A couple of months ago, right before Covid-19 swept through the world, I moved out of London. Not only that but I bought a house with the woman I plan on marrying in the next few years. We’re going to get a pet. A pet and a garden shed and hopefully, if we’re lucky, children.
I’m not big on change. I’ve lived in London my whole life. Not only that, but the same part of London. The one time I moved house before this, I moved ten minutes down the road. I own the same T-shirt in five different colours. I buy the same brands in the supermarket even if they’re not on special offer because I know what I like and I like what I know. I am above all things steady. I like knowing where I am. I like routine. I do not like change.
I certainly don’t meet someone, move to the other side of London within a few months to be closer to them, and then move to a different (albeit not that far) county altogether. I don’t think she’d planned for it either. But here we are.
I sometimes wonder, if I hadn’t met her, would I have made any changes at all? Or would I still be plodding along, doing the same things, content in the comfort of the familiar? Honestly, I think so. If I hadn’t made it clear enough already, change makes me nervous. I don’t trust it. If I’ve ever done it before it’s by holding my nose, squeezing my eyes shut and jumping quick, before I have time to think, kind of a ‘lets get this over with before I change my mind’. And I’m sure we can all agree the best decisions are not generally made that way.
Writing this now, I’m sitting in a pretty garden in Kent. She is next to me. I can hear birds and only the occasional car. When I look up I can see the sky instead of buildings. I look up a lot these days. I am happy. The happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t like change. But sometimes change is good.
Originally published on Bold Strokes Books UK website 3rd June 2020