Quarterlife Diaries: ‘It is the curse that comes with turning 30: I can no longer stand the hustle and bustle of the city’

In Quarterlife Diaries neem ik je wekelijks mee in alle dingen waar ik als bijna 30-jarige tegenaan loop. Om mijn hart te luchten vooral, maar ook om iedereen die samen met mij in het Quarterlife-bootje zit een hart onder de riem te steken. Je bent namelijk absoluut niet alleen. Deze week: when living in the city becomes too busy.

I was just 23 when I moved out on my own. Maybe late for some, but for me it was ideal. I could finish my entire study while still living under the familiar roof of my parents' house, and by the time I was reasonably settled in my working life, I spread my wings. I didn't think it was late at all. I had always said that when I left the nest, I wanted a nice apartment. It was super cozy at home (it still is), so I wouldn't have done it for a worn-out student house. Home was nice, and if I wanted to share a bathroom and a kitchen, I might as well stay there.

When my search for my own place finally started, one thing was crystal clear: my ears had to ring from the hustle and bustle. Although it was incredibly nice in my parents' house, it was also right in the middle of a village where nothing, absolutely nothing ever happened. That had to change, I decided. So I only looked for apartments that were right in the city center, where the nightlife crowd had to crawl under my bed just to get from A to B. I couldn't wait.

In the end, I chose, thank god, a cozy apartment on the edge of the center, where I was in the city in no time, but I also didn't have to worry about sleepless nights because I had chosen to live right above my favorite pub. It was right across from a daycare, next to a busy road, and in a building where 60 other people lived, but I didn't care. I was finally free, and how much trouble could you really have from all of the above?

Spoiler alert: a lot. In the first years, I didn't care much about the noise from those screaming kids and the incessant roar of passing cars. Maybe I shouldn't be so dramatic, maybe this is the curse that comes with turning 30, but I suddenly can't stand it anymore. I haven't had kids for nothing, so that constant screaming goes through me every day. Sleeping with an open window is an art that I still haven't mastered, since the practice rounds for the Grand Prix happen right outside my door every night, and I haven't even mentioned the fact that there's always a neighbor trying to demolish their entire apartment every week. Noise everywhere and I. Am. Going. Crazy.

My 23-year-old self would seriously wonder if we were talking about the same Sophie, but I have an incredible urge to seek peace in a house somewhere on the outskirts of the city. Or maybe even, hold on, outside the city. Where you hear birds chirping, you aren't robbed monthly through your rent, and where nothing, absolutely nothing ever happens. I can't wait.