‎”You would fit in so well in London.”

That’s what Ryan, my Irish coworker who lived in London for a while, told me last night. My grandmother also feels that way and raved to me all about it after her last trip there. “Yeah, you need to go there and get you one of them English boys!” And then of course, I met someone last night whose good friend’s husband wrote one of my new favorite shows that shoots there because of course I did.

I have irrationally loved London for quite some time. Years now. Maybe that’s why my accent is so good. Though I’m not really sure which is the chicken or the egg in that scenario. In my dream world, I go Vancouver-London-Sydney.
I think.
I’m actually not so sure anymore.

It’s confusing.  I wish I could just fully love LA. It would be so much simpler. Cheaper.
I especially don’t understand the pulls to Canada and the UK when I hate being cold and dreary weather depresses the hell out of me. AND LONDON DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A BEACH! (Although, even if it did, how many beach days are we talking a year? 10?)

I joked to my mom this morning, “Maybe it’s not about Vancouver or London. Maybe it’s just about the Olympics. Next I’ll be obsessed with Rio.”

I am prone to overthinking things and this certainly does not help.
I’m planning a trip back to Vancouver but, if I want to go to London, then I have to go before summer when it will be crazy expensive/booked out. I can’t afford to do both so do I trust the old or gamble on the new? Did Vancouver not work out because I’m meant to be elsewhere? Or is that a coward’s way of excusing giving up? What if there’s nothing in London and I just randomly attach to things that I have no logical business attaching to? How do I know how to trust what I want?

I don’t know.

I think wanderlust is a nice-sounding way to describe the constant nagging feeling that your life would be better somewhere else.

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About J.

A former twentysomething with a head full of curls and heart full of questions wondering: when we get to nirvana, will there be food?
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