being freelance (besides not having to wear a bra when you work from home!) is the choice and freedom that comes with it. I was able to decide when to take a break, and so I did.
I worked my ass off the entire year so I could take the whole of January off. This led me to my first solo ‘travelling’ experience. And I did this again the following year, and again and again. To Asia, New Zealand, Guatemala, Mexico, Morocco and more. With each adventure it became harder to return to the complacent, unfulfilling set-up I was ‘living’ in the UK. So before I go SO dark that you wanna turn on some James Blunt and get out the tissues, I’ll fast forward to now! I decided to do it.
I decided IF NOT NOW, WHEN? What was I waiting for? Someone to come with me? Someone to tell me it was a good plan? Something magical to happen in London that would change my whole feeling there? Honestly I think it was mostly fear that if I left, it would be like I was never there, stepping out of London for longer than a few weeks felt risky, like if I returned I’d have to start all over again from scratch. But this was fear of failure, pure and simple.
To be totally transparent I think I’d wanted this for a while, but the fear had stopped me, but I reached a point where it became the only option. It was no longer a fear of what if I leave, but a fear of what if I don’t.
