Six years ago tomorrow I packed up my London life into two suitcases and moved to Amsterdam.

In previous years I’ve marked the date by listing lessons: how to get lost (a lot), how to start again, how to build a life from scratch armed with nothing but Google Maps, a bicycle with no brakes, and one magic Dutch ID number that unlocks everything from taxes to library books.

But this year feels different. This year, I feel settled.

I’ve found my gang. I’ve got my groove.

It took a while to get here. The pandemic didn’t help. Two years suspended, the streets quiet, friendships impossible to spark. Loneliness isn’t dramatic; it just seeps in, until you look up and realise the only stranger you’ve spoken to in weeks is the cashier at Albert Heijn. Add the Dutch weather and the joy of navigating Belastingdienst paperwork, and it sometimes felt like a long audition for a very niche endurance sport.

And then, gradually, things shifted. The map filled in with people and places. Now there’s the crew I go to gigs with, shouting lyrics into the night. Local WhatsApp groups that point me to the freshest dahlias or the new season herring hitting the kraam. Gym buddies who somehow make turning up at 8am almost fun. The barista who knows my order before I open my mouth. Dining companions who linger long after the plates are cleared, conversations spiralling into politics and philosophy. A neighbour with my spare keys and another who’ll lend me a sander. Friends who water the plants when I’m away, sending sheepish updates about the ones that didn’t make it. The impromptu neighbourhood borrel that starts with “just one drink” and ends, inevitably, with bikes wobbled home in the rain. The late-night ping of a meme, answered instantly with another. And a friend who says, simply, “Pop by on your way home — I’ll put the kettle on.”

Small things, maybe. But they’re the everyday glue of belonging; the tiny threads that weave a city around you until it feels like home. Things I never really had in London, but here I’ve somehow found.

It turns out that moving countries isn’t really about geography. It’s about patience and persistence, and the slow magic of weaving yourself into the fabric of a place. Until one day you look up and realise the unfamiliar city has become familiar. The strange has become ordinary. And you somehow quietly belong.

I came here with two suitcases. What I’ve gained is a home, and a community.

This week at work

A productive stretch on the book front: we submitted three new chapters, and resubmitted another three we’d reworked to make the flow more logical. Feels good to see the pile growing and the structure sharpening up.

Tiny green shoots are popping up online too — the book quietly sprouting on pre-order pages for the exceptionally keen. A strange but thrilling sight: proof it’s starting to become real.

At work, the same theme of belonging surfaced in conversations with a client about how they use Viva to build connection, and what to do when those bonds fray. It struck me that the process is the same: digital spaces can be where colleagues find their gang and their rhythm. Because belonging at work isn’t really about tools or systems. It’s about that moment when you realise you’re part of something bigger.

Otherwise it’s been a deliberately quiet spell before the next project kicks off. We’ve used the breathing space to wrangle business admin and finally give our website some overdue attention.

Over at Statement, it’s been live for a week now. We’ve got a steadily growing number of people signing up, using it, and (crucially) giving us feedback. The team have been busy fixing things behind the scenes, while I’ve been working on comms to answer questions about how it all works. Early days, but exciting ones.

Also this week

The carillon of the Westerkerk, just across from my house, played a concert of Amsterdam-themed songs on Friday. I’d like to think it was for me personally, but I suppose it’s possible it’s in honour of the city’s 750th birthday. Either way, I was treated to a very Dutch soundtrack, including a rousing rendition of Tulips From Amsterdam. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Consuming

👩🏻‍💻 Internetting

This week I was struck by Emma Parnell’s piece on living abroad and returning home.  She writes beautifully about the dislocation of overseas life — how it’s not always the big things that unsettle you, but the small absences, like the sound of owls in the morning. And about how moving back, supposedly the “easy” part, can feel just as alien: friendships moved on, milestones missed, the nagging sense you’ve fallen behind.

What I loved most was the ending. Ten years on, she’s not only rooted again but surrounded by people she loves — proof that the feeling of “home” is less about geography and more about connection.

It resonates with my own experience of moving abroad (and back, and abroad again): that moving countries isn’t only about the logistics of visas and flat-hunting, but about patience, persistence, and the slow work of building community until one day you realise you belong. You’re home.

📺 Watching

I finally made it to Amsterdam’s oldest cinema, The Movies, and watched The Roses. Essentially a British remix of the 80s American classic The War of the Roses, but with upgraded swearing. Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman play a couple whose marriage unravels in increasingly petty and chaotic ways. I love both actors, the narrative was charming, and Colman’s wardrobe was iconic.

It’s not winning any prizes, but as a stylish way to pass a couple of hours it does the job. Come for Colman’s shirts, stay for the creative insults. A solid 6/10.

📚 Reading

I’ve just started The Albanians: A Modern History ahead of my holiday there in a couple of weeks. Albania’s a country I know embarrassingly little about, so it’s time to learn my Enver Hoxhas from my Mother Teresas. Looking forward to seeing how what I read on the page stacks up against what I find on the ground.

🎧 Listening

Been on a CMAT tip this week. Big choruses, sharp lyrics, country-pop with a wink. The kind of soundtrack that makes late-summer evenings feel like they’ve got a bit of eyeliner and a sense of humour.

Travel

Off to the Auvergne later this week. Volcanoes, valleys, villages, and the chance to dust off my GCSE-level French.

This week in photos