In what feels like a lifetime ago (it was only yesterday), the beautiful, quaint, homely little share house where I live with some amazing people was informed that we are going to have to move out and find a new place to live. And that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Get up, pick up your little lives out of your little home, find somewhere else (it shouldn’t be too hard should it? Well, it is…) and just leave. You have a month, maybe a little bit longer if you’re nice.
I had only been in this house for a small amount of time, but we had already converted the place into something that felt warm and welcoming. Something that had everything we needed. Something with character. Something we could call a home. There wasn’t any particular reason why the landlord required the property so quickly, it was just a case of, ‘We would like it back please’. All seems perfectly understandable. However, none of us could wrap our heads around it. We all sat in our living room, staring into space, trying to figure out why the world was ending in just over a month. If you have ever been served notice, you’ll understand the scramble to quickly put together the pieces of your life. It just feels as though none of it makes any sense.
Recently, I had come to the conclusion, or to a ‘revelation’ if you want something a little more dramatic, that if I was going to chase my ideal lifestyle - one where I can write books, make money off a select number of copywriting clients and produce articles for publications - I needed to create a space where my mind was solely focused on making my dream a reality. It was all laid out in front of me and I had everything planned and ready to go. I had built a small office space that I share with my partners knitwear business, we had great friends and a fantastic community. It was going to be a year of becoming, well, me.
But the rug is never permanent. The shelf of books is only temporary, and a bed won’t be yours forever. We are in the lurch and struggling. As are so many people in the UK at the moment. The rising cost of living, especially gas and electricity bills have made it all but impossible to live an idyllic and free flowing existence. The idea that you can strive to become whatever you would like to become has disappeared and the prospect of a future is struggling to keep up with the presents demands. I’m lucky however. I’m much luckier than so many people I know that it frightens me. The world around us is stopping so many magnificent people who have the world in their fresh grasp from even feeling a sense of comfort or stability. A sense of feeling settled. Especially when so many of us aren’t even comfortable within ourselves, how can we survive when the life we lead is a constant set of hurdles and turbulence. I can only wonder.
The big questions are there, staring at us all: ‘Should I take the stable job?’, ‘Should I move to the city?’, ‘Should I move back to Australia?’, ‘Should I give up the one thing I want to do?’, ‘Can we really make being an artist work?’, ‘Is it worth it?’, ‘What will my parents say?’, ‘Will I be able to provide for myself?’, ‘What if we can’t find a place?’ They’ve all been considered. I’ve pulled them all apart as I walk through the market place with my housemate, trying to build the cheapest meal possible out of the pennies we have lying around (turns out a hotdog and chips can fix most problems, but can really do a number on your stomach).
Today I went to the seaside town of Cromer with my partner to look into a property. It was a small one bedroom flat. We were down a little lane that looked directly over the pier and the ocean. It felt all a bit absurd how I ended up here. I felt like laughing at it all, as though I was staring out the window trying to rebuild a life that was all right there 24 hours before. I looked at the rough and unforgiving North Sea. The waves crashed against the pylons of the pier. I thought about where I grew up. I thought about Sydney and how far away I was from my mum, who I miss alway even if I don’t tell her that enough (the life of an expat aspiring writer I guess). I thought about collecting records with my father or buying stupidly overpriced books. I thought about my brother who has flown the nest and is building a life of his own and how proud I am of him, even if we don’t talk all that often. I thought about my friends, my childhood, my ocean that I look upon when I am standing over a beach in Sydney. I thought about it all.
I looked back on my past year, traversing and settling in strange places around the UK, living in Bristol where I made a wonderful group of friends and completed a Masters. I reconsidered how the whole point of coming to a new country was to throw myself in the deep end. Bristol was strange and refreshing, but again, it was never a permanent option, at least in the back of my mind. It was a chance to go out and try something new and frightening, which is exactly what I’m trying to do with what could be considered ‘my career’.
I’m 25 and the rug never had to be permanent. The bed doesn’t need to be mine, there will be further bookshelves to fill with books I probably wont read, the house is what we make of it, wherever it may be. We build a home out of nothing and we create something from it. It takes time. Home is where the people we love know where to find us. Home is where I’m warm, with a cup of tea, listening to music alongside edits of my first novel and the copy of Toni Morrison’s Sula which I am currently reading.
We expressed interest in the flat in Cromer, despite how far away it may seem from the world I know. We did it because what would life be without turbulence. In the act of becoming, we have to shake things up every now and then. I’m still figuring it out. It takes time, but I know there is always a place for me wherever I choose for it to be.
So this new leaf, I’ll see how it goes. It may be terrible, but it will probably be incredible. I may go mad attempting to edit a book. I may hit my head every time I walk through the small door of wherever we find. I may have to part ways with all the books I have collected over a year of living in the UK. I may end up in Cromer, something I never even considered up until yesterday. But we will make a home of it. Change is always daunting, you will never be the first person to try and reconfigure their life. Sometime's you need to know that you have the backing of the people around you, that you’re loved, and that people are actually there for one another. A simple call from my mum, a message from my dad, a hug from a friend in the street can let you know that you’re safe, especially when you don’t know what’s coming next. A home is yours to build. I’m attempting to build, it just may take a little more time.
‘The longest way around is the shortest way home.’ - Joyce
