When I was planning my move from London back to Sydney five years ago, the director of my team said to me, "I’m worried you’ll be lonely," or something along those lines.
I can’t remember her exact words because I was too busy thinking, "OMG I can't believe she has agreed to this."
The condition of this move was that I would become a sole trader. I would be my own boss, in a way, based on the other side of the world, with the exception of fancy London-based press events which they would fly me back for.
DREAM JOB.
After a decade of being fixed to one physical workplace or another, it was the freedom and autonomy I’d been longing for. Or so it seemed.
Flash forward and I’m now 30 years old.
I’m currently in London, standing on the side of the street at 9am, eating a cheese-filled pastry stick. The significance of this moment is that it's my last day at my dream job because I can’t do it anymore.
For the first time in my life, I’m really lonely.
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