How do you leave somewhere you love?

I loved Liverpool. Even when I felt oh so lonely at times in my first year at university, free-falling through minimal contact hours and missing my family. As well as the subject matter of my course, it was very much the city itself that me inspired to stay. Liverpool encouraged me to press on and keep trying, to continue exploring its charms. Having grown up with a mum who had moved to Bristol to study and then stayed there, I think the cultural idea of relocating for university and then making a life in that place had seeped into me, too.

It feels sort of strange to think about it now, but pre-Liverpool, I was very much a child of the south of England. Applying to university, my criteria were basically for the place to have a half-decent English Language and Literature course, and to be a big city where bands stopped on tour. My awareness of Liverpool didn’t extend much beyond the clichéd knowledge of The Beatles, but it was an interesting-sounding and substantially-sized city that would probably be sufficiently distanced from Bristol for me to just not run home all the time, and to try and form some sense of independence.

And when I visited for an open day, one of my first proper forays into “the North”, Liverpool gave me gorgeously crisp February sunshine, some well-overdue quality time with my Mum, a delicious Italian meal, and a super engaging tutor from the department who talked about the importance of finding your favourite bar in which to drink wine and contemplate your favourite literature. Needless to say, it had me hooked. It was really the only potential place I visited when looking at universities which I felt a real spark of excitement about, that I could actually kind of imagine myself inhabiting.

So I moved. And I explored. The architectural beauty and contrasts of the two Cathedrals. The many, many fantastic pubs (and the impressively cheap drinks). The ever-blustery riverfront. The superior green space offered by Sefton Park. The high street shopping and the vintage shopping and the charity shop shopping. Some things were a total revelation: the dress code for nights out, the friendliness of people, the political undercurrent. Others left me somewhat bewildered: what and where exactly was the Wirral? Why the distinct lack of decent cider options on said nights out? (I’m pleased to say the latter is no longer a problem.)

By the time I reached my final year, I felt something like settled – I had good friends, a budding new romantic relationship, favourite haunts. Weathering a bit of a tough first term in my third year, I found I didn’t just want to rush back to the south west. I continued to throw myself into my studies and into making the most of the brilliant city. I graduated, and moved into an apartment in town with my best friend.

I stayed on, despite the sometimes tortuous-feeling lengthy train journey home, and the seemingly fruitless job hunt post-graduation. Finally managing to get some semi-long term work, I moved into a flat near the famous Lark Lane with my boyfriend. My love affair with the city continued, rediscovering it as someone in the world of work rather than just a student. I developed professional relationships, and then close friendships, with colleagues who were from Liverpool (and, of course, the Wirral – which by then I was more than familiar with).

I travelled on the local train service Merseyrail, bought a bike and conquered cycling up the hills from town, had lunch with friends on Sundays in our favourite ramshackle vegetarian café. Through my work, met and read with people in all kinds of settings, from libraries and community centres to supermarket cafes and hospitals. Moving on to a new position working at Liverpool Philharmonic Hall, I became familiar with a whole other arts and music scene, worked on receiving donations for the refurbishment of the Hall and then on involving and welcoming patrons in its reopening. With Liverpool as my base, I travelled further north – to the Lake District, and then beyond into Scotland, to Edinburgh, Glasgow, the Outer Hebrides.

How do you leave somewhere you love? Ultimately, by giving notice on your rented flat, packing up all your stuff in a van, and heading off down the motorway. But I still find it difficult to pinpoint the exact moment where I realised that was what I was going to do, and the reasons behind the decision, particularly now when I look back with such rose-tinted glasses and nostalgia at living there. I think it was a shift in what I thought I wanted to do for work – publishing, to be exact, and there being limited opportunities at the time for such work in Liverpool. The nagging sense of being so far from my family which had never really gone away. And there was also the pertinence of the idea of going while something is still good. Like how sometimes it’s best to leave a party while it’s still in full swing, or just before it tips into not being, so you’re left with the high and good memories, not the slightly odd-feeling increasingly empty rooms and impending clear up.

So it was probably over a series of weeks that the decision was made. A number of factors came together, as they often do: work and flat contracts coming to an end, a decision in my relationship about what we were going to do next, an opportunity to do some travel.

Really, you leave somewhere you love by slowly untangling yourself from the physical strands that tie you there, and by making peace with the fact that you are moving on. And in my case, by also honouring how you are still bound to the place by that love, and by all the particular ways in which it supported and challenged you to develop and become who you are.

My difficult times in Liverpool were more than outweighed by the good times. I probably annoy everyone by talking about my fondness for the city and how much I miss it. I try and go back at least a couple of times a year, and enjoy trying out new restaurants while pretending to be mildly outraged at what has changed.

Of course things have changed. Liverpool is probably one of the most full-of-life places I’ve ever had the pleasure of getting to know, and change is inevitable in any place where humans live, love and work. Moving away from somewhere often means being more alert to what is different the next time you go back. Experiencing that bittersweet sense of knowing that the change is itself a result of the energy that you were so drawn to in the first place. There’s a sort of irony in that, coupled with a strange reassurance that the heart of the place stays the same.

Sometimes I think about going back to Liverpool, but I’m never quite sure you should return to things once you’ve moved on. We shall see. For now, I’ll continue to reminisce, and feel thankful I have friends there I can stay with, and for brief periods of time, pretend I never left.