I wrote this post at the end of 2012, just over a year on from when we arrived back in Australia after six years living in London and six months travelling ‘home’. It sat in my ‘drafts’ file for a very long time waiting to be published. It is one of those posts that is very personal and had me continually wondering if it is something that people want to read or if it is just me being totally self indulgent and negative. But I figure that it is my experience, and there is no wrong or right in people’s experiences. They just are. So here goes …

As the curtain closes on another year I can’t help but feel a little lost in that limbo land between nostalgia for the past and dreaming about what the future might hold. It is most certainly sunnier this side of the world. And boy is it nice to see that big blue sky when you throw open the curtains in the morning instead of the seemingly eternal grey that London can throw at you. And yet, I still seem to be searching.

It occurred to me one afternoon, whilst running home through Bicentennial Park next to the sparkling harbour under the big blue sky, with the sun shining on my back, that whilst I was now living in a city that was blessed with copious amounts of lovely days I was still searching for sunshine. But not literally, more metaphorically. Searching for the things in life that bring joy, satisfaction, contentment and sense of meaning and contributing. I guess that’s what we are all searching for. The question I am asking myself now is how much does place contribute to your happiness?

Coming ‘home’ has been one of the biggest challenges I have faced and has been so much harder than I imagined. We are so lucky to have so much choice in our lives, but then so many options can be a crippling thing, especially for a Libran belonging to a family of procrastinators! I watch television shows and read newspaper articles about people living in impoverished situations, barely able to feed their families, who are working so incredibly hard to survive and yet manage to be happy. And I feel so guilty for complaining that I don’t feel happy where I am. But then I figure that I have been blessed with the opportunities given to me in this lifetime and I have to make the most of them (whilst of course also trying to ensure that the life I lead benefits others and this beautiful world of ours).

I don’t think I realised until we left London how much it had become home. I loved living in that amazing city, and of course it is easy to forget all the things that drove you crazy about it when you are romanticising it from afar, but I felt as if I belonged and was part of one great big living, breathing organism. I loved the feeling of history that seeped out of every building and made walking through the streets feel like you were surrounded by friends even if you were completely alone. I loved the culture and the fact that on any given weekend there were hundreds of things to do. I loved the amazing markets full of creative goods, yummy food and quirky characters. I loved that it is a city full of people with so much energy and enthusiasm, desperate to make the most of life and always up for a new adventure. I loved that within a matter of hours I could be in another country. The joy of knowing that within a matter of hours I could be in Paris, that romantic, fabulous city where dreams come true to me was truly one of life’s great joys!

I adore the lovely friends that I made in London. You were all, and continue to be, a source of inspiration, warmth and light in my life. I think being away from the familiar, from where you grew up and from family, make the friendships you form all the more special. The people I met in London were kindred spirits, full of adventure, excitement, energy and in constant search of ‘sunshine’. Endlessly supportive we knew we could count on each other when times got tough. Friendships like those are hard to come by and it has been very sad being so far away from my mates.

We dreamt of moving to Sydney to settle down, to feel the sunshine on our shoulders, to walk barefoot in the grass and swim in the sea. To have a little place to call our own, with a little garden and a furry friend. Whilst Sydney has provided lots of things in bucketloads, she has also provided us with a lot of brick walls. Unbelievably expensive real estate, unhelpful landlords, hostile neighbours and the challenges of setting up a new business in a city where contacts are everything. Of course these things are not unique to Sydney, and other people have moved here and loved it immediately, but they have been a part of our experience of Sydney.

The distinct drop off in travel opportunities has also hit us hard. It seems we have incurable wanderlust. So we spend days at a time dreaming up ways we can continue to fit travel into our lives. Sometimes it seems silly, and other days I think well this life is precious and we have to be true to ourselves and live it in a way that makes us proud and happy.

So I guess the point of this post is to say that I am still searching. Searching for a place to call home, or maybe coming to terms with the fact that we may always be nomadic spirits who need to invent our own way of living that will feed our passions.

Tell me, how much do you think place affects happiness? Have you moved somewhere only to find that it was not what you imagined it would be? Do you think travel is something you can ever get over? I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences.