Going to live in London hasn’t always been the ‘dream’ as I read so many times on blogs. I’ve never yearned for that point where I can live in the city, drink cocktails every night and be a whizz on the tubes. It’s just been a necessity. Something I thought I would do, because I kinda have to. Because journalism and writing careers don’t do that well in small towns. And even though Brighton, the nearest city to me (and actually the home of journalism.co.uk) is great, publications don’t want to be based there. They want to be in London.
London is so ridiculously saturated with journalism – magazines, online publications, newspapers. And maybe one day it will change, and people will realise that you don’t have to be in London to be a successful journalist. But for the now, it hasn’t.
Saying that, it’s all very exciting. Yes, London is exciting and I can do fun things that always seem to happen in London without worrying about the last train, and I’m only a tube away from some of my friends, and I can Instagram pictures and say ‘this is where I live now’, and when people say ‘And Amy, what about you, are you still living at home?’, I can say, ‘No I live in London now’ and they will be all impressed. Blah blah blah.
But it’s also pretty exciting because of exactly that, I get to finally move out, and that’s been a long time coming. I lived away from home for three years on the other side of the country in Lancaster during university, I went travelling for five months after university but inevitably, I moved back home and have probably saved more money because of it. But seeing as I’m 24, and 25 in 2015, earning a full-time salary… well I don’t really have an excuse not to move out.
I like being independent, and doing things I want to do. If I’ve learned anything this year through reading blogs, it’s that you should stop doing what other people want you to do, stop seeing friends just because you feel like you have to do, and just do what you want. It’s not hard. Just do what you want to do on a Saturday afternoon. I like my own space, and sitting up in my room doing my freelance work on a Sunday afternoon. I like being independent, and well moving out is basically the epitome of independence. Yep.
I want to go to that thing after work, or for those drinks, without having to be that person that leaves early because I want to get a train. And yes I can get the last train, but getting home at midnight and waking up to go back to London less than 6 hours later is such a drag.
I get to have evenings. Like real, proper long evenings. If I miss my train home, or have to stay a bit later, I can be getting home at 8pm. And it’s not a proper evening when you get home at 8pm and then have to start cooking.
But of COURSE, the most important thing of all and the one thing that got me all excited when I finally found somewhere to live: that commute. That two-hour commute which sounds a lot worse than it actually was, but it was still pretty bloody annoying. I woke up at 5.55am, left at 6.25am, got to work at around 8.15am (who knows with these delayed trains), worked till 5pm, got a train home at 5.28pm, and, actually arrived home around 7pm. IF and that’s a big if, the train wasn’t delayed. Being out of the house for more than 12 hours a day isn’t fun, and the fact that moving means I am going to be able to wake up later, have more hours in my day, and have more hours to do my own projects is making me a very happy and content girl.
So I’m sat here, in my room at home, (which is a lot bigger than my London room will be, by all means), with everything packed up to go.
And it’s bloody exciting. But not just because it’s London, because of all those other reasons too.