It’s one of those cold and quiet Monday evenings in the London suburbs. The kind of weather which makes you want to stay inside forever. I’m sitting here with family, watching TV in complete silence while I get the last details of my trip together.
Tonight is so normal that it almost seems odd to think that tomorrow, I will be on a flight to Sydney. Apart from the fact that my boarding passes are right in front of me and my life is neatly packed in two carry-on bags it still seems unreal.
Leaving London is a terrifying thought. My life is here. I have career prospects in my chosen field, I have friends and an amazingly cheap flat in Dalston (£450 a month all bills included, your girl did well). So leaving it all behind for the great unknown is unnerving.
I will be starting from scratch. To be honest, I’m not even sure what I will be starting or where to. The plan, for now, is a week in Sydney, a week in Melbourne. After that is a huge interrogation mark. Will I keep travelling? Will I settle down in one of the two cities I visit first? What job will I get?
I haven’t really thought things through. I quite like it, if I’m honest. There’s something rather freeing about having no plans.
It’s actually the first time in a while I am genuinely excited about a project of mine.
Don’t get me wrong, I do love London, and feel like a Londoner, I’ve had a feeling gnawing at me for a while now. I feel restless, too comfortable here. I want to be adventurous. See the world. Meet as many people as I can.
Leaving is weird. It is a no-man’s land of emotions. I’m excited to be leaving. I’m also desperately sad and anxious, though. I felt a bit nostalgic today too, so I spent it editing a bunch of old pictures from my time in London.