I was 18 when I first stepped foot in the United Kingdom. At the time, I didn’t know the difference between the UK, Great Britain and the British Isles (I still get them mixed up). I thought I ‘hated’ London, when in reality, I couldn’t distinguish between being in a bad mood and actually disliking something.

I was 22 when I moved to Cambridge to pursue a master’s degree in the psychology of education. I thought I was going to be a school headmaster, or at least some kind of administrator, maybe even a guidance counsellor. My first full day in England went as you’d expect; I dragged my luggage to the Hilton City Centre, took a long nap, woke up and cried, got a burrito for dinner and went back to sleep. The next morning, fully rested, I charged into Magdalene College, ready for whatever the next 11 months threw my way. But then 11 months turned into three years (or two years, 10 months and 14 days).

I was 23 when I got a job (my first ‘real’ one, so to speak), rented a closet-sized room in a shared house, switched to a Graduate visa and chose to remain in the UK for a then-unclear amount of time. I had a boyfriend who I loved, though we hadn’t said that yet, and a group of friends who I liked enough to, well, upend my American life and do the whole ‘early 20s abroad’ thing with. And it’s from these people – all these people – that I’ve learned invaluable lessons. I just happened to learn them whilst in the UK.

1. You are special; you aren’t special.

Everyone is special in that everyone is different. Everyone is a fully realised human being with an inner life and a backstory and flaws and strengths and interests and passions. In the words of Daniel Sloss, a Scottish stand-up comedian, we can’t expect a random person to fit perfectly into our cookie-cutter idea of life, into our jigsaw.

Then again, everyone is human. When I catch myself thinking ‘this has only ever happened to me’, I’m reminded that that same thing has probably happened to millions of others, and I take comfort in knowing that I’m not alone.

2. Change is the only constant, but impermanence is synonymous with instability.

In a sense, more has changed in the past three years than it has in the rest of my life. I entered adulthood (real adulthood, not 18-year-old adulthood), started my career (in journalism, not education administration), paid rent (with some help, I’ll admit), paid bills, paid for streaming services, bought groceries, bought housewares, booked holidays and hotel rooms, scheduled doctors appointments, opened savings accounts, got the arm implant, removed the arm implant, started new friendships, ended old ones, lost relatives and realised that change is inevitable, so there’s no point denying it.

That said, in the past three years, I’ve also witnessed friends go through their own changes; some are engaged, some have children and some are like me – single and largely uncertain of the future. I made fun of my peers for having ‘quarter-life crises’ only to realise I was also having one and just not calling it that. But in a way, aren’t we all constantly in crisis mode, re-evaluating our lives and what we’re doing with them? There’s never a right or a wrong answer, there are only the decisions we make, the consequences of those decisions and the changes that come along with them.

By choosing to live a life of impermanence – to move house once a year, to never stay too long in one city – I am also choosing a life of instability. I often envy my friends who’ve chosen more ‘traditional’ paths (sometimes I envy them for their ability to just sit still and commit, which is something I currently and increasingly feel incapable of doing) because they have stability, and I don’t. It’s hard to make commitments when I continuously uproot my entire existence and move it somewhere else. Maybe that’s my bad, but I’m playing the long game, gathering life experiences at the expense of feeling ‘settled’. “What would my 80-year-old self think?” I ask myself. And then I do the thing I’d least regret.

3. A long relationship doesn’t always equal a successful relationship, and vice versa.

I have a few friends in rocky-at-best relationships, and I think to myself, I can’t believe they’ve lasted this long. (This is judgmental but also deserved.) Then again, the length of a relationship doesn’t determine how good or bad it is. Sometimes a relationship lasts because neither person can let go; neither person wants to admit that they’ve been wasting their time, so they keep on wasting it, mostly out of embarrassment, denial, delusion, what have you. Trust me, I’d know. I’ve never broken up with anyone, even when I should’ve.

My most ‘successful’ relationship was also my shortest. It taught me so much about what it means to love and be loved as a ‘fully formed’ person; it taught me that worthwhile love can adapt to a new label, and that it can often benefit from a bit of distance. So no, a breakup doesn’t equate to a failure.

4. You can’t repeat the past.

Once you grow up and leave your hometown, the person who returns is not the same person who left. We collect conversations, experiences, images from other places that permanently impact us, whether consciously or not. We learn new laws of the land, new cultural customs, new ways of being, and we forget – sometimes surprisingly easily – why we ever behaved a certain way or believed a certain thing.

From the class of 2017 (the year I graduated high school), four people – that I’m aware of, out of 75 or so – have lived abroad, myself included. Most of our peers have stayed local, while others moved several hours or time zones away, planting their seeds in unfamiliar cities. Now, as I sit in my parents’ house, conveniently nestled in between my elementary and high schools, I feel a strange disconnect from the life I used to live. I’m not the person I used to be. I will never be the same person again. Both are fine.

5. Staying silent never achieved anything.

Confrontation is not my favourite. Unfortunately, my conflict avoidance – a famously Quaker value, taught to me at the Friends schools I attended – sometimes manifests as passive aggression. In the past, I’ve expected others to read my mind, to know exactly what they’re doing to bother me and to miraculously stop doing it.

Being silently angry never ends well; I get moody, snappy, immature. The whole thing is really stupid, and it’s one of my less attractive qualities! Instead of cursing under my breath at the slow-moving tourists, I could simply say ‘excuse me’. Instead of saying ‘it’s fine’, I could simply explain why it isn’t.

While I’ll always detest the ‘Karens’ of the world, I’ve gotten more comfortable speaking up for myself and saying no. No, your boyfriend can’t move in with us. No, this isn’t what I ordered, and in fact I’m allergic to it so I probably shouldn’t eat it. No, being ‘just friends’ isn’t working for me right now. It’s okay to say no; in fact, it’s liberating.

6. Most things in life aren’t that serious, and not everything can be rationalised.

I am a deeply unserious person. I tend to bring a ‘whatever’ attitude to most situations, which of course bothers some people, but… whatever. But when you think about it, most things aren’t that serious; they turn out to be distant memories or funny stories or, occasionally, you forget what happened altogether. (Remember that time in high school when you were crying over that guy who cheated on you? Far out, man.)

I got drinks with a friend a few days before leaving the UK, and after my third glass, I started to wig out. “You’re going to be fine,” he said (I’m paraphrasing). “You’re going to look back and realise you didn’t need to freak out.” Deep down an existential hole at that point, I didn’t want to hear it, but as usual, he was correct.

Similarly, not everything in life has a rational explanation. No matter how much mental effort you exert over ‘understanding the reasons’ behind other people’s behaviour, sometimes that information will remain inaccessible. Sometimes you don’t get closure, and instead you drive yourself swiftly towards insanity by thinking, thinking, thinking and then thinking some more. As a rationalist (and as someone who studied psychology), I find it intolerable when I can’t figure something or someone out. Why do people do what they do? Sometimes there is no satisfactory answer. Whatever.

7. One for them; one for me.

I attended a Q&A session with Henry Selick (who directed Coraline and The Nightmare Before Christmas), and he mentioned that throughout his career – especially early on – he took on high-paying yet slightly soulless projects for the sake of his future self. “One for them; one for me,” he said, summarising the conundrum that often accompanies life as a creative; the most exciting, meaningful, fulfilling projects are generally not going to pay the bills.

Though I’m only two years into my career as a journalist, I’ve found this – on a lesser level – to be true. My company publishes trade magazines, so I regularly write for a commercial audience, whether explicitly or implicitly. The ideas I’m most jazzed about are the ones the clients won’t like, because they’re usually opinion-driven and often take an anti-capitalist stance.

This is why I freelance (not often, but I do). I can write whatever I want, as long as it fits the pitch, and I don’t have to answer to any advertisers. I’ve published a piece on sex positivity. I’ve argued against over-marketing movies. My day job (mostly) pays the bills (to clarify, I usually enjoy my assignments), but my side gigs spark my fire.

8. An idea is essentially worth nothing unless it’s acted upon.

Did you know that you can just… do things? You can write that novel or screenplay. You can take an Ed Sheeran parody sketch musical to the Edinburgh Fringe. You can start a company or patent an idea that you thought of mid-conversation with your mates at the pub. (You can also make a podcast, but the world probably has enough of those.)

I’ve always had ideas fluttering around inside my head but never the impetus to actually do anything with them. My friends are courageous and driven; they’re not outwardly afraid of rejection, embarrassment or vulnerability. They know a good idea when they’ve got one, and they’ve got the know-how to make shit happen.

They showed me that I can just do things, too. I wanted to be a writer, so I applied to be a writer, and now I’m a writer (there were more steps involved, such as taking writing courses over the years, reading magazines and screenplays and dedicating myself to constant improvement). If it worked out for me, why can’t it work out for you? What’s holding you back? ‘Why the hell not?’

9. Do everything with purpose.

As an American, I have an in-built predisposition to over-consume and make impulsive decisions. This is unsustainable and often leaves me feeling devoid of purpose or excitement. I want to do things, buy things, make things that add value to my life and to the world. Rather than going to some mid, overpriced chain restaurant, why not do a bit of research and find a new hole-in-wall joint with great reviews? Rather than buying a bunch of clothes without considering their quality or the scenario in which I’d actually wear them, why not invest in that olive-green, pure wool winter coat I’ve been dreaming about since I saved it to my Pinterest ‘closet’ board three years ago?

When your jeans fit well and your room looks like it’s in Architectural Digest and that tomato from the independent grocer tastes 10x better than the one from the superstore, your life improves. Trust.

10. Money is fluid; memories are forever.

Okay, this one comes with a bit of financial privilege, but I’ve found that the more rich-rich a person is, the less generous they actually tend to be. Anyway, money is not inherently a limited currency – there’s always more out there – but some memories can only be made once, and time is too easily wasted.

The Magdalene Alumni dinner in the House of Lords cost me £120+, but now I can say I’ve wined and dined there, so I’ll always have that (and an engraved silver fork). I wanted to see ABBA Voyage but was put off by the price (isn’t it just a glorified club night? I asked myself); when I made the choice to leave London, a ‘fuck it’ attitude emerged and I asked my friend to go with.

My bank account has definitely taken some hits as of late, but ‘if not now, when?’ In other words, YOLO, carpe diem, et cetera. Don’t be stupid; don’t spend frivolously; don’t overdo it and go into debt or forget that you might want those savings later. But do go into the world (and your 20s, and 30s, and so on) with the intention of making memories. They’re the most valuable currency of all.

This article is dedicated to all my friends across the pond: AB, AM, ER, GK, HC, HK, JC, JC, LO, MW, PW etc. You know who you are.