The Year in Review

We’re down to the wire here. One more cross in the calendar and then comes that glorious reset, where 365 days worth of work, sleep and procrastination spirals back to 1.1. That longed for phenomenon - the new year.

Although I am still looking forward to fresh start, it is not with the same desperation of previous years. Suprisingly I do not yearn for the unblemished pages of a new diary nor crave the psychological boost that comes from a bevy of resolutions and a momentary conviction that this time I can keep them all. I have no real wish for a new year because the year that is ending, 2018, has been one of the most extraordinary of my life thus far. Yes, in three decades I have yet to accomplish any Guinness World Record-worthy feats and my personal champagne moments only soar as high as winning Bronze in the school Maths Olympiad but even an average existence has its peaks. 2018, with all its momentous events has certainly broken the mould.

Any year that begins and ends in the arms of a loved one automatically qualifies as a good year. I can think of no better way to bookmark the yearly cycle than by indulging in the triad of champagne, fireworks and kisses. Such did this year begin, such, I hope, that it ends.

Following that auspicious start may I suggest that if you are going to endure the brutal winter, Brighton is the place to do it? Yes, the weather hits a bit harder down on the south coast but there is no better place to wait for the return of spring. I speak from personal experience having spent the first half of the year camped out by my sitting room bay window, observing the moods of the sea, which often reflected my own.

In the first few bitter months of 2018 the sea churned grey and green, whilst I metaphorically mirrored the turbulence indoors. For things weren’t going to plan and my dreams weren’t coming true. Philippe, the proprietor of those coveted new year’s eve kisses, was living in Bern and the practicalities of traveling 500 miles to “fall down at his door” were proving to be less fun than the song professed. Tired of the long-distance during one rushed weekend’s reunion I uttered the potent Beach Boy words “Wouldn’t it be Nice…”

Wouldn’t it be nice to live somewhere in mainland Europe and have a different life for a while? Wouldn’t it be nice to practise another language and explore another culture? Maybe try some new foods and adopt some new traditions? And most of all, wouldn’t it be nice to be closer to Philippe? Yes, it would be so nice.

But highly improbable.

Undaunted or perhaps the more appropriate word here is “ignorant” of the impediments to this vision, Philippe and I began the laborious process of filling out applications for jobs in European cities. Whilst the weather outside became wet, wetter and more wet still, we churned out cover letters soaked in enthusiasm and desperation with the subtext reading as “please give me a job. I may be under-qualified but I will work for little money and a visa. I just want to be closer to my partner and authentic bratwurst.”

It was an uncertain time but buoyed by hope and cheap Easyjet flights, we remained convinced that our pipe dream could become a reality. And somehow, it did. Fortune favours the brave? I don’t know about that but our respective German employers were not too put off by our obvious neediness and by May we both had contracts in Munich. Not everything was as we imagined it but in terms of fulfilling the basic tenets of the dream, we were set.

Which is how I found myself on a one-way ticket to Munich in July and starting a new chapter of my life (as well as a new blog). Settling in to a new existence in a new country proved to have its own issues as regular readers will be aware, however, in the intervening months I have faced some of those challenges and learnt to embrace my life here. Munich is a beautiful, complex city with culture, politics and history running undercurrent to its elegance. It has afforded me some incredible moments from the bird’s eye view at the top of Alter Peter to my first taste of Brez’n. Perhaps due to the novelty, living in a completely different country has made me seek new experiences with a compulsion I did not have in the UK. As such I have gone to pop-up concerts given by German rappers, donned dirndl to the one true Oktoberfest and spent more money than respectable at restaurants, museums and even the supermarket.

In the last few months the issue of FOMO has increasingly surfaced (most often when I look at my bank statement and see the purchases), which has provoked self-analysis. Did I really need to do/spend all that? Was it necessary to attend that many Christmas markets in one weekend? And why do I still feel as though I haven’t visited enough? It is a difficult one to deconstruct but maybe it is because, like most good dreams, I fear it will end soon. This year has been extraordinary from start to finish and while the going is good, I want to make the most of it.

I know I’m a little late for Santa but I’ll trade a handful of New Year’s Resolutions for one belated Christmas wish. I don’t need a fresh start tomorrow, for 2019 can I just have more of the same please?