Continuity in Change
Recently, partly in order to care for my needs for community, relationship, and growth, I decided to move back to London.
After almost three years living mostly in the South of France in nature, I was worried it would be difficult to leave the South, to adapt to a new life, to let go of a rhythm and an environment that had deeply nourished me.
I am not the same person I was when I last lived in London. Being in the South of France, spending time with my family, being close to waterfalls and forests, sharing the daily life of my sister and my niece, cherishing my neighbours, and living in connection with close friends met so many needs for beauty, belonging, and rest.
In the past, when difficult emotions came up, I tried not to feel them and distracted myself in ways that brought temporary ease. But it is now clear to me that unwelcomed emotions stay underneath the surface and tend to pile up.
This time, I chose something different.
I took time to mourn. I let myself feel the sadness of leaving the people, the landscapes, and the rituals I loved. I would sit in the forest and allow myself to feel the grief as deeply as I could. Some moments were tough, and I sometimes worried that this sadness would follow me to London and block any joy there, that I wouldn’t be able to settle with peace.
But something different happened. Because I allowed myself to feel those emotions, they eventually made space for new ones. When I arrived in London, I found myself surprisingly present. I had room to rediscover the city, to feel excitement, and to enjoy what was alive here.
I also chose to live with others because community is essential for me. In our society there is a strong tendency to value living alone as a symbol of autonomy and independence. Yet my understanding is that our ancestors lived in community. For me, it makes sense to honour my own need for togetherness by sharing a home. Moving in with housemates has already brought warmth and connection into my daily life. We share intentions for living together, and we spend a lot of time exchanging words, hugs, and meals. There is a real sense of abundance in this cohabitation.
I have also made sure to nurture my connection to nature. I filled my room with plants and printed a photo of one of my favourite swimming spots. I often remind myself that we are the most adaptable species on Earth, capable of thriving in very diverse environments. That capacity to adapt and find new ways to meet my needs is in me. There are no waterfalls in the garden, but sometimes there is sun, sometimes rain on my skin, there is a hose… and I realise that simple moments can still nourish vitality and aliveness when I connect to the elements in creative ways.
I have also been swimming in the ponds in Hampstead, a large park in London. It is not the same as Lake Salagou near the house in France, but I discovered a community of people swimming every Wednesday morning. In France, I had a group of friends who would join me for swims. Here, I am beginning to find that same sense of shared practice. I am celebrating that continuity.
My Wim Hof breathing and cold exposure practice is also deeply meaningful to me, and doing it with others supports me. Sometimes I invite my flatmates to breathe with me, and they join, which makes the practice even richer.
Learning to Navigate a New Rhythm
Living in a fast-paced city means there are more choices, more stimulation, more possibilities. It is exciting, but it can also pull me into a rhythm that is faster than what works for my body. I noticed it in my interactions too. Presence is something I care deeply about in connection. I love listening to what matters to someone without fixing, without giving advice, simply trusting their inner wisdom to unfold in a field of care.
The other day I was with a friend who was sharing something vulnerable, and without realising it I slipped into problem-solving mode. The conversation sped up. She paused and gently said that she only wanted to share and didn’t need solutions. I was shocked, because being present with friends is so important to me. And I could see how the city’s speed had subtly entered my body and my way of relating.
I was grateful she told me. I treasure friendships where people can speak with honesty and transparency. Her words brought me back to my intention to slow down, to honour my own rhythm, and to listen in the way that feels closest to me.
One of the ways I’ve been nurturing this wish for presence and community here in London is through the NVC Men’s Group. I’ve been hosting an online group for five years with my dear friend Hans van Veen, and coming back to the city, it felt meaningful to bring it into a room and meet face to face. Creating spaces where people who identify as men can share vulnerably and grow together is something I care deeply about. I am now planning to repeat it about once a month.
What This Transition Taught Me
This transition has shown me something essential.
When I give myself permission to feel, I create space for new life.
When I honour my needs, I find creative ways to meet them.
When I stay connected to myself, I can stay connected to others.
In the midst of change, continuity comes from my commitment to come back to what is alive in me.
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