On Moving to Bangkok and Gripping the Second Trapeze

I moved to Bangkok.

Forgive me for the blunt delivery, but when I came to write this post I wasn’t sure what I want to say about it. I didn’t want to say, “Look at me and my jet-set lifestyle – I just casually moved to Bangkok!” because there’s been a complex backstory to get me here.

I didn’t want this to be “Everything’s fine now, I’m back in Asia!” because as I’ve learned the hard way this past year, packing up your life and moving to the other side of the world doesn’t solve your problems, no matter how much travel inspires you.

And finally, I didn’t want to say, “By the way, I just moved to Bangkok NBD” because it is a big deal for me. I’m working as a content writer for a sustainable travel company in one of the coolest cities in the world (no humblebrag intended). It’s a big change and finally – F I N A L L Y – one that feels good and has come about for the right reasons.

These past two-three years have been a long limbo period full of false starts; one step forward followed by two steps back. For those who don’t know, a quick catch-up: I moved back to the UK from Hong Kong (via Italy, Southeast Asia and Qatar), my depression flared up and I fell into a deep pit of despair, I freelanced for little money, I did the digital nomad thing in Mexico, I returned to England for therapy.

I’ve rebelled, fought, struggled, pushed, given up, questioned, started again, become still, become restless, become rootless… there have been a lot of new beginnings, but none have fully followed through.

Two-three years is a long time to be stuck in the page-turning position, between one chapter and the next. That transition is perfectly summed up in one of my favourite lyrics of all time: “Maybe I’m in the black, maybe I’m on my knees, maybe I’m in the gap between the two trapezes.” (Yes, it’s Coldplay, I’m unashamed).

That’s where I’ve floated, reaching for the bar, fingertips scraping the edge of the wood, my body falling. Sometimes I was too scared to let go, other times I miscalculated the distance or the timing, and others still were when others pulled me back, often with the intention of keeping me safe from the fall.

And now my hands have finally grasped the other side with a chalk-grip hold and I’m swinging on the other end.

So, why am I so tongue-tied? Why aren’t I somersaulting and doing tricks? Perhaps I still don’t quite believe that I’ve got here. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long, I guess I expected a wildly emotional response. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I thought I would get on a plane, cling onto the armrests during takeoff and watch the UK disappear below the clouds; I would look out of the window of my new apartment after dark and watch the city lights twinkling; I would sit down in a café – as I am now – with a new phone number, new bank account, IKEA shop done… and this would trigger the thing.

The thing of not having to worry about where my next pay check is coming from, whether I’m saving enough money, what my parents will think, whether I’m good enough to apply for that job, how my relationship is going to work, if my anti-depressants are working, how I compare to my friends and peers, whether people are judging me and my life choices, why I’m still comparing myself to others, whether I’m still practicing what I worked on so hard in therapy…

Basically, opening the tightly-packed Pandora’s Box in my mind and letting all of the negativity disperse. The relief of “it all worked out in the end. I’m finally here. I’m finally happy.”

I imagined it something like Elsa transforming into an Ice Queen to the catchy refrain of Let it Go. Or the final scene in The Pursuit of Happyness where Will Smith walks down the street, tears running down his cheeks, clapping his hands above his head.

Yes, a little overly dramatic, but I’ve been waiting for that Hollywood moment to hit me.

Instead, it’s all been oddly quiet. It’s been Netflix and early nights. Cooking. Reading. Laundry. Just getting on with things. Supermarket shops. Work. Routine. The WOW I FINALLY MADE IT factor isn’t here, but neither is the OH MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING anxiety.

It’s not that I’m underwhelmed, or lonely, or bored. I just don’t feel a need to rush out and see all the tourist sights and try all the best restaurants and go to every single networking event to make friends.

I’m actually really enjoying my own company and learning to live alone again. I’ve been taking care of myself; eating well and making sure I’m reading before bed rather than looking at a screen. I’ve been working on my book again. I’m a regular at the gym.

Moving to Bangkok is still exciting, but it feels more like a warm, steady glow, rather than fireworks.

Maybe I’ve grown up and no longer need happiness to be the soul-bursting explosion of emotion it was when I started university or moved out to Hong Kong.

I’m sure I will still experience plenty of “pinch me” moments on my future travel adventures (they always appear when you least expect), but I’m no longer chasing them or relying on them to fulfill me.

Instead, I think I’ve found a deeper sense of happy: a complete balance, a tranquility. A letting go of the past without worrying about the future. I’m making no promises, I’m setting no goals. None of that “This is a new beginning. New chapter. New me.”

I’m in this calm state that encompasses an absence of pressure, outside influences and internal judgement. What is that called? I’m not sure what the word for that is, if it even exists. It’s richer than contentment, more rounded than acceptance, more charged than at peace.

I think I’m going to call it the second trapeze.