Confessions of a City Junkie (And Why I Refuse to Quit) 💊

Look, I need to come clean about something: I'm a city addict. Not in the trendy "I can't start my day without my White Chocolate Matcha from Blank Street Coffee" way, but in the genuine "I get withdrawal symptoms when I'm away from organised chaos for more than a week" way.

I grew up in the great city of Sydney, survived various forms of schooling there, and thankfully became a graphic designer sauntering around trendy neighborhood agencies willing to pay me. A career that doesn't pay much but beats the hell out of sitting in spreadsheets all day. But by and large you can only really thrive in it from a city. Now I'm in London, where I've perfected the art of complaining about waiting a whopping 6 minutes for the next tube while on my way to a world class theatre show 30 minutes from my doorstep. Because here's the thing about cities: they're like that questionable friend who's terrible for you but makes life infinitely more interesting. They're loud, costly, but there's never a dull moment.

Sure, I love visiting the countryside or sleepy beach towns. I'll admire some greenery, breathe clean air, and pretend I'm the kind of person who finds inner peace in silence. But give me 72 hours and I'm checking my phone for the nearest urban center to get a decent coffee like the addict I am. From behemoths like New York and Tokyo, to the small but mighty like Austin and Copenhagen, cities are where it's at for me. Cities are my Pringles – once you pop, you literally cannot stop.

Everyone, and Everything, All at Once

Here's what I love about cities: they're the only places on Earth where being weird is perfectly normal. Want to join a medieval sword-fighting club? There's probably a waiting list. Into competitive dog shows? You'd be surprised how serious the owners take it but more surprised that there's more than one scattered around town.

Cities are basically giant experiments in what happens when you put every type of human in a blender on high speed. The result? You can eat Malaysian cuisine at a brewery, then stumble into a gallery featuring Japanese art made from old TV sets, and end your night witnessing a man rollerblade down the street in not much more than a cowboy hat and supreme confidence.

As a Londoner, I still get a kick out of knowing that notorious weirdos, Mick Jagger and David Bowie probably strode through the same streets of Soho as me. And I have to assume it was playfully side by side like in the 'Dancing in the Street' music video. Quirky history is everywhere.

Welcome to the Hunger Games (But for Your Hopes and Dreams)

Cities don't hand out participation trophies. They're like that brutal personal trainer who makes you cry but also gets you into the best shape of your life. Except instead of abs, you get resilience, adaptability, and the satisfaction of competing with the best of the best.

Every city has its specialty obsession which draws in the superstars: Silicon Valley worships at the altar of digital disruption, New York genuflects before the god of finance, and Tokyo bows to the architecture gods. You can smell the ambition in the air.

The pressure is real. I've eaten mind-blowing barbecue in Austin that wasn't even considered top 5 in the city. The pit masters work through the night lovingly tending to brisket and ribs, day in day out, probably for minimal margins, only to be considered a last resort option in a pinch. But I guarantee their peers would be banging on the door if they decided to quit, pushing them to never give up and get back out there. But that pressure creates diamonds.

Your Calendar on Performance-Enhancing Drugs

Cities are basically dating apps for interests and random adventures. And you're the hottest one on the platform – Any desire you have can be satisfied. Want to go axe-throwing, samba dancing, pasta making, VR gaming, indoor climbing, silent discoing, open-micing, drag brunching, or cryotherapy-ing? There's a spot for that, and it's open now.

The access is almost ridiculous. In a single day you can meet a friend at Vinyasa yoga, ride your bike to Israeli breakfast, hop on a bus to pottery painting, catch the train to spend the afternoon in the park with an organic smash burger and local craft beer from a market stall, then realise you are late for dinner and a gig so you hop in an uber with a few taps on your phone. And most of this is solved by access to public transport and great walkability. Something that the smaller towns are begging for.

Public transport and walkability in great cities is like having a teleportation device, except it's operated by people whose biggest conundrum is deciding between a screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey or an exhibition about gaming through the decades (which is really an excuse to play Ninja Turtles on SNES again after 25 years).

Expensive Chaos Worth Every Penny

Let’s be honest: cities are objectively terrible ideas. Millions of people crammed into concrete mazes, paying obscene rent or mortgages to live in spaces the size of Harry Potter’s cupboard, all while pretending that sirens, smells, and shouting are “totally worth it for the culture.”

And yet. Cities are where impossible things happen daily. They’re controlled implosions of ambition and creativity, where a wrong turn might lead to an open-air salsa night or a pop-up in a laundromat. They’re messy, expensive, noisy – and completely addictive. Whether it’s the city I call home or one I’m passing through, the chaos feels oddly grounding.

For me, cities aren’t just where I live and work – they’re where I expand. I become more curious, more tolerant, more aware of just how big and small the world can be. They’re where I’ve met my best friends, discovered my worst habits, and learned that you can absolutely run on nothing but the buzz of possibility (though why would you when there’s ramen that rivals Tokyo). And that rush? I’ve chased it from my own block to cities across the globe.

So yeah, I’m addicted to cities. The Pringles tube is permanently open. I’ve accepted I may never own a big house with a backyard and a white fence, and I’m good with that. Because once you’ve felt the electricity of urban life – the late-night food trucks, the surprise encounters, the constant hum of “anything could happen” – everywhere else just feels like waiting. I build my life in one city, but I never stop looking for the next one that might shift my perspective or just serve up something unforgettable when I least expect it.