October 20th 2018
Today I went for a life-advice lunch with a mate. With all of the uncertainty that came after Alice and I broke up, and with moving back in with my Mum and Dad, I needed someone who knows me to sit me down and run through my options. Namely, where I should live. I could live with mum and dad for a year and save some money. I could get my own place, or try and share with a mate around here. Or I could pack the whole lot in and move to London.
The mate I had lunch with is particularly biased when it comes to those options, because he lives in London, so naturally he’s going to recommend that I live in London too. Mainly because A) he loves it, and B) he thinks I’ll love it.
He also argues that I’ll never have a better time to do it. And I think he’s probably right about that. Single. 25. I’m free to do it, if I wanted to.
One thing that makes me hesitate is the thought of where I’d be living. House-wise, not location. Because after two years of having my own two bedroom semi-detached home, I think it would be quite a change to just live in a cardboard box. I’ve seen his house in Stratford. It’s not what you’d describe as ‘roomy’ — but that’s London. That’s how it works there. It would just remind me of being back at University, and I’m striving for steps forward, not steps backward.
I don’t know. I just want to have that next thing. But more important than that, I just want to know what that next thing is. Because I have no idea. And at the moment all I’m doing is sitting around and waiting for someone to let me know, when I could be finding it for myself.
Until tomorrow, start looking.