This year, I dismantled a safe and comfortable life in Boston and made a move. I did this in part to try to claw back some sense of self I’d last felt when I was 29. Something that felt lost to me and that I wanted back badly. That I was looking at it through this lens in the first place is because of a habit of looking backwards rather than being present or looking forward. A habit that doesn’t serve me well and one that I am trying to break.
The universe – which speaks like it runs a hardware shop in Drimnagh – just heard “Your twenties, eh?” and went “Jaysus! My lucky month, wha? I’ve been trying to clear out the stock room for an absolute age. I’ve had one ‘ill thought out transatlantic move’ sitting there for god knows how long, and I’ve still got an ‘everyone-saw-that-coming-but-didn’t-want-to-say-it’ breakup leftover from the three-pack I got in for ya years ago! Also, here, will ya get these old songs out of my stockroom for fuck’s sake and record them.”
So, I end the year as a Londoner, and I have a record underway.