The common understanding of ambition often involves departing one’s origins. Individuals from smaller communities frequently aim to relocate to more substantial, dynamic, and appealing places. My own journey started in Ramsgate, a port town on the Isle of Thanet, located on Britain’s southeastern coast and also home to Margate and Broadstairs.
In my youth, I yearned to leave. Ramsgate felt confining: familiar faces in familiar spots, and new establishments like cafes or galleries frequently faced skepticism, or worse, were dismissed as superfluous or conceited. There seemed to be a pervasive belief that the status quo was perfectly adequate. However, for a teenager eager to explore more of Britain—and eventually the globe—this absence of inquisitiveness was discouraging.
Consequently, I departed. My journey took me north for four years, exchanging coastal scenery for historical architecture—initially to York for my undergraduate studies, then to Durham for my postgraduate degree. Post-university, after dabbling in journalism, I relocated to London to seriously pursue a career. I worked as a freelancer for several daily publications before securing staff positions at both magazines and newspapers.
During my twenties, I was not heavily burdened by obligations. My life in the city involved: exploring Mediterranean eateries, attending concerts, spontaneously purchasing theatre tickets, navigating London via the Tube, and enjoying late nights with friends despite upcoming work commitments.
For a period, it satisfied me. Subsequently, it became excessive. Amidst the shared meals, I felt trapped in an unending routine of quickening my pace and having to generate greater income—merely to maintain my lifestyle. Rents in London , apartments were tiny, yet the dream of owning one . City life was exhilarating, but equally tiring.
With age, my return visits to Thanet—for holidays or family events—revealed what I had abandoned. Primarily, it was the ocean. Expansive golden beaches, vast heavens, and the pungent scent of sea salt, which felt commonplace during my youth, suddenly became captivating.
Moreover, I began longing for the rhythm of small-town existence: greeting passersby, observing neglected hedges, or garbage bins left out excessively. I understood that even the pubs I had previously disdained, with their unattractive floor coverings and malfunctioning jukeboxes, possessed a certain appeal.
What’s more, where I was once eager to depart, others are now keen to arrive. Artists, creative professionals, and technologists—the very people I believed I needed to leave to connect with—have been priced out of London and are . They are injecting new concepts, ventures, and dynamism. Margate, notably, has blossomed, with renovated thoroughfares and cultural sites lending it a lively, sophisticated ambiance. Currently, when I return home, I feel a combination of pride and gentle surprise: the location I once felt I’d surpassed has experienced an unforeseen revitalization.
Still, even with this inflow, Thanet does not represent a liberal ideal. The older generations largely ensure it continues to serve as a testing ground for Nigel Farage’s Reform Party. The right-wing populist, who could well be Britain’s , previously contended twice to become South Thanet’s Member of Parliament. But, candidly, most of the time, people are simply individuals—discussing their children, their , or if their football team triumphed on the weekend.
In London and comparable large global cities, subtle pressures exist: to have visited certain places, witnessed particular events, or perpetually demonstrate upward mobility. Back in my hometown, people may complain about their employer or congestion, but life is more straightforward and significantly less about outward show.
During my most recent trip home, I was back on a Thanet boardwalk, with my feet suspended above the water, sharing a beer with my friend Ravi, just as we had done before we reached legal drinking age. I now recognize that the locale I once regretted provided me with a foundation that I misidentified as a limitation.
I am currently unable to commit to a permanent return. My profession ties me to London. However, I am pleased to have realized that the capital city is not the entire world, despite media and political portrayals that sometimes suggest otherwise.
I will continue to frequent Thanet, not out of obligation but by choice: to throw pebbles, to observe the sun setting over the distant line, and to spend coins on the claw machine at Broadstairs Amusements—perhaps success on the 303rd attempt? Every visit reinforces that locations, much like individuals, can evolve while retaining their core identity. I have grown to appreciate Thanet not merely as the home I departed, but as the evolving place it is constantly transforming into.