Three Things Learned In London In (Almost) Three Years

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the day I left Australia. It is cliché, but life in Australia seems like a lifetime ago. I left Australia with big dreams, but an even bigger hole in my heart knowing that I was leaving behind a boyfriend, albeit temporarily as I expected to be the case. This working holiday was meant to last one year, at the end of which I planned to return to domestic bliss in Brisbane. How little did I know. Before that one year time limit had lapsed, everything about my life would be completely different: where I lived, what I did, who I knew, my finances, my relationship status blahblahblah.

Talk about future shock. I've often wondered whether, given the opportunity to travel back in time, what I would say to "me" three years ago, knowing what I know now. What would I do differently? Probably very little. It's one of the mysteries of life, I think, that "totally wonderful" things almost never replace "totally bad" things; I sometimes wonder if life, instead, is a series of trade-offs. Ergo, I could say, I lost a boyfriend in Australia, but I gained a life elsewhere in the process. It would be great if I could say one is better than the other. But I can't, and I'm not sure it's true, so I won't. As Will says, there is nothing either good or bad, only thinking makes it so.

Reading one of London Preppy's blog posts this morning, I was reminded me of the peculiarities of London life, compared with life back in home. And that in turn reminded me of one of my own blog post from two years ago, in which I reminisced on what I'd learned in my first 7 months in London. So in honour of my recent anniversary, I present the further list of things that I've learned in London in the three years since leaving Australia:

1) Life in London is one of extremes. Life in Brisbane was a little more constant, where most days were like "yeah, I feel okay... but only okay... not great... not miserable". But here, emotions are a little more manic. When I'm low, I feel like a small cog in the gargantuan money-making machine of the city (and City). And yet when things are good, I feel so lucky to be living in what seems like the centre-of-the-universe. Nauseatingly London-centric, I know. Yet strangely, life in London is almost always one of those extremes, and rarely anything in-between. When I'm asked if I'm "still loving London" - as I so often am when holidaying in Australia - the most accurate answer I can think of is, "I love it 95% of the time, and I hate it 5% of the time". Maybe this balance will change one day, which is when I'll know it's time to pack up and move on.

2) There is a lot to be said for the easy-going Australian sensibility. People keep to themselves in London - which at times I must admit is wonderful, like a warm blanket, when I want to hide - but it also does often add up to moments where you feel like you co-exist with eight million people, yet know none of them. It can be, at times, incredibly lonely. Someone once said to me that in English culture, one needs to be introduced first before attempting to get to know someone. I'm not sure it's quite as extreme as it was, say 100 years ago, but there does seem to me that there is a lingering sentiment. So I think it no strange coincidence that the majority of my closest friends in London are Australians, most of whom are people I did not know before I left. I love multicultural London, but for that instant/immediate connection I can't go past an Australian, it's just easier.

3) A smile, apparently, means more than just a smile. I attend the same gym that I have attended since taking my first flat in Covent Garden in 2005. It seems to me to be basic common courtesy that if you see the same faces three or four times a week, it's not only appropriate but basic common courtesy to acknowledge those people. The form of the acknowledgement might vary, from a cool-nod-of-the-head to a warm smile. I really don't care what it is, as long as it's there. But for some, it seems, that's too much. Without any exaggeration, I could lock eyes with someone at my gym, and acknowledge them with the briefest of smiles, and will still be blanked... three years after first clapping eyes on them. The rudeness is staggering. Which makes me think that to some people, a smile always always means more than a smile... and that's just plain bloody silly.