Its a strange thing, to leave home. Its even stranger when the home is an adopted one. In leaving London I felt/feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself, while simultaneously feeling ridiculous for feeling this way (lots of feelings happening here) because the truth is – London, the UK, never really was my home. I’m an American. I should feel most comfortable here, among peers who understand my culture and accent. However, I am an American who has always felt more at home anywhere but here.

I still remember the first time I went to the UK and my immediate love for it. It was the first time, at the age of 16 I'd ever travelled internationally and almost immediately it was as if I had arrived home – rather than leaving it. I had entered my comfort zone.

There have been a few articles bouncing around my social feed lately about ‘what it feels like to leave london’. I associate with them, I agree with them, and it is only upon seeing these and watching/hearing about other friends leaving that city that I realized, finally - after a year and a half - that I’ve done the same thing. I left London. London is in my past. Although my gut reaction when anyone asks me where I am from is to say 'London', that is no longer true (and really never has been). And that is heartbreaking. It is with great effort that the words 'Washington. State.' form on my lips when approached with this question.

London may yet still be in my future – I hope so – because the thought of London being something that I did when I was young, an anecdote that I tell my children or future friends feels foreign, seem strange, not right. My mind can't shake the fact that I am a Londoner even if my reality is long past this.

This city on the other hand. New York. Few I know who leave it then long for it back. Stories here are of burnout, of maturity. Of too much, too fast and now ready for a change . New York is a beast. Some people take pride in surviving it. Some, I’m sure would even say they are thriving on it. But it seems, to me, something instead to be managed for a time. A stepping stone, akin to getting a college degree. The city is fun while it it lasts and then we move on. New York becomes the thing you check off your list, something you conquer and then leave in pursuit of a quite, more manageable, more quality life. Of course, it could just be me. There is a lot of back and forth, a lot of love and hate with any big city. And I’ve had no shortage of great moments in New York nor miserable ones in London. But I’ve never felt a longing for a place (or even person) as much as I have for London.

This blog is no stranger to it – I imagine most are so used to my posts on this topic since I’ve left the UK that I’ve lost many a follower. I even considered not putting this post up. Keeping it personal, private, simply using it as a means to put my thoughts to paper and release them from my ever spinning, thinking mind. And then, almost simultaneously, I decided to post it and that this would be the last of its kind. It would be the last comparison, the last public longing for a place I have willingly left behind. I’ve made my bed, so I will live in it. New York is not bad a place to choose. I will keep my longing to my journal – where such things belong. And instead, take a stab at positive reinforcement. Blogging about the things, the times, the moments that make this city interesting and keep us all intrigued –whether for good or bad. Even those who hate the city or don’t understand it are intrigued as to the ‘why’. Why we bother. So its time to explore and find the answer to this, the 'Why'.

So here we go. Lets start again. Next Post coming soon.