Discovering Destiny On A Detour

Embarking on this trip to Europe as a socially weary and depressed teenager helped me recognize the true scale and scope of the world. It set forth a journey for me to discover my place as a member of it, after years of doing most of my living in my own mind. It was one of the first times in my life I could remember that instead of “flying from my fears,” I chose to face them, and it permanently altered my relationship with my mental health.

Over the decade that followed, I continued to challenge myself through travel, starting with road trips across state lines on trips with friends, and then graduating to cross-country flights to the West Coast and down to the Caribbean. Inevitably, my travels brought me back to Europe, which would end up being my next home.

In September 2016, following a turbulent flight from John F. Kennedy Airport to London Heathrow Airport, I landed in London for the first time. After an hour-long train ride from the airport, we emerged from the train station in the South London neighborhood, Brixton, where I was overwhelmed by a strange sweeping sense of familiarity. It felt as though I entered a parallel universe version of New York, where the vehicles’ steering wheels were on the right side instead of the left, the MTA subway was replaced by the London Underground, yellow taxis were black cabs, and all of the buses were red and double-decker.

Amsterdam, through the lens of Khari Clarke

The similarities didn’t stop at transportation. The Crown Fried Chicken restaurants that I grew up on in Brooklyn were PFCs (Perfect Fried Chicken), and corner store “bodegas” were replaced by “Off Licence” shops (which, as a native New Yorker, I hate to admit I’ve come to prefer at times). The Brixton community also had a rich and authentic West Indian influence, with a litany of mom-and-pop shops, family-owned Jamaican restaurants, and street vendors — which as someone of Jamaican descent, crescendoed the experience perfectly for me.

The juxtaposition of being somewhere that felt foreign, but that bore this inescapable familiarity left an indelible mark on me. Because of the innate comfort the city provided me, London became the launching pad for all of my future European travels. I returned the following year on the aforementioned trip to Amsterdam in 2017 and then again in 2019, sandwiching a trip to Berlin between a few days in London.

By March 2021, I finally made London my home, right before my 30th birthday. With this impending milestone, I felt the need for a fresh start and to shed layers of my identity that no longer served me. By this point, social anxiety and depression were still parts of my life that I was working to manage. Although I had matured and been in therapy for years up until my decision to move, relocating to London felt a lot like my 16-year-old self going on the People to People trip. On one particularly difficult day, in which I was reconsidering whether I was mentally prepared for the move, my father said to me, “Son, a person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” Though phrased differently, the sentiment of my J.R.R. Tolkien mantra found its way back to me right before this pivotal change in my life. So I stayed on the road to my destiny.

The process of finding a place in London was my first apartment hunting experience,meaning my first actual living space would be whichever London flat I chose. Luckily my partner, Bridget, had relocated to London from New York a year prior through her job. This provided a landing pad for me to get my bearings when I arrived, and also someone to coach me through each process of the move. She resided in Canning Town, East London, so naturally, that’s where I started my search.

East London neighborhoods like Canning Town had changed considerably from their storied reputations from years prior. Previously, these areas were known for crime and gang-related violence. An Uber driver candidly told me a week into my move, “Back in the days, Canning Town was only good for two things: getting robbed or stabbed.” Much like Brooklyn, a wave of gentrification spread across East London, which I’ve been told was primarily a result of the construction of ‘Queen Elizabeth Park,’ which was concocted in Stratford for the 2012 Summer Olympic Games to be held. This ushered in new faces and new interest in developing the once condemned areas in London’s eastern neighborhoods.

London was back on pandemic lockdown by the time I arrived, so my first and only in-person viewing was in an East London neighborhood called Poplar. It was a modern one-bedroom flat with floor-to-ceiling windows and a balcony. It was a part of an estate with a concierge and 24-hour gym and was 30 minutes away from Central London. I signed the lease the same day as the viewing.

I’ve now been  living in London for over two years, and in many ways, I feel like I’m still transitioning into life here. I’m still in therapy, I’m still tussling with my mental health, and I still struggle with social anxiety. However, I also remember my J.R.R. Tolkien mantra and think about how not fleeing from my fears allowed me to discover myself. I look around at my flat, complete with a gallery wall of art pieces I collected over the years, vinyl records of my favorite artists, and various other music memorabilia and art pieces that reflect the essence of my creative interests. Even in the midst of transition, I feel like all of my experiences up to now have equipped me with the tools I need to meet the challenges of my life head-on. 

When you’re a child, your parents might have marked the wall above your head to show you your physical growth, but mental and emotional growth are harder to track. The most impactful way to track my growth, I’ve found, has been to be honest with myself about my fears and be intentional about the roads I choose to take — several of which have led me to London.