I’m back in London for the final time this year.
My family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, so I much prefer to come back a little before – it’s both more economical and far less stressful that way.
There’s something about spending a few days at home that gives space to notice the things that can easily pass you by. Perhaps because I have more time and space whilst I’m here. It’s a refuge from the responsibilities: even the most banal ones like doing the washing up.
But for me, going home also means going back to my home country. I’m fortunate that for me it is a very easy ride – a two hour train from Brussels means that I can get from door to door in around 4 to 5 hours.
Yet despite the close proximity, the undeniable fact is that I now live in a different country completely. It has its own rules, customs, administration(!) and language. Coming back to the UK, there are all the familiar ways that things work for me – knowing how the banking system works, general way that government works here, and wider connection to people and culture. I’ve become so used to the switch back that I can jump off the train and go about my business in London like I’d never been gone.
When people talk about moving abroad, it’s often done in an idealised state. Perhaps to live the glamorous ‘continental’ lifestyle. Some speak of shifting to the hot weather in the south. Others fantasize of going off to live the American dream.
These aren’t necessarily untrue – I do feel happy and settled in Brussels, and I have no desire to leave any time soon. Yet the bit that is often missed out from this fantastical imagery are the things we leave behind.
I’ve been away from the UK for about 4 years now, and yet I would say I probably still have more connections to people in London than I do in Brussels. There’s also so many opportunities to do more things, connections to make here, and old networks to tap into.
I do feel a sense of loss by no longer living here. These things that I had built around me for many years are now harder to connect with. It’s a basic cost to being geographically distant. I say that as well as someone who can come back quite easily too – there are people who live on the other ends of the planet and only return every year or two.
With reflection, I realise that I also get caught up in the rose-tinted version of being at home. I think spending too much time staying with my parents would probably drive me crazy. Meanwhile, the tiring lifestyle of London, along with its exuberant prices, were the reason I wanted to move away in the first place.
The paradox of this place is that there are more people here than you could ever hope for to connect with. Yet finding genuine connection is tricky, both due to the culture and the additional logistical pressures. After all, who wants to travel 90 minutes to go see a friend at a round trip cost of £14? If you dare to go for a drink, that will be an additional £8 (per drink!).
This weekend has been a helpful reminder of the life choices I’ve made. It’s reaffirmed the reasons that I chose the things I did. There’s a general sense of euphoria I get by living in a different culture to the one I grow up in. Everything is a little bit more of an adventure.
But it also helps me understand why it often feels like there are additional barriers. The things that naturally come from staying close to home aren’t things I have access to as easily.
In the search for freedom, we cast away the comfortable safety net.
And it’s okay to miss that safety net