I’m Doing It: After Living 12 Years in London, I’m Moving to Malta

I’m buzzed, I’m terrified, I’m hopeful — all at once

Me two years ago, staring into the (blue) magic Gozo has to offer. Photo by author.

Last night, I was sent the contract for the apartment I’ll be renting by myself for the first time in my life. I’m turning 35 tomorrow. Which means: Ever since I moved out of my family home at 19, I’ve never lived in a place (or rented one) that was only “mine.” The math on that is 16 years. I tell you this so you can comprehend at least a fraction of the excitement I feel. A fraction because even I have trouble containing the enormous anticipation, overwhelming anxiety, and crippling uncertainty that’s so thunderous in my mind that it drowns out any other thoughts.

Do you know the feeling of nervous excitement that physically makes you fidget? Overwrought with a tense sensation that sends your body into a vibration and triggers insomnia? Well, I have a big dose of that. It usually happens before a pivotal change occurs in your life. The day prior to starting a new job; adopting your first dog; getting married; or having your first child (I assume). I love this feeling, but it also scares me to death. Perhaps I do because it terrifies me — as we know, fear is nature’s best adrenaline-inducing drug.

I’m not just moving into a new place, though. I’m moving to a country where I’ve only been once before (for a one-week holiday), without knowing anyone or having a job waiting for me. To anybody other than immigrants, this is an extreme sport. If my current, relatively comfortable, life is an airplane, I’m voluntarily jumping out of it unaware of what lies beneath me. Although I’ve been planning this kamikaze act longer than I’d want to admit, it still feels surreal. It hasn’t fully registered in my brain because I’m afraid to let it.

I’m cautious about dreaming up fantasies since I’ve been burned by them too many times before. I’m trying to manage my expectations because I know how much disappointment hurts, how my imagination can betray me, and how my idealistic (and likely unrealistic) future visions can be shot down like a careless deer chewing on grass.

Here are some concrete, stone-cold facts: I’ve only seen the apartment I’m about to lease for a year through a video call. I met the owner (a nice old lady, a florist, in…