Working in this heat, always sticky, always in normal clothes, surrounded by people on holiday. Cold drink in reach. Laptop open next to it.
This isn’t a holiday.
I’m job searching. Interviewing. Flat hunting. From Crete. In 33-degree heat. It’s surreal.
The world around me is checked out; beach towels, sunburns, and Bluetooth speakers. Meanwhile, I’m refreshing LinkedIn and Zoom-linking into interviews.
Organising viewings from 3,000 kilometres away. Trying to plan a return to “normal life” while everyone here is escaping theirs.
You’d think this was the dream. Working remotely, overlooking the sea, calling your own shots. For a while, it was the dream.
But here’s the truth nobody filters: remote life can wear you down.
Being self-employed is freedom - but it’s also weight. It doesn’t stop. You don’t stop. The sun’s out but your calendar is full.
The beach is ten steps away but your Slack is on fire.
And somewhere in that blur, you realise: you’re not living, you’re surviving.
You miss the little things. The predictable ones. The 9 to 5. The commute you used to complain about. Walking home with a podcast. A pub night that doesn’t require timezone maths. Being around people who feel permanent.
Nine weeks in Crete gave me distance. Distance gave me clarity.
It’s funny. You think remote work will show you how far you can go.
Instead, it showed me where, what and who I want to return to.
Because when you’re far from everything, the things that matter come into focus:
Where do I want to be?
Who do I want to be with?
What kind of life feels like mine?
Turns out, it’s not on a beach. It’s back in England. In London or Reading. In routine. In structure. In a life I’m building with both hands on the wheel.
This chapter is closing. The remote stint is ending. And it’s strange, organising your life back home while sitting between tourists on holiday - all of them desperate to escape the very thing you’re hoping to return to.
But maybe that’s the twist:
Sometimes, leaving paradise is the real dream.
Because wanting to go home means you finally know where and who home is.