somehow when i thought about coming back to london, i imagined that certain things would be fun – cooking nice fresh healthy meals (nothing like not being able to eat salad to make you appreciate vegetables), re-exploring the city, and flat hunting.

boy was i wrong on that last count.

i haven’t actually gone flat-hunting or picked my own place to live since i moved from nyc to boston about 8 years ago. back then, i remember walking into what would become our apartment and falling instantly in love. it had lots of room, lots of wood, lots of storage, lots of light. it had a porch and a yard and a dishwasher and a cellar. but what really snagged my heart was the pantry – i could picture myself putting groceries away in the pantry and looking out on my garden. and that’s how i knew it was “the one”.

so i was there for almost 4 years and when i finally left, i was heartbroken, but convinced that my move to london would bring brighter things.

moving to london, i ended up in my first place basically by default. since i didn’t know anyone in the city and had no place to stay, when this woman angela agree to rent me a room sight unseen 3 days before my flight, i jumped at it. luckily it all worked out rather well – angela was lovely, the room and flat were cute, and i ended up staying for a year.

the reason for my second move in london came when i fell in love with jonno and he asked me to move in 3 weeks after we met. he lived in a peculiar location (above a car dealership) but it was a great flat – huge, neat, clean, and dirt cheap. it had a giant kitchen, two bathrooms, two balconies, and best friends for next-door neighbours. we had a lot of good times in that flat – impromtpu summer barbeques, big thanksgiving dinners, communal christmasses. it held a place in my heart because it was the first place in the u.k. where i had family. we were there for a couple of years and when we had to relinquish it to leave for our trip, i was gutted.

but neither of these apartments were places that i chose. and while they were places that i grew to love, they weren’t “my” places.

so upon returning a few weeks ago, one of the few things i looked forward to was choosing a new home. someplace that reflected me, in an area i wanted to live in, with things i chose.

the problem with that of course, is that i am not living by myself. there is another opinion for consideration. so where i wanted a nice central location even if it meant a smaller apartment, jonno wanted a bigger space even if it meant living a bit further out. where i was willing to live without furniture until we could buy our own, jonno wanted to find someplace furnished. where i was happy enough to have a view of the city, jonno wanted a garden. disputes and discouragement soon got the better of us. and in the end, we decided to plump for the first place we saw. i think i probably liked it better than he did, but we were both too worn down to continue the search. we came to the realisation that we were never going to find someplace amazingly wonderful with our budget and time constraints. so we agreed to the only place we both liked. hardly love at first sight.

only to then run into a series of snags, the result of being out of the country for 6 months and me being unemployed. this is all way too much anxiety for me. all the calls back and forth trying to explain our current circumstances, track down references, find our old landlord… it’s all putting knots in my stomach, stressing me out. if all works out, we will have the flat on wednesday. if there are further obstacles… well, i don’t want to think about that. this is definitely no fun.

i just want someplace to call home. i’m hoping this flat will be it. and it will be mine because i chose it. maybe it won’t be a flat that i fell in love with. but i have a boy who loves me – and i will grow to love it because he is there. i can picture that now – see us curled up on the sofa drinking coffee and looking out over london. he is the one that snagged my heart.

and that’s home.

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