Moving to London from New York has been an incredibly trying transition for me. Much harder than I thought it would be. Having lived and worked here previously, and having grown up as an international student moving around or having those nearest and dearest to me moving around constantly, I though the move would be relatively painless. But life as a post-college/post-law school adult doesn’t pack up quite as neatly as that of a college student studying abroad for a year does. Even with the help of a moving crew and shipping container (ok, one perk of adulthood: you’ve got disposable income).
They say your 20s are your mobile years. When you’re supposed to be taking ownership of the fact that many of the decisions you make now will be instrumental in setting you up for the life you eventually live. That’s a scary enough ask for anyone, let alone a 25-year-old who at many times feels paralyzed with fearful indecision because there are too many directions one can go, too little light shed on any one path, and too many opportunity costs associated with moving towards anything because doing so necessarily means you’re moving away from something else.
Moving has exacerbated these feelings, because in many ways, it wipes the slate clean. It’s like starting at square zero all over again… when you were only at square one to begin with.
There are no answers here. The answers only come later when you’re at the end of it all, looking back, and hopefully feeling pretty damn pleased with yourself for the life you’ve chosen to live. For now, there’s only blind faith and those pearls of Disney wisdom: “Just keep swimming.”