We are creatures of habit; we crave routine; we thrive in the situations where we know exactly what we’re doing – because we’ve done it hundreds of times before. The inevitable, however, is that nothing ever really remains the same. It’s the thing that we fear most – change – which reshapes our habits and routines until they become unrecognisable from the ones we had before.

I moved to London last weekend. It’s been seven whole days of wrapping my head around a new space that is meant to feel like ‘home’ to me, and sure enough, parts of it already do. Going to university was different. We lived in the designated student neighbourhoods, we compromised on housemates, and it was the place we only stayed during term time, returning home to our families at the call of easter, Christmas, summer. The decision to move to London was entirely my own – I got to pick exactly who I wanted to live with and where we wanted to live. I played a part in designing my future, knowing that all of this will add up to some alteration in my life further down the line.

I love my family home – to me, it is the safest place on earth. It has been, perhaps, the biggest constant in my life since I was about 3 years old. The place where my mother was, the place where my father still is. The place surrounded by everyone I love most, the place with my cats and my bed and my baby photos. But there comes a time where we know change is waiting on the other side of the door, should we be ready to open up and let it in.

Enter: moving out. Although I am arguably the biggest advocate for things staying the same – I know that without change, nothing in life can progress. I suppose it’s a natural calling, like a bird flying the nest, and it seems to be wrapped in fear and excitement – with neither emotion distinguishable from the other. It humours me that we, as humans, are optimistic enough to do something that feels so uncertain, because of the promise that the change holds. It is not lost on me how fortunate I am to be able to make these decisions about my life; to have the people around me that are holding the net far below, should I fall.

My commute to work was revolutionised, my cooking skills are being roused from their state of hibernation, and I’m adjusting to life without a tumble dryer. There is music, and laughter, and shared fatigue after a long day at work. The herbs on my window sill have rewarded my attention and care, and are beginning to sprout before the cold winter heads in to make everything a bit harder. My sister stayed over last night, and I put her on the bus back to Victoria this morning. I know my home is always going to be there, waiting with open arms to let me back into the fold.

It’s been a week. Change has prevailed. Johnson was out, Truss in. Our monarch of 70 years did all she needed to do, and she left us so quickly, after so long of being around. Boris – for all his faults – managed to write words that left us in tears, Paddington bear too. And there we were – two of my best friends and I – navigating this epic change that we had inflicted upon ourselves.

I can’t claim to understand this change in my life yet. Of course I don’t, it has only been seven days. But so much has happened already, and so much is brimming on the horizon, that I have no choice but to let it carry me along. It is also then that we realise this idea of ‘change’ is flawed – there is no life without change, there is no change without life. I am nervous, happy, apprehensive, and hopeful, all at once.