Spring in London has been marvellous so far. I cannot recall when was the last time I was a witness to so many days of sunshine and blue skies in a row in this city. Happily this coincided precisely with the start of my “involuntary” month off and the end of a dark period for me. To the point that I am even suspicious – why do things seem to be going so well? Is it true that I can now let myself off the hook?
At the end of 2023, I quit my corporate job to travel. Travelling long term was something I had always wanted to do, and never expected in my life I would indeed make it happen. I was burned out, depressed, mentally exhausted. I couldn’t find energy nor motivation for anything. Not just at work. For life. All the things I had always loved, now seemed like chores I no longer wanted to carry. To put it quite simply, and very plainly, I was really struggling to understand the meaning of it all. Life seemed too heavy… and so pointless.
Life was giving me signals that it was time for a break. London, the city I had been living for eight years, had lost, in my eyes, the shine. I was falling out of love for the city. Suddenly, it didn’t seem worth it. The first time I visited London, in 2013, I had come across a famous quote by Samuel Jackson “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”. Bright and wide eyed innocent, small town 21 year old me couldn’t have agreed more. I was so fascinated with the city, its possibilities, the cultural diversity, the mosaic of people, the artistic offering… and even though I was broke, with barely more than £20 to spend each day for the 2 weeks I was attending an English Language school in Wimbledon, I could not believe how much I could still do. And whilst secretly I nurtured the dream of moving to this exciting capital, I was too scared of even pronouncing it as plan to the ears of others. I didn’t dare to admit I had such ambition. I didn’t even dare to believe I could ever do it.
So when I came across that quote, I was in full agreement, even though technically me and this man have nothing in common. For starters, I am a woman, and by such – as he only mentions men – it seems the effects of London would exclude those of my gender. He was also born over 300 years ago, studied in Oxford, and is considered one of the most distinguished man of letters in the British History. I’m a nobody. But 300 years after, how many of us agree with what he stated? He stated this when being interviewed by Boswell, and discussing if Boswell’s affection for the city would disappear should he choose to live here.
“Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”
— Samuel Johnson
Now was I tired of London back in 2023, or was I just tired of life? Spoiler alert: I was tired of life! How can someone be tired of a place that offers so much, all the time? How could I had stopped enjoying everything that gave purpose to my day to day, to my weeks, my seconds of life? I suppose this was an open wound that the years of covid had left in me. A melancholia I could not shake off. After the lockdowns were officially over, I remained in lockdown within myself. Every time I peeked out the window, all I saw was chaos, cruelty, and unfairness. What kind of world is this. Why should I live better than others, and should I even enjoy myself at all. There was a guilt for existing. A guilt in enjoyment. I have always been my worst critic, but never had I been my own torturer. And I had no idea what kind of confession I was trying to get out of myself.
Travelling was the best remedy for all of this. The physical distance from the UK, from Europe, from everything that was familiar and comfortable to me was a necessity. Getting away from the cosiness the West provides to my very western ways. And I finally got out of me the confession I didn’t know I had within me: I’d been scared of admitting that as Icarus, I adored to fly close to the sun. I adored nice things. I adored a little routine. I adored success in my professional life. I was a career driven person. I like to travel, but also adore to be home, cosy, with a book. All along I had been trying to change myself, to make myself smaller, to try to prove to myself I cannot live when there is so much horror happening everywhere. It’s okay to like being an European, despite the very dark past of this continent. It’s okay to be me, as long as I am striving to be the best version of myself – not a different one.
Life brought me back to London much sooner than I expected, but only to face challenges I could not have predicted. The contract job I got at yet another big corporation was shiny, but empty. For someone as driven and ambitious like myself, it was a difficult pill to swallow – especially when this was happening at such well known company. To say it was difficult is an understatement. It as a form of torture. During my many idle hours, my demons resurfaced to bring me down. What was wrong? Was it me? Of course it’s me, cause it’s always me, am I right? Of course I wasn’t right, but when you are falling down the hole of depression and anxiety, not even Taylor Swift could bring me back from there.
Soon enough I started looking for a new job – I had to find something permanent anyway. But nothing could have prepared me to the hell the job market is at the moment. I was barely selected for interviews, cause for every job posting, there are thousands of applicants. Just getting my application picked up seemed to be something I had to leave for luck to decide for me… and let’s say luck has never been exactly on my side. I interviewed till last stages, always received amazing feedback, including hinted promises that the doors were open, and I would get in. Just to be disappointed again and again. Hours and hours of studying, preparing case studies to present…multiple interview stages for the same position… and then when the new year came, I was told my contract job was going to be terminated four months earlier. So March would be my last employed month, instead of July. I came to grips with the unfairness of this system – unsure why contracts exist if they can be just so easily broken, without compensation… it’s a very inhumane system, and yet one of which our livelihoods depend on.
And I could not stop asking myself – was I being punished for having chosen the path of indulgence when quitting my job in 2023 to go travel? Was I too full of myself for having done that? When an atheist like me, starts to ask questions such as these, you know you are broken. I was holding on to anything, to some faith… because I felt so out of control of my entire life. And worst – it seemed that all the years of working, networking, build a strong CV and great reputation had been for nothing. Not matter the hours I spent applying for jobs, destroying my mental health further whilst browsing LinkedIn, adapting my resume to job postings and writing cover letters… nothing was working.
I am now, out of the woods. It was only a couple weeks before being officially unemployed that I got a couple of job offers. And I’ll be back at work on the 1st of May. Ironically, the day that is celebrated in so many countries as Labor’s day, but not in the UK.
April is a month off for me. And life seems to be smiling again. I feel I have been gifted with time to be with myself, and recuperate from the stress these past few months were. And I am using a lot of this time not just to be on my own, writing, reading, enjoying some shows…. but also to enjoy what London has to offer.
Because it’s true. After all, I am not tired of London. I don’t think I ever was. I’m glad I get to stay.
Love, Nic
P.S. I recognise that Samuel Jackson’s quote doesn’t apply to everyone. London has always been – and perhaps it’s increasingly – an unequal city. The poorest post code in the country is just south of the Thames, next to a neighbourhood with luxury condos. London won’t tire those who have the resources to enjoy it, but it exhausts so many who everyday have to work multiple jobs to put food on the table, and be able to afford rents… and still go deprived. I have been, despite my times of uncertainty, lucky. I consider myself privileged, and I won’t take this for granted.
The Winged Bone 