What happened? How did I get here, to this wild place? I found myself completely alone and all at sea. It was kind of an accident, somewhat spontaneous. And entirely unavoidable. I jumped off the edge of Britain. Off to follow the birds south. And here I am. Thousands of miles from home. It was an unexpected departure but it had been coming for a while. I’d been caught up in the city for too long. A decade of living and working in London. I’d loved it, my place there, my job – a features editor for the Guardian – friends nearby. It was a life that really suited me… until it no longer did. It wasn’t London that changed, it was me: like trying to squeeze into the wrong-sized shoes – you love them so much, but they don’t fit.
It wasn’t just the city that didn’t fit. My boyfriend and I broke up. After decades of being one half of a couple, at 40, I was suddenly single. Still, I thought, it would be good for me to stand on my own two feet. So I was surprised to find I was lonely. I tried dating apps and quickly despaired of the tick lists and bios, the swiping and empty message exchanges. At best it was a time-consuming chore. Worse than work. Next came a dysfunctional fling that was exciting for about two minutes then miserable for aeons, eroding my self-esteem in the process. That was the loneliest time of all. I tried to fill evenings and weekends, couldn’t bear to be alone without plans. But I went too far, partied too hard, failed to look after myself and unravelled emotionally. I’d wake up feeling anxious or tearful without explanation, there was a prolonged period of sorrow, overwhelming feelings of emptiness. There were many factors at play but I was old enough to recognise my part in this spiral. What do they say about being lonely? Find a hobby. I turned my eyes to the sea; to where my little boat, Isean, was waiting.
