I’m moving to Glasgow.
That’s right, people, I’m picking up sticks and moving. Away. Far away. I’m going to have an entirely different life – one which will be hard, one which may fail, one which may see me reduced to peddling my writerly wares to the lowest, most unethusiastic bidder. Essentially: I may fall flat on my face into the metaphorical shit. But, gosh dang it, I’m doing it.
As you may remember, I’m a writer living in London: I have a great job, wonderful friends, a beautiful flat, and so on and so forth – so, on the surface at least, there’s no real reason to go. But going I am, because deeper down, there’s every reason to go.
I may need to explain.
Firstly, don’t get me wrong – London is awesome. Me and London are breaking up on totally amicable terms. The theatre, the opera, the food, the fun; it’s all grand. Really, London – it’s not you, it’s me. (Well, to be fair, it’s a little bit you – over the past four years I’ve lived here, I’ve spent approximately 2,000 hours crammed in tubes, buses, and trains dealing with overcrowding, overheating, delays, anger, hatred of other humans, and sheer exhaustion – otherwise known as a London commute. I mean, come on – that’s not cool, man.)
So, I’ve started craving green spaces; dense woodland – fields – meadows – mountains. The whole shebang. Not that surprising given the fact that I grew up in the countryside. But more than that, I’m craving change. I’ve just reached saturation point with London and office life and the never-ending rush of it all.
So, to Glasgow it is.
And, yes, I do understand that Glasgow is another city (and one which, I must confess, I have never been to – how’s that for mad?), but it’s more the fact that I’m making a massive about turn and trying something entirely new. I’m thinking of it a little like playing a game of Pooh Sticks with the universe – I’m chucking my sticks in the river and racing to the other side of the bridge to see what happens.
This “little” change in direction northwards was prompted by J going back into education in Glasgow and my not-so-secret desire to run away to pastures new. I lived in Scotland when I was younger (and had a teeny tiny Scottish accent for a while to prove it) and though Glasgow is completely new for me (it’s looking like my first visit to the city will be with the removal van), I’m excited to be going back. And, of course, diligent writer that I am, I’ve done my research; Glasgow looks pretty awesome!
But, before you think I’m very well-adjusted and calm about all of this, let me just set the record straight – I’m not. It’s hard trying to find a flat in another country! And before I’d made the decision to go, I was even worse. I was a hot mess. I ummed, I ahhed, I made innumerable pro and con lists. There was a lot of sneaky back-of-the-brain pondering, which eventually reached a fever pitch of panic and nonsense and the paralysing decision-avoiding equivalent of brain freeze.
In fact, to be perfectly honest, I never even had an “AHA” moment where I boldly took up the majestic sceptre of this new adventure, claiming it as my own and charging forth into the unknown. What actually happened was the people closest to me were kind enough to point out that I had already made up my mind. I was having the emotional equivalent of a bunny in the headlights moment at the time, but looking back, they were right on the money. But there you have it – sometimes life takes a wonderful, bonkers change in direction.
So I’m going to go off on an adventure. I shall throw myself at life! (What a grand sentiment!) And, although it’s quite likely that life will throw something equally bulky and hard to handle (as me – get it?) at me, I have to try. If I don’t, then I’m a cowardly, cowardly custard. So I’m doing it. And I’m writing it here so that you know it, too. There’s no turning back! Onwards to researching removal vans and Rightmove.
So, to Glasgow it is. And here’s hoping I figure life out when I get there!
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