Everything I know about running away in an attempt to find myself: reflections on Dolly Alderton’s “Everything I Know About Love” by a 20-something vagabond

I read Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton and had an epiphany about my own ability to stand still. Let me explain.

As someone who sees a bit too much of herself in both Anti-Hero and The Bolter by Taylor Swift, relating to Dolly Alderton’s exploration of female friendship and gut-wrenching reality checks about oneself was maybe a given. But nothing could have prepared me for how deeply this book would seep into my veins and reveal painful truths about myself and my constant need to stay in motion.

I think Alderton touches upon something really interesting as her namesake in the book is shown to be someone who is willing to move countries at the drop of a hat. As someone who identifies outer factors as the source of her unhappiness rather than herself and who sees the solution to this problem clearly: if I am unhappy in London, the problem must be London, not me. This, paired with a want and need to explore many places can create quite a restless soul. 

I feel as though the more I see of the world, the more paths and possible futures I see and the less I know what I actually want to do. And I have encountered a new problem, one I am sure is not unique to me. There is simply too much I want to do. Too many different lives I want to live, and too many hypothetical futures I see myself in. How’s a girl to choose?

‘This need to see and do as much as possible has rendered me in a constant state of restlessness. I think my soul has restless legs syndrome. I am almost incapable of actually staying still for more than a year. Even if I stay in the same city, something has to change: I have to move apartments, or get a new internship, or embark on some sort of new adventure.

Some people don’t like change. I love change. I thrive in change. Throw me into an uncertain situation and force me to find my footing and I will do absolutely amazing. But leave me in that situation once the boat has stopped rocking and that’s when I get uncomfortable. When everything is seemingly stable, and I have a social network, a steady job, as well as an apartment where I’m expected to stay for a year, that’s when the alarm starts going off in my head, saying “GET OUT!”. Except I’m not running from creepy white people who want to auction me off, I’m running from myself.

Let me explain. As long as I’m in a state of semi-urgent panic, when things need to be sorted out, I can focus on that. I can focus on finding a job, or finding an apartment, or going to a bunch of meet-ups to make new friends and create a social circle. I get to keep busy, and I’m good at keeping busy.

But when the dust settles, and I should feel happy and comfortable, because everything around me is in order, that’s when the chaos inside me awakens. That is when I get to the most uncomfortable thing of all: having time to actually be with myself.

I think my soul has restless legs syndrome.

Or, as Alderton puts it: “A week into my big New York adventure, I realized that places are kingdoms of memories and relationships; that the landscape is only ever a reflection of how you feel inside.” This line hit me like a ton of bricks. See, there’s this thing I do whenever I get too complacent in life: I run away in one way or another. Hence my reference to The Bolter by our dearest blondie in the beginning.

I always thought my incessant need to constantly experience something new and have an ever-changing environment was because I was unhappy with something around me. And, of course, there have been times where this has been true. But now I’m starting to realise that very often, there isn’t anything wrong with where I am at that given moment, and that it’s just my dissatisfaction with myself that comes to light when the noise around me quiets down and I have to actually settle down for a bit.

I used to think, and often still do, that I will find true happiness once I accomplish a certain thing. At first it was going to university. Then it was changing my major for my master’s degree. Then it was travelling as much as possible. Then it was living abroad. And one by one, I have ticked off every single one of these, I have done things that my 15-year-old self sitting in her bedroom in a small seaside town in Finland never could have even dreamed of. And guess what? None of those things made me find happiness. And none of them made me find the version of myself I keep looking for.

And I always told myself that I was on this never-ending mission to find myself: that I was one of those people who needed to travel and live many different places and do many different things to find myself. And that once I found myself I would also magically find happiness.

And as much as there’s nothing wrong with that, and it may very well be the right lifestyle for someone else, I’m starting to realize maybe constantly exploring isn’t just a way to find yourself: it can very much be a way to set yourself aside.

The last thing I want to do is discredit the role these experiences have played and how they have shaped me, because of course they have! They’ve taught me all kinds of things about myself, and most importantly showed me that I can manage to do almost anything I set my mind to. So yes, of course they have helped me “find myself” in some way. 

But what Dolly Alderton helped me realize is that with constantly moving to new cities and onto new opportunities, I’m not necessarily running away from my surroundings; I’m running away from myself. And I’d like to stop doing that.

And to my mother: I know you already knew this about me.