One thing that seemed to pass me by in the blur of excitement and rush of moving away was the scale of how much I was leaving behind. Being caught up in the thrill of telling everyone I knew that I was moving to London, for what was a dream come true, totally blocked out the realisation that I wouldn’t be seeing these people for a particularly long time. Even more so that they wouldn’t make up the fabric of my everyday life anymore. And whilst they would move on and do their own things, just as I had when I’d said goodbye to my own friends leaving Liverpool, I underestimated just how much seeing them so frequently would be missed.
Logic tells us that moving to a new house in a new city to start a new job means that all of the friends and foes from those old haunts are left behind. But logic is dismissed when emotion comes into play, and whilst the high of all of these exciting changes took over my mind, I never quite comprehended just what I was leaving behind. I suppose that, when making this move, I just wasn’t prepared for how lonely moving to London would make me feel.
Whilst I’m not physically alone, indeed I’m surrounded by people at work, at home, and on the Tube for most of the day, I’m well aware that such connections and friendships are yet to be built and established. I suppose being ‘the new guy’ in all possible situations, and it being made clear that I’m only around, at least for the time being, for three months makes people a little less willing to invest their time or confide in me. In that sense, the possibilities of really connecting with people is limited – especially those who live the busy London lifestyle. For someone who’s used to knowing everyone, and knowing everything that’s going on, that’s hard to take. I understand that conversation is two-way, of course, but there’s only so many times you can knock on that proverbial door and ask to be let in.
There are times when I’m at my desk in work, or sitting on the Tube going home, and I long for someone to turn around and ask even the most meaningless and banal of questions. In my mind, I’ve concocted the perfect, witty response to questions such as ‘how was your weekend?’, and ‘what did you get up to last night?’ but I don’t get to use them. Nobody asks. Nobody’s interested. It’s in moments like these that I find myself wondering whether I’ve made a mistake and if giving up everything for this opportunity was the right choice. I suppose everyone feels like this when times are uncertain, however, especially when that uncertainty is brought about by one’s own decisions. When everything is up in the air, I assume it’s only normal to stop and think “shit, what have I done?!”
Yet I’m well aware that this is only the beginning, and I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy ride. I also knew, at least subconsciously, that I was temporarily trading everything in for the unknown. The first two weeks of living the London life haven’t been plain sailing at all, but they were never going to be. I know that this whole experience will all amount to something eventually, whether that be for better or for worse I couldn’t say right now. The curiosity to see where it leads, however, will be enough to keep me persevering for the time being.