Why some places call us back
I’m heading back to a city I lived in during my 20s to find closure and create new narratives
Welcome to Freedom Focus—your weekly dose of career insights from a multi-passionate ditching cubicle life.
You might’ve come for the remote work tips; you’ll probably stay for the feeling of being seen in your hunger for a freer, more intentional life. Pull up a chair and let’s get you a Spritz.
I don’t know if this is a strange form of OCD, but in three days I’m setting off on a 10-day solo trip to Europe, partly because I feel compelled to heal my relationship with a city I lived in back in 2019, which I left after an internship I hated.
That city is Oxford, UK.
As I booked the trip, with all the butterflies of a solo traveler, I kept picturing myself walking down the same street where my internship workplace was, wandering through the city center, and recreating new narratives—almost as if to lift a spell.
Lately, I’ve found myself wanting to do this with a couple of other places I lived in during my 20s that left me with a meh feeling when I departed.
Of course, I’m also looking forward to heading back to the UK simply because it’s been on my mind a lot recently and for the fascination it always sparks. I can’t wait to eat scones with jam, have fish & chips again, and see the greenest parks on earth.
I’m glad to be having a job (two, to be precise) that allow me to take trips without using PTO and where I have enough autonomy that I don’t have to ask permission every time I want to leave.
I’m excited and nervous for my trip at the same time. I’ll keep you posted!
P.S.: Two potential explanations for the “odd” pull to revisit places from our past
They come from authors any traveler seeking deep reflections on the art of traveling should read:
The first is José Saramago. In Journey to Portugal (another place I lived in and will be visiting again on this trip), he writes:
The end of one journey is simply the start of another. You have to see what you missed the first time, see again what you already saw, see in springtime what you saw in summer, in daylight what you saw at night, see the sun shining where you saw the rain falling, see the crops growing, the fruit ripen, the stone which has moved, the shadow that was not there before. You have to go back to the footsteps already taken, to go over them again or add fresh ones alongside them. You have to start the journey anew. Always.
In a time when people pride themselves on counting countries or placing flags on a map—digital or physical (what does “checking off a country” even mean, really?)—I love the idea of revisiting the places that have shaped us, multiple times and in different seasons, both of the year and of our lives.
It’s almost like keeping a relationship alive.
That’s exactly how I feel about Lisbon, where I lived for three formative years and which I return to every few years.
The second explanation comes from Italo Calvino. In his masterpiece Invisible Cities, he writes:
You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours.
To me, this suggests that it’s sometimes hard to pinpoint exactly why we’re drawn to a city. Perhaps the place will only reveal the answer once we arrive (maybe that’s what will happen for me in Oxford?) and I love the idea of tuning into our intuition enough to listen to which places are calling us.
I’ll leave you with that for this week. Thank you for reading!
Have you ever felt compelled to visit a place more than once? Or to return to a place you once lived in, hoping to gain a sense of closure?
I’d love to hear your experience.
And if you liked this piece, don’t forget to tap the 💙 below. You can also buy me a coffee or consider a paid subscription.
Until next time.
Yours,
Caterina