I miss London as much as London misses me.

A seemingly grumpy demand for reciprocity: no place will want you as much as you want a place, so I’m setting the bar too high, right?

But that’s not true: I am, right now, at the place where I’d be missed the most. Surrounded by family and friends.

There was a point in time, both due to my age and the global circumstances, when being anywhere but a place like this was the right choice: both I and the zeitgest has shifted since.

I do not miss London anymore than London misses me; all the great memories I have of Britain, I had to work for, and if I’d ever let up, London would have rejected me, rightfully so. Got out before it happened, and never looked back. No resentment, but no nostalgia either.

I am at the place where I’d be missed the most, and it’s blissful.