Watching the World Pack Up

I live in a studio flat in Headingley. And while it’s just one room—with windows that are far too thin and a mild damp problem—it’s cheap to rent, in a great location, and, most importantly, it’s mine. I have my own kitchen, so no annoying housemates using my stuff—even if it is only twelve feet from my bed.

It’s also the first place I’ve ever lived that really feels like mine. From the choice of furniture and layout to the decoration and function, everything serves me and me alone—which feels pretty important when you’re trying to write a novel.

The reason I’m telling you this is that my flat is one of twelve carved out of an old Victorian mansion, backing onto Woodhouse Ridge. A once-grand manor house now split into separate flats. As I said, the rent is cheap, making it perfect for students and young professionals—or those of us no longer so young.

So why bring it up? Because it’s June, and that means it’s time for the annual turnover. This will be my third year in the flat, and, as far as I can tell, only one other tenant has stayed longer than a year.

Each year I watch from my window as car boots are loaded, cardboard boxes taped up, and bits of flat-pack furniture condemned to the pavement. I rarely speak to my neighbours—I’m not great at small talk—but you pick things up. Some are couples splitting up. Others have graduated and are heading home. Some are just trading up—moving to shinier flats in the city centre with higher rents and better heating.

The reasons differ, but the outcome is the same: people’s lives change.

And that, I suppose, is the heart of it. Seeing those packed cars again gave me pause. This was meant to be temporary—a stopgap after a breakup. But I stayed. I liked it here. Partly because of the complete lack of compromise (apart from the landlord not letting me paint the walls). It was the first time I got to choose where my desk went.

The bigger surprise, though, was how much I came to love the nature on my doorstep. When I say the garden backs onto Woodhouse Ridge, I mean literally. Walk too far and you’ll fall in. The wildlife deserves a post of its own. But what matters here is how easy those daily walks became—how they helped my mental health, and maybe even more, my writing. To say my writing has benefited from living here would be a massive understatement. Maybe that’s why I’ve never upgraded to a flat with central heating that actually works—out of fear I’d break the spell.

But still, the world keeps moving. And sometimes that makes you feel like you’re standing still.

My brother just got married. Now he’s having a baby. My best friend bought a house this year and is renovating. Friends from my last job are getting promotions, new contracts, bigger salaries. It’s easy to feel like you’re falling behind.

But I tell you who I’m doing better than—me. The me of five years ago—hell, even last year—would be amazed at what I’ve done. At the writing I’ve produced. The work I’m putting into my website and social media. The way I’m rebuilding my life.

So yes, there’s a melancholy watching another batch of tenants move out. But I remind myself: I’m where I want to be. I’m doing what I need to do. And things are going to be okay.

And I want you to know—you will be too.