Between Two Worlds: Missing London, Remembering What It Gave Me

How London taught me to rebuild, quietly

I lived in London for nearly ten years. Long enough for the place to get under my skin — not just the streets or the weather, but the culture, the mindset, the way people carry ambition without always needing to announce it.

There are days, even now, where I miss it. Not the grey skies or the crowded tubes, not really. I miss the feeling of being in motion, of waking up to BBC Breakfast with a strong cup of tea, of walking fast with purpose — even if you didn’t know quite where you were going yet. I miss watching Merlin on Sunday evenings, wrapped in a strange calm that only British TV could deliver, even when dragons were involved.

What I absorbed most, though, wasn’t just routine. It was a way of thinking. A quiet belief that the sky is the limit — and that failure isn’t shameful, it’s just a stop along the road. You fall, you make tea, you carry on. You don’t explain, you don’t justify, you don’t ask for permission. You get better, and you keep going. That mindset stuck with me.

Now I’m in the South of France. The pace is slower, the sun is brighter, and the conversations are louder. Life feels warmer in some ways — but also more cautious. There’s ambition here too, of course, but it often comes wrapped in anxiety or apology. In France, the culture leans more toward “méfiance” than possibility. Dreaming too big makes people uncomfortable. And when you fall, they ask “Tu t’attendais à quoi ?” instead of “What’s next?”

That’s where I feel the difference most.

The last few years haven’t been easy — for me, and for many others. Life after Covid felt… off. Uncertain. I went through personal struggles, moments of doubt, financial pressure, and that deeper question so many of us carry quietly: what am I really building, and why?

And yet, through that fog, something kept me grounded. I think it’s that British mindset — the one that doesn’t panic, doesn’t dramatise, doesn’t give up. It’s not loud. It’s not heroic. But it’s there. That quiet push to keep showing up, to keep moving forward, to trust that clarity comes through action. That voice that says: “Make tea. Then figure it out.”

I’ve come to accept something about myself that I used to hate:
I perform best when I’m cornered.

Something kicks in. Call it fight mode, call it stubborn clarity. But it’s real. It’s not magic. It’s just resilience — shaped by years of pressure, experience, and maybe a bit of London still living in the back of my mind.

And yet… I’m not pretending London was perfect. I know nostalgia plays tricks. It smooths out the loneliness, the rainy 5 PMs, the overpriced rent. You remember the pub laughs, not the credit card bills. The beautiful fragments, not the full picture. You edit your own past like a highlight reel.

But still — some places stay with you for a reason. London shaped the way I work. It gave me tools I didn’t even know I was picking up at the time. And even now, I hear that voice sometimes, almost with a British accent:

“You know what to do. Get on with it.”

So yes, I still drink tea. Not now — it’s summer, and 36°C in the shade. But the habit’s there. The mindset too. Some things never leave you. And honestly, I’m glad they don’t.

Author: Carlo

Guitarist and Songwriter.

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