Somewhere I’m Not

I’m leaving again…

Or at least, I feel like I am.

I should say, I live in Sydney. I moved back six months ago from London. I left everything — again. Packed up my life into two suitcases and started over, yet again.

And now I’m here, months later, not even fully unpacked.

Still living out of suitcases, as if I’m about to leave once more.

Why do I always want to be somewhere I’m not?

It’s become a pattern of mine. Or maybe it’s something I’ve just grown used to. My whole life has been a bit of a whirlwind — I’ve probably lived in over twenty houses in my twenty-five years of life.

And with that comes instability.

I’m used to moving. Used to change.

Maybe that’s why I struggle to stay anywhere for long.

I feel like I can’t be in one place for more than a year.

My body craves change.

Or maybe more honestly — it craves the feeling of it.

I was reading something by psychologist Robert Holden about destination addiction — the idea that happiness is always somewhere else. In the next place, the next job, the next version of your life.

It’s the belief that your life will finally make sense when you get there.

That who you are now is temporary, and the real version of you is waiting somewhere else — in a different city, a different environment, a different life.

And because of that, it keeps you moving.

Chasing the next place, not always because you want to go —

but because you don’t quite feel like you can stay.

And I think I’ve been living inside that mindset for a long time.

Because every time I leave, it feels like possibility.

Like everything could shift. Like I could become someone new.

And for a while, it works.

Everything feels fresh. Lighter. More exciting.

Even you feel different — more open, more confident, more alive.

But then there’s hedonic adaptation — the idea that no matter what changes, we eventually return to a baseline level of happiness.

Psychologists often call it the “hedonic treadmill” — because no matter how far you run, you tend to end up back where you started emotionally.

A new city feels like a high at first.

New routines, new energy, new identity.

But slowly, your brain adjusts.

What once felt exciting becomes familiar.

What felt like a fresh start becomes your normal life.

Not because the place isn’t good enough —

but because we are wired to adapt to everything.

Even the things we once thought would change everything.

And that part has been harder to sit with.

Because maybe that’s what I’ve been chasing without realising.

When I’m constantly leaving, I stay in that in-between space —

not long enough for anything to fully settle.

I get the beginning —

but I never stay for what comes after.

There’s no real disappointment.

But there’s also no real depth.

I never get too comfortable.

But I also never get too fulfilled.

It’s like I exist in this steady middle —

where nothing is ever quite enough to stay,

but never bad enough to force me to.

And maybe that’s why it works for me.

Because if I keep moving, I never have to find out how I actually feel about a place… or a life… or even myself in it.

I keep saying I want to challenge myself.

Maybe that’s my excuse for leaving again and again.

But maybe instead of leaving this time,

the challenge isn’t leaving again —

maybe it’s staying.

Staying when the feeling fades.

Staying when things feel ordinary.

Staying long enough to experience something deeper than just the beginning.

Because maybe growth doesn’t always look like change.

Maybe sometimes…

it looks like staying exactly where you are

and letting it become something real.