It’s too late to change my mind and turn back now. On Saturday I’ll be flying out of London Heathrow and landing in Basel. It’s a curious feeling to book a one-way flight away from the country I’ve always lived in, and I’m sure it will feel only stranger once I’m actually sat on the flight.
Having spent the last two weeks in recluse at my mum’s house in Norfolk, it’ll be a breath of fresh air to escape and start a new life elsewhere. A list of firsts awaits me; first time moving abroad, first time living alone, first time changing job, just to name a few. As a result I’ve fluctuated between spells of neurotic nervousness and elevated excitement.
A few other things I have noticed since reaching my final week in the UK:
- “When are you coming back?” is a frequent question that I’ve encountered from family, friends, and strangers alike. “I dunno, maybe never” doesn’t always feel like a response they wanted.
- I’m bored of waiting to move now. I handed in my notice in London back in December and managed to see out my three months’ notice period without going crazy. Although that “three months to go” has matured into “three days to go” it’s still a great distance off.
- Everything I do now comes with an innate though about whether it’ll be my ‘last’. My ‘last’ bill payment. My ‘last’ trip to the cinema. My ‘last’ pint.
Although I’m experiencing so many lasts, the promise of so many firsts is undoubtedly enticing.