Choosing change is both empowering and terrifying. There’s a soothing methodology to repetition and ritual – the consistency of routine can be a brilliant anchor in what is otherwise and oftentimes a chaotic life. I myself am a creature of habit - jeans-and-t-shirt uniforms, signature dishes, tv shows watched for the millionth time. But always opting for comfort comes at its own cost.
The move from city to coast doesn’t seem monumental – after all, it’s only six hours away, a mere blip in comparison to the moves friends have done from East Coast to West Coast in the US – but it represented a shift in my future. Our lives become tethered to the places we inhabit. Cities eventually feel like villages. The local coffee shops and restaurants and parks become second homes. Pubs are third places. Your people, dotted in and around the city are also your anchors. You imagine five years from now.
Then eventually, after a trip back to where I once lived, where the sea lapped the pebble beaches, where the red-topped lighthouses shone in the distance, where myths of mermaids and pirates still remain, that future vision had switched, like flicking between photos and settling on one or another on your phone background.
It’s a privilege to be able to choose such glorious newness. And painful to go from one chosen family to another more distant one. Moving back meant reigniting old friendships and making new ones – something that’s not always so easy to do as an adult (or perhaps I’m just stubborn about how good I’ve got it when it comes to friends).
The rituals stay the same but the people change: pub afternoons shape-shifted into morning saunas, cutlery-clattering wine bars soundtracked by smooth vinyl turned into happy hour with various toddlers (and their parents, don’t worry). Eventually, the distance dissipates and you feel like you’re living parallel lives, one a peaceful dreamscape of sea water and sun, the other a brilliant clutter of pavements and fresh noise.
I’ve found that existing between two places feels less like being torn apart and more like being pulled together – in lots of different directions, and everywhere you turn there’s someone ready to receive you with open arms. How lucky to choose, to gather, to connect, in one, two or a million different places.
Words by Cat Sarsfield
