Renovation

Before you go to sleep, what’s your last thought? Until October, mine was something along the lines of “you’re doing it wrong”. It’s not that I was unhappy, exactly. It’s that at some point I became very acutely aware that I had been living so deep in my comfort zone, that I stopped thinking about being a bit more alive. That realisation was terrifying. On my 29th birthday, I promised myself that 30 would find me in a different house, a different city, a different job. That shouldn’t be a big deal. Thousands of people do the same on a daily basis. But I’m a creature of habit as well as a control freak, so it was a bit more involved in my case I guess. I became extremely fixated on my goal.

So by October last year, admittedly a few months past the deadline I’d set myself, from a tiny town where nothing ever happens, I moved to London. From a four-bedroom house and four roommates, I found myself in a shoebox-size studio living on my own. And from a small office with a staff of seven, to a massive advertising agency. 

I admit I was looking forward to all of this with a childish enthusiasm. What’s more incredible though, is that I’m still smirking like an idiot most days. I feel freer than ever and that makes me happy. Putting on my headphones to get in the tube makes me happy. Waiting 15 minutes to be served at the pub because it’s so full of people we could play Tetris using our bodies makes me happy. Random chats with random people who have all kinds of random stuff in their head make me happy. Ramen at 3.00 am because that’s what I feel like makes me happy. Going through King’s Cross at midnight thinking “Rather than going home, I might as well go to Paris for the weekend” makes me happy. The amazing view of the London skyline from my window makes me happy. Spending a considerable amount of money in gigs and theatre tickets makes me happy. Working in a loud place with a bunch of creative nutjobs whose sanity is questionable at best makes me happy. Walking to the cinema and back makes me happy. I know, I know. Why the cinema? Well I don’t bloody know. I’ve just never been able to walk from my house to a cinema, in any of the countries I’ve ever lived in. It’s a big deal. Shut up.

But this rant isn’t about what I did. It’s not even a radical decision that I made, along the lines of shaving my head, embracing Mathematics and climbing Mount Everest. But that’s not the point. The job isn't perfect, and neither is my shoebox, and neither is London. Ok, well, London is pretty damn near perfect. But that’s not the point, either. There will never be a perfect job, house or city. What there will be is tons of regret for not doing stuff I didn't do when I should have done them. I’m working towards fixing that, though.

Life is good, you guys. It’s also too small to be wasted. I’ve been a big waster. But no more. Now I go to bed thinking “yay!”. And I’m a reserved, borderline unsocial person who thinks everyone is a bastard until proven otherwise, and I still don’t know exactly what I want to do with my life. Imagine what you can do.