Looking back nearly 20 years, I think I was always more interested in a career in journalism than I originally thought. I entered the media world by chance, but I’ve actually been preparing for it for longer than I expected.
As a teenager, my school administered a psychometric vocational aptitude test to match our future careers. My job, journalism, sounds appealing, but I remember thinking there was one catch. I guess I had to move from Newcastle. Most of the notable jobs were in London.
That calculation wasn’t completely wrong. According to research by the Northern Powerhouse Partnership, 44 per cent of 16 to 21-year-olds in the north still expect to have to move to the capital to find better job opportunities. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of it either. So, when I was 15 or 16, I made a deal with myself. Although I would like to try my hand at journalism, I have no intention of uprooting my life for the sake of it.
And in the mid-2000s, it seemed like I really needed to come to terms with the fact that I was never a working adult. proper Journalists – at least not beyond my local newspaper. Skype was only a few years old and still unreliable (Zoom would be more than five years away), so Gumshoe’s reporting was essential. Home internet speeds were not fast enough to allow reliable calls.
But then things changed. By the time I graduated from college just a few miles from where I grew up in 2010, the media industry had begun to go digital. Email editors, connect on social media, and call contacts around the world. So I decided to simply freelance and work for myself (rather than join a local newsroom).
I grew my online presence and built a byline. That caught the attention of potential employers, and a handful of them offered me full-time jobs of varying degrees of seriousness and formality. I’ve had an employee at a free newspaper message me directly on her Twitter, tap me digitally on the shoulder about my work at work, and an editor at a hot online startup update me on the latest news. There were semi-frequent phone calls. There was an offer dangled in their recruiting plans that was semi-open but not fully committed.
But those opportunities mean another move to London. Then I thought about it seriously. I spent a sleepless night scrolling on my iPad through property listings in areas within a reasonable distance of my city center office. But I still didn’t feel like going.
To be honest, one of the reasons was cowardice. I was and still am a homebody, and I loved being close to my family. But another trade-off had to occur. I lived a comfortable life in the north-east of England, going out relatively little considering my standard of living. Everything would change if I moved to London.
Yes, my income will increase thanks to the legendary London weighting. But not as much as my rent. And to be honest, when I used to travel there every few months to visit editors and make connections, I couldn’t help but notice the price of the tube, the lightness of my wallet on the way home, and the gloomy, tired looks of people in a hurry. I couldn’t help but notice. time.
Like many of my friends from other parts of the UK and countries, my school friends who moved to London were having a great time. They had world cultures and cuisines on their doorstep. But they also admitted they weren’t too keen on the strange housemate and could find themselves in financial trouble near the end of the month.
And in fact, if they’re being honest, they’ve set up shop in a little corner of London, and they live across the river, and by the time you get home from work, you’re not necessarily talking to our mutual friends. There was no need to visit. , I’m tired and helpless.
I also listened to a slightly older friend and peer in the journalism world. He rose to a high position at a national newspaper, and did so by living an itinerant lifestyle, sleeping on his friends’ couches and floors during his weekly commute. London seen from the northeast. I didn’t want that either.
So I’m betting that the places that first showed interest in me as a freelance journalist and potential staff writer will continue to show interest in me, even if I stay where I am. saw. And it paid off.
As the years go by, as technology continues to evolve, I’m able to keep in touch with editors all over the world, pitch ideas to them, and speak to and report on people not just in London but back home. Now it looks like this. This was still relatively rare until the pandemic made remote work the norm and suddenly the abnormal became the norm.
Today, 14 years after graduation, I got my own house (an apartment next to a beautiful and green park) without a mortgage. Just as I had dreamed of but never thought would happen, I am continuing to grow and have a successful solo business, freelancing for some of the world’s largest publications. I have a caring partner who excels in her field, away from the cutthroat competition of London, and who I would never have met if I had stayed away.
When I compare myself to my schoolmates who are struggling to get a mortgage on a property within commuting distance to London, I consider myself lucky and in many ways ahead of my age. I feel it.
I am also grateful that I was less than 300 miles away, so I was able to spend time with my grandmother before she passed away, and that I was able to visit and keep my widowed grandfather company every day. And you can do the work for some of the world’s biggest publications, including this one, all from home.
As part of my career, I teach the next generation of students at local universities. They often ask me how important it is to move to London. I used to be able to point to my success and say it wasn’t a deal breaker. But now you can tell them much more than that. It was the best decision for my career and my life.