As mentioned in my previous post, I was stroking an alpaca in Balliol college – it was so Oxford – it was so home.
Where you call home is critical for happiness- like a plant in its soil – you can either thrive or wilt in your surroundings. Some people need to live remotely in the countryside – others need the energy of a capital city. You can’t imagine the larger-than-life Lady Gaga being happy in Port Isaac or scientist Brian Cox feeling home in L.A.
London was the best place to be when I was 23. The summer of 2014 was spent in South London, scoffing Honest Burgers and walking off hangovers in Southbank. After years of cramming under elbows under tubes, living in a box, and working in the ad world, I wanted to escape – so I did. I escaped to Brisbane.
Brisbane had its perks: the slowness, the fact you don’t have to queue for anything, and somewhere between the constant beach weekends and the gym selfies- I wilted.
So back home I went.
It was never planned that I would return to Oxford, but something felt natural about it at the time.
It’s the land of academics. The 65+ must be some of the MEANEST 65+ in the world, and there is nothing like being surrounded by the brightest 20-year-olds to ground you, but somehow I fit in – somehow. It’s not just because I grew up here; people from all walks of life in this city fit like a square block going into a square space. My Canadian friend, for example, thinks so deeply about everything that there is only one place to accommodate that capacity of thinking.
I’m off Hinge now – it was a sweeping trial that made me want to be a spinster for the rest of my days.
However, it was fascinating to see how many young men planned to drive a van around the world for a year – something that our generation has become obsessed with. I can only imagine the Instagram-able vision that they have in their minds…
…but surely happiness is not found on the 36th week of instant noodles on a highway?
Nobody is bad in bed – they’re just with the wrong person* Nobody is bad at their job – they’re just in the wrong place. I worked with an illustrator once who used to beat herself up constantly that she wasn’t talented enough. She was trained and talented – but the company wasn’t right for her.
And home – if you must escape it to find happiness – then maybe it’s not home at all.
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THE QUACK 