Next week will mark one year since I arrived in Australia – 12 months since my husband and cat, Mabel, arrived with suitcases full of skin care products we feared we wouldn’t be able to buy here and clothes that just didn’t suit the climate.
In some ways, we are still finding our footing. We know what life is like here, how much it costs, which part of Canberra we feel most at home in, and we are searching for a new place to live. We know which cafe has the best breakfast, where to catch the bus to IKEA, we have found a dentist and a trusted GP, the same people every time we go, who listen when we tell them we have issues that affect our quality of life. We still don’t understand the Australian health system. After a year of living in Canberra, we understand the basics of living in the rhythm of a place, not the dance-like flirtation that comes with visiting.
As I prepare to return home next week for my first visit since moving, Australia’s capital city is slipping out the back door of winter and embracing a hesitant spring. Buds are creaking on the trees, the air is full of that comforting warm scent of crushed leaves as nature awakens (parallel to my own hay fever, Australian pollen is relentless), and locals are whispering to each other again about the Armageddon that will begin when the city’s dashing, fierce magpies lay their eggs, “protect” them from passing cyclists, and loom in a black-and-white blur as fast as a nun caught talking to a class can measure them with a meter stick.
The journey home is no joke. About 35 hours in all. 35 hours of restless legs, dry air, fluctuating temperatures, and the increasing gassing and body odor of hundreds of people trapped in a metal tube traveling at high speed between hemispheres. It’s one of the most uncomfortable flights you can take, but at the end, even if you’re a little out of breath and jet-lagged and mad, you’ll be home with your friends and family.
As I prepare for my trip this week, I’m reminded that deciding to move thousands of kilometres away from home forces you to think about your life and your future in ways that are easy to avoid in a more familiar environment. When we arrived in Australia a year ago, we were open-minded. We were tired of life in London: the exorbitant cost of everything, the little access to healthcare, the long commutes on expensive and temperamental trains, and the prospect of continuing that disastrous pattern forever.
[ Laura Kennedy: ‘On the supermarket shelf, Mr Tayto felt as relatable as any other Irish immigrant in a new country. Out of place’Opens in new window ]
For those who have struggled to make it in cities like London or Dublin, Australia is objectively the easier option, once you’ve got a visa, and cities like Canberra in particular are a little less exciting than places like Sydney or Melbourne, making life there easier and more relaxed.
The cost of living is much lower and it’s just easier overall. I left home at 8:45 this morning for a 9am salon appointment. No traffic, no rush, and not too long a commute. The food is good, the people are friendly rather than cranky or rushing from place to place. If the luster of European city life has faded with the staleness of constant stress, Australia really feels different.
For me at least, it’s not a place where the idea of living here is disastrously at odds with reality: it’s a place that’s familiar enough to barely evoke culture shock, yet different enough to take your breath away.
I am looking forward to returning home and feel very lucky to have a job that allows me to go home for a month with my laptop under my arm, but after a year in Australia I still don’t know what the future holds – will I stay here, will I return home eventually, or will I live somewhere else entirely in the future?
Once you move and completely change your life, you realize that it is an option. You don’t have to settle in one place if you don’t want to, especially if you don’t have kids. Also, living in different countries might ironically make you someone who has a hard time putting down roots in one place. I know that when I come back and sit down for tea with my loved ones, they will be asking me about my “plans.” After a year, my family and friends will want to know if we are staying or going back.
[ It’s no wonder so many of us are lonely. Friendship has become harder and more complexOpens in new window ]
Surely a year is enough time to know if you like a place, right?
Enough to get a sense of whether you could settle there. As I discovered, at least in my case, the answer is “not really,” because you don’t know if Australia is your permanent home or just for a few years.
I sometimes wonder if the concept of settling down is a luxury that our generation can never quite afford or take for granted. The idea of spending most of our lives in one place as part of a tight-knit community may be a myth for people who enjoy job security and economic stability that are subject to very different world conditions than the one our parents grew up in. It can be hard to envision our own future, as the future in general seems unpredictable.
In the current circumstances, uncertainty may be the most reasonable position (though I’m not sure that explanation will be accepted next week when my mother-in-law asks me when my son is coming home).
