I’ve put pen to paper and drafted so many blog posts over the last few months addressing the elephant in the room; Lockdown.

Unfortunately for me (and my wine cabinet), all drafts have ended up in the bin. This is because I’m acutely aware COVID has torn through the lives of millions of people in ways I’ll never imagine and listing off my comparatively menial issues, therefore, didn’t feel appropriate.

I may be on draft six or seven, but here I am, attempting to share how I’ve found some positivity and peace amongst the chaos.

Fear not, I won’t be gloating about my extra moist banana bread or crisp apple crumble (although you will find those on Alex’s blog posts), nor shall I share my Strava personal bests or any more TikTok dance routines (don’t hold me to that last one!). Instead, I felt there was something to be said in sharing the small wins I’ve gained from this pandemic, as opposed to focussing on everything it’s taken away.

This blog post will come to you in two parts, each with its own spotlight and explanation. They’re close to my heart and hopefully one of them may be close to yours too.

“Walking Brings Me Back To Myself” — Laurette Mortimer

Before COVID, I only ever walked if it was towards a destination. I very rarely thought of ‘taking a stroll’ at a weekend and you can bet your life I never considered ‘ walking around the block ‘ before starting work. I kept my head down, headphones in, mind distracted. Citymapper activated. I was forever focussing on where I had to be and how many obstacles I would need to overcome in order to get there.

It usually followed the same pattern — unreliable tubes, overcrowded carriages and late Uber drivers, before heading out on foot for the final leg of the journey. Like everyone around me, I’d aimlessly follow my Google Maps down the streets, resembling some sort of Pokemon Go contestant chasing down a Picachu. We weaved and wondered, pounding the pavement as we forged ahead! In London, you’re always in a rush.

In lockdown, I suddenly had nowhere to go, no one to see and no destination to reach. My home is my office; my office is my home. My living room is also my gym and my kitchen transforms into my Friday night cocktail bar. Our homes have adapted into hybrid, microclimates which now take on the role of all our previous destinations. For all of us, it’s a huge adjustment and an intense environment.

So what do we do to escape? We walk. And with this new found freedom, in a time where everything is so constrained, I’ve finally managed to pick my eyes up from the pavement and take note of what surrounds me. I love trees now, like love them. I sometimes stand and watch the leaves fall in the park next door to me like a bizarre tree-dophile. My senses feel like they’re on steroids — the sky seems brighter, the air tastes fresher, the birds sing louder. I walk down the same lane every morning and somehow find a way to see it differently.

Like many, getting outside on my daily walk allows me to temporarily disconnect and reset, reworking my thoughts whenever I’d had a wobble. I use this time to reminisce on past memories, plan ideas for the future, smile for the good times and sometimes cry about the bad.

A slower pace of life has caused a spring in my step; I’ve been forced to slow down and not forge ahead. Walking has provided me with a constant and a comfort I never thought I needed, as well as a change in perspective I never realised existed. So for that, I’m grateful.

Originally published at http://lookingbothways.co.uk on February 20, 2021.

Living in Lockdown Part 1: “Walking Brings Me Back To Myself” was originally published in Looking Both Ways on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Moving in with Chris was the first time I had ever lived with a boyfriend. Whilst it has no doubt been the most exciting move of my life, looking back I wouldn’t say I was totally prepared.

Our 3-year ‘flat-iversary’ seemed like a good time to reflect on some of the things I wish I knew this time three years ago.

1. Meet in the middle

Overnight, everything becomes shared. Your bed, your mortgage, even your knives and forks. Admittedly there are some advantages. Notably the fact that shared items can be purchased on the joint account, which in my eyes means 50% off.

But together, you need to find new tastes and routines that work for both of you. Make sure you know each other’s deal breakers and be prepared to compromise on the rest.

My deal breakers include: a cleaner, mood lighting and co-ordinated scatter cushions.

Chris’ deal breakers include: BT Sport, no rom coms and at least one shelf in the bathroom.

2. It’s ok to want a break

Living with a partner is wonderful, but it’s normal to need a bit of ‘you time’. And it doesn’t mean you’re losing your spark. Allow each other the time and space to do things on your own. And don’t be offended when you’re not invited to the boys night out.

3. Done is better than perfect

We all have our own ways of doing things. Be it how to cook the perfect spag bol or how to make the bed.

When I moved in with Chris I found myself joining in with other women and complaining about how my boyfriend never helps around the house. However, it wasn’t that he couldn’t be bothered to make the dinner or didn’t care about making the bed. Nor did he refuse to clean the bathroom or complain about doing the laundry, I simply wasn’t letting him. I was too used to doing things my way that I didn’t give up any control.

However, if you want to stop complaining about how you do everything, I urge you to remember that ‘done is better than perfect’.

4. Life is not a rom-com

It doesn’t take long to realise that living with your partner is no rom-com. You never saw Cameron Diaz and Jude Law talking about whose turn it was to go to Lidl. Or Kate Hudson asking Matthew McConaughey if he had any whites to wash. But these conversations don’t mean the romance has gone from your relationship. It’s just real life. Take comfort in the fact that you’re lucky to share your life with someone else — even if it means washing their pants.

5. Make time for each other

It’s important to make time for each other in between the Lidl shops and the white washes. Just because you now see your partner every day, it shouldn’t mean you don’t make time for date nights. You might wake up and go to sleep next to one another every night, but life gets in the way and before you know it it’s Sunday morning and you’ve yet to spend any proper time together.

6. Drop the act

Unless of course, there’s a global pandemic and you’re forced to spend every living moment together.

When Chris and I started dating I put on my best cool girl impression. I ordered pints, didn’t complain about his Sainsbury’s own ketchup and ignored that the bed sheets got washed every other month. I like to think I dropped the act before the time we decided to buy a flat together. But even so, be prepared for your partner to discover the real you. It’s no use trying to pretend you’re tidy, a good cook or into football when you’re living under the same roof. The truth is going to come out eventually…

Originally published at lookingbothways.co.uk on February 7, 2021.

6 Things I Wish I Knew Before Moving In With My Boyfriend was originally published in Looking Both Ways on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Now, due to popular demand from the people lucky enough to have witnessed my dating life throughout the years, I felt it was only right to share an insight into some of the stonkers I’ve had the pleasure of spending an evening with.

Just to give you some background into my life, I’ve been single on and off ever since my childhood sweetheart at 18. Since then, I’ve had one serious relationship, a few 3–4 month fizzlers and multiple unsuccessful first attempts. I’ve dumped, been dumped, blocked, been blocked, you name it, I’ve done it.

Choosing my top date offenders was like choosing between your children, however, in my case, I wish that said children had never been born. After much deliberation, I dwindled them down to my top three.

Silver and gold will be coming to you later down the line (let’s not have all the fun in one go!) so for now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the bronze position for my Worst Date Award.

*Disclaimer — all names have been changed for the personal protection of these poor souls. Bronze Award — Dry Jan Dan with whom I crazy golfed

I’m not a massive advocate of forced fun. Especially on a first date. Especially when there is no booze involved. Especially when your date arrives first and buys his own can of Coke Zero and crazy golf ticket whilst waiting for me. Rule 101: if I arrive first, I will get the round in (and activity ticket should it be forced upon me), however if you arrive first, you do. This is called basic manners, and sadly poor Dan evidently didn’t learn these at his boarding school.

This was the first time I had decided to complete Dry January and my date was completing it too. Sadly, his inability to part with £10 for a coke and a Putting Pass caused me to judge him instantly, especially as he sat across from me in a Crewe gilet, Ralph Lauren shirt and told me he lived in Parsons Green.

We made our way up to the start line and the ticket man gave my soda pop and I a sympathetic smile, as if to say “you’re going to need something stronger in that”. He asked Dan for our names so that he could input them into the system and it was at that moment my date suffered momentary memory loss, as he introduced me as Rachel. In the famous words of Rachel Stevens’ first solo 2005 hit, I politely reminded him that ‘Je M’Appelle’ Rebecca.

It was a rocky start with no sign of improvement. We exchanged awkward small talk around the course, with the conversation being halted as we dodged through windmills and AstroTurf mounds. Dan was incredibly competitive and insisted on keeping score. He made a comment about the quality of the putter and didn’t appreciate that the course was set up for ‘stroke play’ and not ‘match play’. Now, I do dabble in golf myself, however I’m the first to admit that The PuttShack in Shepherds Bush probably wouldn’t cater for quite the same rules and regulations as The Masters.

After enduring 45 minutes of playing and queuing behind other miserable-looking first daters, it was clear we had nothing in common, but both reluctantly sat back down at the bar out of politeness, ready to cover more surface level topics.

We had both glugged down our sugary spritzers in the first 20 minutes of the course in an escape to fill the awkward silences, but it was clear old frugal Dan wasn’t willing to part ways with his cash once again. I offered to get us another round (which of course he accepted) purely to escape him telling me anymore about his weekly book club.

Finally, after both sipping round two as quickly as possible, we put our coats on and said our goodbyes. Dan decided at this point it was socially acceptable to give me a double thumbs up goodbye as opposed to a double kiss goodbye. On reflection, as tragic as that was, at least it was marginally better than a double thumbs down!

As I was left on the train platform, sober and sombre, I vowed to myself never to do Dry January again.

Originally published at http://lookingbothways.co.uk on February 12, 2021.

Welcome To The Worst Date Awards Ceremony! In Bronze Place… was originally published in Looking Both Ways on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Sorry Swifty, I don’t know about you, but I didn’t like 22. I’m about to turn 27 and fully aware that I’ve flown through the halfway mark of my twenties. My train is soon to be approaching thirties-ville, so now feels like a good time to reflect and reminisce, as we all know hindsight is a wonderful thing.

I don’t think I’m the only one to admit that I found my early twenties hard work. I spent more time resenting, comparing and wishing them away than embracing them. I’ve done a lot of soul searching and growing up these past couple of years to try and work on this and be happier in the here and now.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have a lot more growing up to do and I’m far from believing I’m a wise owl of wisdom who has it all figured out, but I do feel a little more at ease with the state and pace of my life.

So, if I could go back and do it again, what do I wish I had known then?

It’s normal to feel lost when you leave university

This one was by far the hardest for me to fathom. My entire life I had grown up knowing what was next. GCSEs led to A Levels which led to the first year of university, followed by the second year, year abroad, and finals. It hadn’t really dawned on me that when I put down that pen in my last exam, finally I had no one dictating my next step in life, apart from me.

Unfortunately, I don’t think our education system really prepares us for the real world of employment, despite the goody bags from the career fair! It’s therefore down to us to figure out our strengths, weaknesses and, most importantly, what we enjoy. It’s important to be proactive when you graduate, but also patient. The only way you will learn what you like and dislike is by doing it. So, try, test, and move on if it isn’t for you. Stop putting pressure on yourself to land your dream career after round one.

Also, I try to avoid being lured in by job descriptions, salaries and job titles — I personally thought I would love working in Brand Marketing as it sounded glamorous & creative. Turns out it wasn’t for me. Speak to the people in these roles and understand what they do, it will save you a lot of time on wasted job applications.

Finally, you don’t need a graduate scheme to be successful. As a Business Management student, my university seemed to drill into us that our only way of achieving successful careers was via a graduate scheme with firms like “The Big 5”. Whilst these are brilliant companies to work for, they are incredibly competitive with rigorous application processes and not for the faint-hearted. Truly think about what you’re passionate about! I wasted so many hours applying to these schemes because I thought it was what I should be doing.

I finally realised the banking and corporate world wasn’t for me when I attempted to complete one of their numerical reasoning tests and was told by their algorithms they thought I had learning difficulties….

Adventure first, career after

The average person in their twenties will have between 15–20 different careers in their lifetime and will most likely be working until they are 70. That is a long time to be sitting behind a desk, signing colleagues’ birthday cards and enduring Sandra on Zoom sharing photos of her son’s nativity play.

You are 22, with no responsibilities, no mortgage to pay, no children, no annual leave cap, no ties. So, for heaven’s sake, go out and see the world. Obviously with the current pandemic, our ability to travel has been postponed, but life will slowly return to normal, so use this time wisely to plan your next adventure.

Sadly, England, like the USA, has ingrained a society of ‘live to work’ and not ‘work to live’. Our European neighbours highly encourage internships abroad, sabbaticals and offer time to travel before their career starts. We, on the other hand, seem to burn out our younger generation before they’ve even started, with companies taking advantage of the cheap labour that comes from menial internships and placements. So, before you rush into the title of chief coffee maker, go and smell the coffee from Colombia or Brazil.

Take the time to be young whilst you have the energy to do it. I’ve been lucky enough to live abroad as well as travel the world and I can hand on heart say it was the best time of my life. COVID has taught us more than ever that life is short and precious and our freedom should never be taken from granted. It can be a scary thought leaving your comfort zone, but it will be scarier when you suddenly wake up at 50 and realise you haven’t lived.

Stop living a champagne lifestyle on a lemonade budget

Unless you live in Clapham, which is essentially an extension of a university campus, you will realise that once leaving university, your three to four night a week partying schedule might be somewhat restricted. Why? Because no employer likes to see you walk into the office with last night’s clothes on, smelling of sex and vodka Red Bulls. What’s more, London prices funnily enough don’t cater for graduate salaries and the concept of ‘three trebles for a fiver’ no longer exists.

After university, I moved to London and had my first real job. The combination of earning a proper salary plus my student partying mentality resulted in me truly believing I could afford and endure 12 espresso martinis on a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night after work. My world suddenly transitioned from WKD’s to wine bars, microwave meals to balls of burrata, and don’t get me started on the oat milk. I brunched for the sake of brunching, took Ubers out of laziness, went on dates with men to TimeOut’s best-rated bars, all of which I knew I couldn’t afford.

The result? I was exhausted 90% of the week and I had anxiety every month when I checked my bank balance. If I had a night in, I would fear I was missing out. London can do that to you, it’s vibrant culture and cosmopolitan influence means there is a never-ending stream of things to do. But the reality was that most of my salary went on my rent and I couldn’t afford to be eating eggs benedict and attending ClassPass pilates.

Learning to live within my means and accept what I have is something I’ve had to constantly work on, especially in a world of social media, where it’s easy to compare and feel we want more. COVID, despite it’s tragedies, has taught many of us that a slower pace of life can be much more sustainable and satisfying, so maybe just stick to the one espresso martini.

Cover Photo by Alexa Williams on Unsplash

Originally published at http://lookingbothways.co.uk on February 7, 2021.

3 Life Lessons For My 22-Year-Old Self was originally published in Looking Both Ways on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I admire the fact that you are still standing strong and smiling after countless hours of cramped thumbs and squared eyes in an attempt to swipe for Mr Right. Only to then be faced with the same disappointing stream of the male species, which I like to believe fall into the following four categories:

• Rory, plumber, passive aggressive, 5ft9 (true height of 5ft5), shows at least two gym selfies of him flexing his tattooed arms, and “is happy to lie about where we met”.
• Hugo, Management Consultant, based in Fulham, attends the Henley Regatta and Royal Ascot in the summer, makes a point of putting he went to Charterhouse on his bio, plays rugby, loves Negronis, Mummy and Daddy own a Cavapoochon.
• Brian, tech-entrepreneur, is ‘down to earth’, runs marathons at weekends, loves red wine with a Sunday roast and who finds “intelligence and a sense of humour” attractive.
• Caleb, ‘creative’, lives in Hackney, vegan, almost impossible to depict from his photos as they’re black and white with half his face missing. What is available to view is covered by Raybans and a fisherman beanie.

Trust me, I’m also very much aware of the biography blunders made by us women in the attempt to present ourselves to men in a certain light. You can read more about that in my post ‘Liking Pizza Isn’t a Personality Trait’, coming soon!

Before you all think I have a Bumble-bee in my bonnet, I will point out that I do think online dating can be great. I’ve met some wonderful people and had some amazing memories and relationships with men from dating apps. I love the fact that it connects you with people who you would have otherwise never encountered in your day-to-day life. I love the fact you can meet a total stranger in a bar and by the end of the night you’re snogging each other’s faces off due to the chemistry you’ve created. I love exploring new places in London whilst on dates, and most of all, I love the excitement of building something intimate in those first few weeks and months.

But Sweet Mother of God, it’s exhausting. We all know this, that is why we complain about dating half the time. We delete the apps on and off throughout the year to have a ‘detox’ and ALWAYS plan a first date for a Wednesday night. We put our dating life into the graveyard shift of the week, as we dare not give up a precious weekend evening on the off chance we are faced sitting opposite a Rory, Hugo, Brian or Caleb.

Let’s also not forget that securing, enduring and fancying your date is just battle number one. The real fun starts in the events which unfold thereafter. I don’t like to be a pessimist, but my friends and I have a saying called the ‘three date curse’. This usually occurs around one month in, after we’ve finally finished swiping, filtering, small-talking and full-body shaving. Cracks start to show in our Notting Hill love story, as our Hugh Grant suddenly becomes a little frosty and aloof. A woman’s instinct is never wrong and soon enough we will be faced with one of the following three scenarios:

1. Eligible bachelor falls off the face of the planet in what can only be assumed as a horrific abduction, never to be heard from again.
2. Eligible bachelor suddenly discloses he has “feelings for his ex” who has conveniently entered back into his life promising to make amends.
3. Eligible bachelor has had an epiphany that he is actually “not ready to date”. By far the most infuriating excuse and as if he mistook his Hinge account for a Carpentry Association Society meet-up group.

But we continue to plough on as we attempt to balance out our sense of independence and singleton freedom with the desire to be desired. Why? Because as Ann Landers said, “love is a friendship which has caught fire”. Anyone who has been in love knows this, and anyone who has had their heart broken knows it takes a long time to heal after that fire is put out.

Photo by Rhand McCoy on Unsplash

I’ve learnt so much about myself with every different relationship I’ve been in and the dates I’ve been on. I’ve learnt my boundaries, my desires, my deal breakers and most importantly, my worth. I’m now the happiest, most confident, comfortable version of myself and I truly believe a lot of that is due to the love lessons I’ve learnt.

My biggest lesson from online dating is ensuring I’m proactive when investing time to get to know someone. This is very important, especially as we live in such a throwaway society and seem to find faults in one another all too easily.

I try to take time on every profile, as I attempt to overcome my shallow desires and open up my mind to different men. If I’ve invested an evening in that person, spent my money, time and energy in getting to know them, I will treat them with respect if I don’t see it progressing. I hate ghosting with a passion and think it’s the most cowardly, bizarre behaviour which has sadly sky-rocketed from dating apps. If you aren’t adult enough to acknowledge someone’s existence after physically meeting them, you quite frankly aren’t ready for dating and might need to continue being breastfed for a few more years.

Online dating can be unbelievably fun, exciting and thrilling. However, it’s easy to become slightly addicted and engrossed in seeking virtual attention and ego boosts from people who don’t know or respect you. Enjoy, indulge, but edge on the side of caution. Pining, hoping and relying on dating to make you happy can be a waste of your energy. Learning to love ourselves first is often the hardest step to take towards enjoying a single life.

Look up from the apps, look in the mirror, admire your beauty and appreciate the love you have around you, because you’re not lonely, you’re living life on your own…and that’s strong! We swipe on.

Originally published at http://lookingbothways.co.uk on February 7, 2021.

The Russian Roulette of Online Dating was originally published in Looking Both Ways on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I read travel blogs and endless posts on Trip Advisor. I even devour Condé Nast cover to cover to get inspiration, feeling jealous that I can’t afford £965 a night to stay at Six Senses Bhutan, taking early morning hikes through chilli fields, eating luxurious dinners by candlelight and sipping refreshing pomegranate cosmos.

At the start of the first lockdown, I listened to a special episode on Elizabeth Day’s podcast, ‘How to Fail’. She was interviewing Mo Gawdat who spoke about the “equation for happiness”. The equation says that happiness is greater than, or equal to, your perception of the events in your life minus your expectation of how life should be.

It made me realise that by meticulously planning everything we do, from holidays, to meals out, weekend plans to birthday parties, we create huge expectations. And as such, we risk decreasing our chances of happiness. There’s a greater possibility that something won’t live up to our expectations.

One of the good things about lockdown is that it forced me to stop planning. Life was forced to stand still and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

My boyfriend and I would wake up on a Saturday morning and decide what to do for the day. It might sound mad, but this way of living was foreign to me. Before lockdown, my weekends were planned weeks in advance. It didn’t matter what I felt like doing when I woke up. It had already been decided.

During lockdown we woke up one morning and decided to go on a walk along the Thames Path. We knew it would be a long walk, so we made a quick sandwich, took a packet of crisps and set off. The sun was shining, we ate sarnies on the move, and we had a very lovely day out. This left me feeling very happy…despite the mild indigestion!

If we were going on a weekend walk in a life before lockdown, things would have been very different. I would have mapped out our route a week in advance, found a pretty park to have a picnic and spent at least a fortnight stressing about what picnic items I could bake, cook and prep in advance. A last-minute sarnie and a bag of crisps was simply not an option.

The chances are the walking route would have felt overrated, the park busier than expected and the homemade quiche a bit soggy. And because I’d have set such high hopes for a day out walking, I’d have been left feeling disappointed and therefore unhappy.

Lockdown has helped me realise that whilst a plan can be a good thing, not every solitary thing in your life needs one.

For the fellow planners out there, I’m not suggesting you stop planning your holidays. Afterall, my friends would be devastated if ‘Jardine Tours’ ceased to exist and my boyfriend applauds that every holiday I plan feels like a honeymoon (he’s yet to get the hint). Nor would I recommend you stop planning for important things like presentations at work or client meetings.

Try and remember that there is a time and a place for a plan, but there’s no harm in finding a bit more spontaneity in the smaller things. That way we won’t set ourselves ambitious expectations in everything we do. Like our plans for next weekend or what takeout to get on Friday.

We can’t expect behaviour to change overnight. After all, apparently it takes 66 days (to be exact) for a new behaviour to become a habit. But every time we find ourselves outside of our comfort zone, we should remind ourselves that:

• It’s sometimes ok to not have a plan
• Simplifying our lives will help still our minds
• Lower expectations will enable a greater chance of happiness
• Less time planning our future will give us more time to enjoy the here and now

Originally published at lookingbothways.co.uk on February 7, 2021.

Not Everything Needs A Plan was originally published in Looking Both Ways on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.