When I left London three years ago, I didn’t plan to return. Here’s why I’m glad to be home.
King's Cross Station.
Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed
The sun doesn't always shine in London, but when it does the city seems to glow. The air feels fresher, full of energy. Troubles evaporate. What was toxic becomes intoxicating.
When the sun is shining London feels like the greatest city in the world.
When I left in 2011, I'd been toiling here for three years under the grey skies of recession. My entry-level journalist salary wasn't enough to cover my monthly bills, and it was supplemented with credit card debt and pleading phone calls to parents who wondered when they'd get to spend their retirement money on themselves. I was living in the top drawer in a six-person share house, a room unfit to house a prisoner.
I didn't hate London. Not by any measure. I might not have been well compensated at my job, but I got to go to film premieres and festivals. I sang in a band, acting out dreams of grunge stardom in front of a dozen or so friends and colleagues 20 years too late and 5,000 miles too far east of Seattle.
I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it either. When I started a relationship with an Australian in 2010, the decision to move made itself and I left in June 2011.
St. Paul's Cathedral from St. John Street.
Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed
The American poet Robert Frost said, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." During my gap year and university, my travels were always punctuated by reluctant return trips to Heathrow under a cloud of necessity. I had to come back. Britain had to have me.
After leaving university at 22, I'd done my best not to return at all, taking extended trips to the U.S., and, when I'd exhausted both money and visas, I booked a ticket to Sydney rather than London. My first stint in Australia lasted two years. When I finally returned home, at 25, I didn't want to be here, but I'd run out of places to hide.
I have always loved being British, and the privileges that come with it. I love our history, our culture, our perspective. I love our sense of humour. There is nothing quite like the pride of having a stranger in a foreign city greet you with a grin and profess their love for British comedy.
This is my home, but I never felt at home here. There was always somewhere else to be. Somewhere new to explore, something new to find. The thrilling anonymity of Manhattan, the endless suburbs of Greater Los Angeles, the carnival sideshows of Venice Beach and Las Vegas, the tabloid weirdness of Florida.
I've never experienced home sickness, but I'm not sure I've ever had wanderlust either. My travels were born from a desire to belong somewhere. A homelust perhaps.
When you feel out of place everywhere, home is a difficult thing to find.
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