Ready but slow. If someone had to describe the way I function, it would be this — I’m always ready for change, but somehow, I move slowly towards it. At 22, one year out of college, with a good months of experience working at a bookstore, I was excited but still clueless about life. I loved everything creative, loved talking to people, and I had this quiet belief that I’d figure it all out eventually.
One random day in 2022, I casually told myself, “How fun would it be to just live in Goa?” It wasn’t a “serious plan,” just one of those fleeting thoughts you have while daydreaming. But exactly a year later, on that same day, I landed in Goa to start my journey. Did I manifest it? Maybe.
For someone who’s always loved the idea of change, this felt right. It wasn’t just a trip. It was a move. A whole new version of “independence.” Until then, I had always lived with my parents, barely knew how to make Maggi, and probably never put a bedsheet on my own. This was going to be different. And honestly, that’s what excited me.
Cheap alcohol, beaches, and freedom. That’s what I’d always heard about Goa. But living there? It’s a whole different story.
Unlike most people my age, I was very comfortable at home. I could call my dad at any moment to pick me up if I didn’t feel safe. I could jump into my best friend’s bed when things got tough. Home wasn’t something I was running away from. It was something I loved a little too much. So knowing that all of that comfort wouldn’t be there for me in a new city was hard to accept.
But I needed to go. The opportunity was too good to pass up, and the timing was just right.
I used to think that settling into a new city was a single “click” moment — like one day you’d wake up, and everything would feel right. But it’s not like that. Settling in is more like layering bricks. You don’t see the wall forming until much later.
At first, I made the mistake of trying to do too much at once. I thought I had to master everything — cook three meals a day, clean regularly, hit the gym, and excel at work. But it didn’t take long for reality to humble me. My “all-or-nothing” plan quickly turned into waking up late, skipping breakfast, and coming home too drained to cook. Takeout felt like survival. I felt like I was failing.
I realized I needed a new strategy. So, I started small. Calls with my mom became cooking classes where she taught me simple, quick recipes. But not everything I learned came from her. One day, while we were talking, I mentioned, “Did you know the size of onions changes the taste of the dish?” I expected her to nod and move on, but she gasped. “Wait, you know that? Who told you that?” she asked, genuinely surprised. Her reaction made me laugh. I told her, “I figured it out myself.”
That moment stuck with me. It was one of those small but important realizations — living on your own isn’t just about struggle and survival. It’s about discovery. Up until this point, I had only been a mix of my parents’ habits and guidance. But here I was, figuring it out for myself.
I realized I like oats. I still can’t eat KFC, but I can make my own chicken curry. And that chicken curry tastes like mine.
The first step in building a routine was letting go of the idea that it had to be perfect. I stopped trying to do everything every day. Instead, I gave each day a role. Saturdays became laundry day. Sundays were a breather — a day to do nothing without feeling guilty. Fridays? That was for calling my best friend.
Slowly, I went from living with a 22-year-old schedule that my parents had set up for me, to building one of my own. The difference? This schedule worked for me. Some weeks it would fall apart, but it was still mine.
People tell you to “make friends” or “find your community,” but before you can do that, you have to be comfortable in your own company. I’m someone who talks — a lot — and even I had days of complete silence. It felt uncomfortable at first. I hated it. But after a while, I stopped fighting it. I learned how to sit with it. It was only when I became okay with my own company that I started letting other people in.
Once that shift happened, everything got lighter. I stopped avoiding office outings. I stopped waiting for my roommate to initiate plans and started pestering her instead, saying, “Let’s go there after this.”
But there was one specific moment that sealed it for me. I was walking back home when a tourist stopped me to ask for directions. Without missing a beat, I said, “Oh yeah, take a left from there.” It wasn’t forced. It just came out. That’s when it hit me. This is my city now.
And that is how life moves on, and you move with it. The million emotions of a new city will all be worth it. It’s not instant, but it’s real.
If you are also in a similar situation, know this: Everything feels like a mess at first — your routines, your thoughts, even your sense of self. But slowly, the scattered pieces come together. Piece by piece, things start to feel whole again. Settling in isn’t one big moment — it’s a series of small ones that build on each other.
For me, moving from Delhi to Goa wasn’t easy. But moving back from Goa to Delhi? That won’t be easy either.
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