The Girl and the (New) City
Moving to another city as an exercise in knowing thyself
Changing cities is, among other things, a major life decluttering. It’s not simply about changing a job and an apartment. Everything around you changes: your daily conversations, your social circle, your commute… You start moving to a new beat of the city, entering a subtle conversation with it. It’s a clean slate: you can fine-tune your personality, your habits, your… everything.
This is the time that offers great opportunities for change.
I moved from Kiev to Moscow a month ago (for no political reasons). I wasn’t quite sure of myself at the time. Too many uncertainties, too many things that could go wrong… Actually, I never got to expressing what exactly it was that I expected to go wrong, but there was this general feeling that all was somehow too easy, that I must have been forgetting something, or maybe miscalculating. A whole month in, I can say that it all went better than I imagined. After all, people really are bad at predicting their own happiness.
Some things that I learned in my first month.
Any big city offers a variety of lifestyles. You can never have the whole city — not that you’d want it all anyway. You can pick and choose what to do, where to go, and maybe even what to be. New experiences shape you thoughts. A new place is a great way to refresh the inside of your head. Exposing myself to new things helped me a lot. We are used to a static perception of ourselves. Moving to another place provides a chance to rethink yourself through experiences. My guess is that if you’re totally unhappy with yourself, changing the geography wouldn’t help much, other than serving as a refreshing exercise. But if you’re generally satisfied with who you are, you can look into really upgrading yourself.
The bigger the city, the more variety you have. Here, in Moscow, I almost immediately felt the enhancement to my cultural life. More exhibitions, theaters, festivals — whatever you want. Another side of this seemingly endless variety is that I stopped the fear of missing out. I can’t be everywhere, see everything, nor do I want this. At times, I prefer a quiet evening at home with a book, music, or simply in my own thoughts. Of course, having a nice place (and I was lucky to find with minimal effort an apartment that I found perfect for me) pays off — you enjoy spending time alone there. There’s always a company and an entertainment waiting for you, but never underestimate quiet introverted hours at home.
My ’resolution’ of sorts is to spend time with more quality. Not to run around screaming on the inside “please, entertain me,” but to do things that are either good for you or you enjoy greatly. In Kiev, I have many friends and a lot, lot of acquaintances. It’s easy being entertained: you go out, meet someone new every day (should you wish so), keep endless and pointless conversations. When I moved to Moscow, I was ready to stay underentertained. However, I underestimated both the number of friends I have here and the ability to make new friends. The first couple of weeks were spent going out probably every night, especially after my brief apartment hunt was over. And then I set out on a mission for quality control. Now I don’t go out as often, sometimes preferring to process the experiences I already have instead of hunting for new ones. Establishing my own rhythm.
It’s like choosing to read a book instead of Facebook thread. Facebook is easier, and it gives you a pleasant feeling of keeping up with life. But the ’afterglow’ of a book is incomparable to that of a social network feed.
A surprise realization about home is how unusual it is not to have books. Before moving, I decided to limit my longform reading to Kindle, and got rid of all paper books. Now, I’m rethinking the whole strategy and planning to fill up a shelf with books here. I never anticipated that having no books would have a strong effect on me — but looking back, I can see clearly now that from the moment I was born, I always had books where I lived, and without them, it feels as though something vital is missing. Maybe some people treat carpets on the walls in the same way — the infamous ‘coziness’ of the place.
Walking around, with no particular reason and destination, was another thing that I started doing. I suspect that I could be doing it in Kiev a lot more as well, but a new location has enabled this superpower. The time taking a walk, when you don’t have somewhere to be, makes you experience the place deeper, feel how the city ’breathes’, take in the whole atmosphere.
I never missed any stuff. I packed very lightly, carrying only an essential wardrobe and some things that were meaningful for me. I don’t remember missing anything at all. Hell, I’m not even decorating my new place much. Only have yet to buy sound speakers — another must for my home apart from books.
Overall, the experience of living in a new city is great for me. During my graduation year, when I moved to Kiev, it was absolutely different — I didn’t have much confidence, I was confused, it was also moving out of parents’ home. The first year or so felt weird — with great moments, but very confusing. This time, I know myself much better, and I am more comfortable with what I have and what I want.
Changing location now feels like this amazing chance to get rid of what you don’t like (in yourself and in your environment) and keep what you want and like.
Right now, I’m probably at an arrogant stage, trying to make the city fill up my needs. At the same time, I realize that where you are and what you do changes you too. These first months are a romantic stage in the relationship between the city and myself. I’m holding on to it, dearly.
