22 & not a clue

A balmy day that started with torrential rain and built into something similar to Southern Spain. Ice creams dripped and dogs panted whilst kids dipped dinky toes into Diana's memorial fountains.

Hiding from the sun in Hyde Park, a novel idea struck upon by hundreds of Londoners every lazy Saturday afternoon since the dawn of Londinium itself. We weren't unique.

Bunches of buddies and pools of pals broke bread and sunk ciders, celebrating 48 hours of 'well deserved' freedom - for don't we all work 5 days to live for 2?

Luxuriating on scratchy pieces of green making a patchwork of blankets smothering the lawn, each group from one to the next, the old, the young and the beautiful sagging into make-shift seats or folding into deck chairs.

Today we were young and golden, tomorrow we're back in the office.

There is this viscious chicken or the egg paradox which comes with living in London. You can't get a flat without a job and getting a job is infinitely harder when you're sleeping on a friends sofa without your own flat. So when I lost my dream flat in Shepherds bush for the second time I realised I wasn't going to get it all. 

I'm breaking up with the sofa I've been sleeping on for the past month and moving to Kent. Further from London, more expensive to commute. Why? Because it will be to live with my wonderful boyfriend, I'll be cared for and truthfully? It's the only realistic option I have left. I don't actually have anywhere else to go. 

When I got the news on Friday I sobbed unprofessionally and left blue roll bits everywhere. When my colleagues found my hiding place I knew work (my current PR internship) wasn't the best place for me today. I left and had multiple dramatic phone calls with my Iron Lady Norn Irish Ma. A plan of action was then made once I'd had a cup of tea and cried some more. 

Now, on Sunday evening I'm on a replacement rail service bus from London Bridge heading back to the sofa after a wonderful weekend with the beard. I still have absolutely no idea what the next four weeks are going to look like. Nor do I know when I will be moving back to London. But I do know I'll be ok. I do know that in 8 weeks time I'll look back and think, 'that was absolutely shite, but I'm fine now'. I know this because it's happened before. I learnt from it the last time. I dealt with this uncertainty and fear before. I have got experience. 

And despite everything, that feels good, that makes everything just a tiny bit better. Because this too shall pass.

I have already been back in London a month. Most of which has been spent either sleeping on a friends sofa or in front of my battered cream (*grey) mac book scouring the net for either a home or a job. After many viewings of would-be drug dens & one dream adult-cream-carpeted-wooden-floored chick pad I got my dream home & I move in in under two weeks. Hurrah! 

They say life begins at 40.
Well I bloody hope not.

I'm only just beginning, only just getting started on all this adult life stuff & I'm in love with it. The struggle & the complete uncertainty. Sure most of the time it leaves my stomach in knots, my brain fried & my bank account completely empty like a really bad lover. But it's living. This is life, and sure it's not meant to always be this hard. But you have to put the ground work in before you can expect results.

Staying up till all hours planning, editing and hunting down contacts has become my routine. I have to get up 30 minutes earlier just to manage all of my social media. These days, like right now for example, I write my posts on my Blogger app standing precariously wedged between a Thai woman in my armpit and the bearded hunk I try to flirt awkwardly with most mornings.
This is my life. I do a dull data entry job that pays well by day & write and plan every other waking hour of the day. It's not bad by most people's standards. But my god if someone offered me the chance to write back in London I'd jump through hoops of fire, kiss endless frogs & get the companies name tattooed on my arse.

That's how bad I want this. You have gotta have passion. If its not there then what Are you doing?

We're all just looking for a break. That opportune moment when the universe conspires to throw us a bone. I'm hunting for my bone & maybe it will just find me. Like love, a career has to be pursued, but maybe there's something to be said for having faith that it will happen if you let it.
Network, work hard, do everything besides that you love even if it means writing into the small hours & don't give up hope.

We're in our 20s baby, this was never meant to be easy.