When I moved to London from Australia, the U.K. was still part of the European Union and David Cameron was Prime Minister. Barack Obama was in office just across the pond. My original plan had been a move to Berlin, as I adore that city, but my boyfriend at the time got a fancy job in London. So, we compromised, imagining we’d shift to Germany once we were more settled. My Deutsche never got much airtime though because that was eight years ago, and here I am, still living in England.
One day, when I’m old, I will say, “I spent my thirties in London”, though I left 192 days ago, to be exact. In November of last year, my marriage ended. But this post is not about that; it’s about leaving the city I grew to love and then eventually loathe, and where I truly grew into myself.
Last Monday, as I was driving from Oxford (my new home—temporary but perfect for now) to pick up a friend from Luton airport, I caught myself in a familiar moment of awe and disbelief as I took the first exit at the roundabout, following the signs to London.
London? Really? The same London from period dramas and nursery rhymes? The same London as Big Ben, Tower Bridge, Virginia Woolf, and 90s dance music? The Knight Bus scene from Harry Potter and the best bits of Love Actually?
Yes, London is all of those things. It’s also where I landed a book deal, made the best friends of my life, got married, got into gardening, spent way too much money on decadent dinners, and danced sober on Sunday mornings.
It’s where I cooked fried rice in the kitchen while my friend free-birthed her baby in the living room. It’s where I sat on stage next to Ricki Lake (!!) one Monday evening, speaking about the birth control pill in my favourite red jumper. It’s the city where I quadrupled my income, taught corporate workshops on periods, and was featured in Cosmo and Women’s Health magazine. It’s where I was betrayed and cheated on, filling bathtubs with my tears.
In London I discovered my love for garage music and the quiet piano playlist on Spotify. It’s where I took coke after swearing I’d never touch drugs again, and then stopped, because they’re really just not my thing. It’s where I discovered I am neurodivergent and a bit bisexual, pretty introverted and a lot weird. It’s where I was able to say ‘yes’ to so many parts of myself: the nerdy bookworm, the author, the wife, the temple slut, the CEO, the Celtic witch and the loyal friend.
It’s where I fell in love with Christmas, the magic of winter, and learned how to actually dress for the cold. Hint for any Australians planning a move to London: denim is not a winter fabric.
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