I moved to Leith eight months ago, but this is still my favourite sensation
My house move influenced me in a lot of unusual ways
It's been a while since I moved to Leith.
The boxes are long unpacked and my homing instinct is taking me in the correct direction.
I’ve now begun to gravitate east along Edinburgh’s Princes Street, not west. I can remember which wicked witch I am.
After this hiatus, we can look back on the stress of a house move, and, just this week, we realised that we don’t want to ever have to do it again. God, no.
The experience was fun and exciting in parts, but most of it was grey-hair inducing. I’m still having fretful nightmares about buying the wrong place, or bidding more than I can afford. I wonder if these will stay with me forever, like my dreams about exams.
The only thing I really miss about those unsettling times is all the house viewings. It’s an addiction, and I still keep finding myself browsing the ESPC website.
However, when we were selling, I met a few folk who were just looking at our flat for funsies, and I don’t want to be like them. I will resist my Through the Keyhole urges.
Apparently, the average person moves five to eight times in a lifetime. Each round, they say, is as stressful as going through a divorce.
If that includes rentals and childhood homes, we’ve both topped that. We’re like the Elizabeth Taylors of properties.
Now, we’re done. We’ve put down roots. I don’t miss my old flat one iota. This is my forever home. My Richard Burton or Larry Fortensky, or whoever else Taylor ended up with.
Anyway, eight months on, I’ve also got some other perspectives on the more unexpected bonuses of moving home.
For example, I’d never imagined what a simple change of scenery would do for my old brain. It wasn’t a factor that I’d even considered, when all you’re thinking about is square footage, boilers and location, location, location. And, now, I find that my withered cranial walnut has been rejuvenated.
I suppose you might say that I’ve been reborn as a Leither, except in a non-religious sense.
I’ve lived in Edinburgh almost my whole life, so I knew this part of town well, before I moved here, but, a few months in, I’m really relishing my new pathways, routes and routines.
It helps that this is a very stimulating area. There are great smells, from all the shops, restaurants and cafes, lots of human shenanigans at all hours, a real mix of age groups, elderly ladies in pink cowboy boots, small dogs riding with their owners on mobility scooters, neon signs, the tinging of the tram bell, beautiful buildings, leafy green spots and it feels as if it’s evolving all the time.
Now that we’re on the cusp of Spring, I didn’t realise there would be so many crocuses in Leith Links, or that they have an area reserved for monkey puzzle trees.
All these sights and sensations still feel new, and that makes me more present.
Don’t get me wrong, we had some lovely attractions in our old part of town. Shandon is a great area, even if nobody ever knows where it is.
However, after 17 years, and once you’ve walked the Union Canal 52,363 times, you become immune to the beautiful bits. I stopped seeing and fully appreciating the weeping willow, the yearly consignment of cygnets, the resident albino squirrel and the winter goosanders. Sorry, feathered friends. My brain had gone into standby mode.
That’s what happens, when you’re stagnant for too long.
They also say that time goes faster, as you get older. My late dad, who reached the age of 87, said it was frightening how speedily it went. In middle age, I feel similarly, but I think that’s because you tend to cleave towards following the same pattern daily. I’m guilty of that. I feel cosy and safe in my routine.
However, that means your days are too similar, and there are fewer new experiences for your brain to register. When you’re young, there are so many novelties to file in your memory bank.
At least, if you move house, you’re forced into doing new things. I’m no scientist, but they say that this is supposed to trigger neuroplasticity in the brain. Sometimes I imagine that I can feel those neurons firing and creating new pathways, like caterpillars drilling their way through leaves.
I’m not sure how long this feeling is going to last or if it’ll be beneficial in the long run, but I hope that I can enjoy the sensation for as long as possible.
I know I’m not the only one who feels like this. I was speaking to a friend recently. He and his partner had lived in Newhaven for years. No shade on that area, as it’s lovely, but they’d got tired of it, and decided that they were done with living in Edinburgh. In the end, they didn’t swap cities, but moved to Marchmont.
Now, they’ve fallen back in love with their city. They don’t want to be anywhere else but here.
Still, I wouldn’t quite prescribe moving across town for your health. It’s way too stressful for that.
However, the change in routine definitely does something positive to one’s brain. And, it’s all the sweeter if you find your bricks and mortar equivalent of Larry Fortensky.
NB. I think she divorced him too.
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