Four Weeks, Four Airports and the Return to Reality

After two weeks back in London and Reading for job interviews and flat hunting, I'm sitting in yet another airport lounge waiting for yet another flight to Copenhagen. This time to collect the same suitcases that were packed in Reading four months ago, ready to return to almost exactly where they started.

The Loop

Sitia → Copenhagen → London → Reading → Sitia → Copenhagen → London → Reading.

The last four weeks have been a blur of airports, airplanes, and adaptors for different plug sockets. I've seen more departure boards than I care to count. The security queue routine has become muscle memory. I know which airport lounges have decent coffee and which ones you should avoid entirely.

It's been hectic in a way I didn't anticipate. When I left London four months ago for what was meant to be a quick break, I didn't expect to spend the final month ping-ponging between countries like a particularly inefficient courier service.

The Circuit

Two weeks in London and Reading doing the proper grown-up stuff. Job interviews where you have to pretend you're the kind of person who uses phrases like "strategic alignment" and "value proposition" without irony. Flat viewings where you nod thoughtfully at damp patches and pretend to be excited about "easy access to transport links."

Then back to Crete for a week to wrap things up and say goodbye to the place that's been home for three months. Sunshine and sea views, which should have felt relaxing but mostly just felt like borrowed time.

Quick stop in Copenhagen to see family and remember what it's like to have conversations that don't happen over video calls with people whose faces freeze mid-sentence.

Then back to London again because someone wanted a second interview and you don't say no when you're trying to land a job.

Round and round. Each flight feeling more surreal than the last.

The Familiarity of Transit

Airports have started to feel too familiar. I know the layout of Terminal 5 better than I know my own travel plans. I've perfected the art of packing a laptop bag so everything fits within the liquid restrictions whilst still having room for the charging cables I'll inevitably need.

The ritual of checking in, security, finding the gate, boarding, landing, collecting luggage - it's become background noise. The kind of routine that should be occasional but has somehow become constant.

I'm tired of it. Properly tired. Not the romantic "weary traveller" tired. Just the regular "I want to sleep in the same bed for more than week or two in a row" tired.

What November Means

November marks the return to normal. A proper job. A proper flat. A proper life that doesn't involve checking flight times or calculating baggage allowances.

I can't wait.

That probably sounds strange after four months of remote work and freedom and flexibility and all those other words people use to make not having a routine sound aspirational. But I'm done with it.

I want the commute. I want the office. I want colleagues I can actually talk to instead of just video calling. I want to sort things out with a quick conversation instead of scheduling a meeting three days in advance to discuss something that would take thirty seconds in person.

I want the mundane reality of having to be somewhere at a specific time. Of knowing where I'll be on Tuesday morning. Of not having every day feel like it could be anywhere or nowhere.

The Return of the Suitcases

There's something properly absurd about flying to Copenhagen to collect suitcases I packed four months ago so I can bring them back to Reading - almost the exact place they left from.

They've been sitting there like time capsules. Clothes I thought I'd need for a life I was planning to live. Books I meant to read. Stuff that seemed essential when I was packing but turned out to be completely irrelevant to how the last four months actually unfolded.

Collecting them feels like closing a loop. Picking up the pieces of the plan I had before everything changed, before the two-week break became four months, before the thinking time became a complete life pivot.

They'll come back to Reading with me. Properly this time. Not for interviews or flat viewings, but to actually stay.

What I'm Ready For

I'm ready for normal. For boring. For predictable.

I'm ready for:

A steady paycheck that arrives on the same day every month
Colleagues who become the people you grab lunch with
A commute that's the same almost every day
Weekend plans that don't involve flight bookings
A flat that's actually mine, not a temporary rental or staying with family
Work that matters and people who care about doing it well
Monday mornings that have structure instead of just being another day

I'm ready to stop working alone every day. The novelty of remote work wore off around week six. By week twelve it was just lonely. Now it's been more than sixteen weeks and I'm absolutely done with it.

The idea of having colleagues, actual human beings you see in person, sounds brilliant. Being able to sort out a problem by walking over to someone's desk instead of scheduling a Zoom call. Having conversations that happen naturally instead of being planned in advance.

The Reality I'm Choosing

This isn't me giving up on freedom or adventure or any of that. This is me choosing the kind of life I actually want instead of the kind of life I thought I was supposed to want.

Turns out what I want is normal. I want the rhythm of routine. I want the constraint of commitment. I want to build something that requires showing up to the same place with the same people working on the same problems until they're solved.

The last four months taught me what I don't want as much as what I do want. I don't want unlimited flexibility. I don't want to work from anywhere. I don't want every day to be different.

I want structure. I want colleagues. I want real life.

Soon

Soon this circus of airports and flights will be over. Soon I'll collect those suitcases from Copenhagen and bring them back to where this whole thing started. Soon they'll make their journey back to the UK.

Soon I'll wake up in the same flat more than a week in a row. Soon I'll have a commute that's predictable. Soon I'll be building something with people who care about building it well.

Soon I'll be back to reality. Back to normal. Back to the kind of life that doesn't require constant flight bookings and baggage allowance calculations.