Relocation Realities: Moving Beyond Wanderlust to Call London Home

I’m nearing completion of my fourth—or maybe fifth—relocation since 2023, depending on how you count them.

As much as I’ve enjoyed exploring different countries as a semi-local, the novelty of being asked “So…where are you now?” has worn off.

As a lifelong observer of culture, I’ve loved discovering both the quirks unique to each country and the common threads that stretch across borders. Living abroad has given me a deeper sense of these “foster homes” than I’d ever get as a tourist. But I also understand now why many countries don’t consider you a resident until you’ve lived there for five continuous years.

At this stage, I crave putting down roots here in London. A sense of stability. A constant I can count on—even if my husband and I never decide to buy a home again. (For context: in Canada, we bought, sold, or rented properties about seven times in the sixteen years we’ve been together.)

I’ve become efficient at re-establishing us wherever we land—playing estate agent to find a flat, setting up Wi-Fi, and hunting down the creature comforts we’ve grown used to. But just like the endless “where are you now?” questions, the novelty has faded.

And honestly, it makes me wonder about the real internal monologue of influencers who sell wanderlust as a lifestyle. Is the digital nomad lifestyle truly as carefree as it looks—working from beaches and sipping lattes in new cities each week? Do they genuinely enjoy living out of two suitcases, with no real home base, always learning new customs and languages? Or are they, at best, still searching for something—and at worst, living as eternal tourists more focused on curating the perfect selfie than building a real sense of community?

What I know for certain is that I’m ready to call London “home.” I don’t know yet if it will be for a decade or a lifetime, but I hope for more than two years—and ideally longer than seven. This city feels like home already. It’s not just the shared language or population density—it’s the attitude. London hums. It’s a place where I can be surrounded by people, yet remain completely invisible and anonymous when I want to.

For now, I’m grateful for the years of moving, exploring, and adapting. But I’m also looking forward to a different season of life: more nesting, less packing. More choosing what to keep because it has meaning, not because it fits into one of the eight suitcases that still hold all of my “things.”