Why I Decided to Leave the City

Exploring a journey from the city to the farm - Part 1

I was born in the city. I grew up in the city. And until about five years ago, I was pretty sure that’s where I would spend the rest of my life.

As a kid, the cultural stories I was told about success and happiness made me think the city was the ultimate place to be. Fame? Money? Power? That’s where you’d find it. Convenience, luxury and indulgence - all within walking distance. I grew up in London, so it felt like home; after all, that’s all I had ever known. Yet at the same time, deep down, I’ve always felt a sense that I’m not really from there. I mean I don’t have ancestry from London. I don’t have traditions that route me to the history of the city. My grandparents lived close by, and my parents moved into the city along with their friends, seeking all the benefits cities bring. But at the back of my mind, a question has always lingered: Is this where I am from?

By the time I was 21, I was hungry to go somewhere new. I had spent the last four years working with my brother Jack on building a YouTube channel called JacksGap. Some readers might know it, if not - the long story short is that our early adventures in travelling and filmmaking were a hit - more than we ever imagined they would be and within a few short years, we found ourselves making videos full-time and earning a living doing so. We were the first wave of ‘YouTubers’. After four years, although I loved the adventure and the thrill of it, there was a growing hole inside of me that craved more meaning and, to some extent, to reclaim my anonymity. The truth was, on a deeper level…I wasn’t very happy. I didn’t feel nourished, and I wanted to try something different.

Arriving in New York City, 2015

So, I decided to move to the world's second-best city - New York. Somehow, I managed to get myself a place at Parsons School of Design, and without much notice, I packed my bags, and off I went, in search of new urban adventures. New York, for those first couple of years, was wild. It felt like London but compressed into something even denser, higher-energy, and more sugary. I feasted on it like urban junk food. For anyone used to quick dopamine hits and constant stimulation, New York is the place. The daily screeching of sirens that roar past the window soon becomes the normal baseline of urban life. The hum of New York City is the beating pulse that keeps it alive.

However, by the time I had graduated, I had undergone quite a significant shift in how I thought about the world. I spent those four years immersing myself in my studies on design and the environment - at times, quite obsessively. I inhaled as much information as I could. I read voraciously. Most importantly: I learnt how to learn. Aside from the mandatory architecture and urban design classes, I dipped into ancient and modern philosophy, environmental history, sustainable systems and even Spanish theatre. I became fascinated by the climate crisis and deeply concerned by the environmental disconnect of the urban world I had grown up in. I remember one class that left me with this paradox. The teacher explained that cities are the main drivers of the environmental problems we face today, yet as centres of innovation and efficiency, they are our best opportunity for finding a solution. That one stuck with me.

When I landed back in London, I was somewhat radicalised. As soon as I returned, I struggled to relate to the city I had grown up in. Everyone seemed distracted by all the wrong things. I joined Extinction Rebellion, hungry to connect with people who shared my concerns about where we were collectively headed. But campaigning in the streets and blocking roads didn’t feel like a very inspiring solution. So, restless, I looked further afield. I wanted to go somewhere culturally different. Somewhere away from the familiar but still connected to the city life I had always known. So, I applied for a job in Tokyo, Japan - to work for an architect called Kengo Kuma. As a student, I read Kuma’s books about how he uses natural materials like timber in his buildings to connect people back to Nature. I love the idea of bringing more natural materials back into our cities. I’ve also long been fascinated by Japan’s animist Shinto traditions and craft culture. So once again, I packed my bags, and off I went.

In the first week of working for Kuma, all the dreams of my architectural hero and his philosophies were shattered. I found myself on the 13th floor of a nondescript office building with blue carpets, fluorescent lighting, phones ringing and a relentless work schedule that started at 9 am and ran non-stop until 11 pm. Someone had advised me on the first day to tell the office that I lived on the outskirts of the city so they would let me go before 12 am - when the last metro train stopped. My romantic vision of how this was all supposed to go quickly faded. Tokyo, for all its wonder, is a city of extremes. It is common to see ‘salary men’ passed out, drunk on their way home from work. I saw this most evenings as I travelled home. I spent a lot of time wandering the city centre, observing people going about their day-to-day lives. During my four months there, I started to lose faith in urban life. By then, I had lived in three of the biggest and most prominent cities in the world, but none of them filled the empty hole I felt inside. In fact, they seemed to exacerbate it. I realised - I felt lonelier in a city surrounded by people than I did when I was in Nature by myself.

The final nail in the coffin came late one evening. I was sitting at my desk on that 13th floor, procrastinating on some menial task. I think I was photoshopping material palettes for a luxury bathroom detail for a new Hilton Hotel in Tokyo. I saw an article on Vice about a new report on climate change that was sending people into therapy. I couldn’t resist. I clicked and downloaded Gem Bendells ‘Deep Adaptation’. For those who haven’t read it - in a nutshell, Deep Adaption suggests climate collapse is inevitable and we need to start preparing now. I think today it is the most downloaded academic paper in history, although it’s worth noting it’s self-published as it was too controversial to be accepted by academic journals. As I read the contents of that paper, I looked up from my desk and realised I couldn’t see a single tree or plant from my view across the entire city. Just a forest of glass, concrete and steel. It might sound like a small detail, but I think that was the moment I gave up on the city as a place where I would find the nourishment I was looking for.

When I came back to London for the second time, I started to sink into a deep depression. I felt totally unsure of where to go next. I became pretty existential. In fact, things got so bad I found myself in a doctor's clinic asking for medication to treat my symptoms of chronic depression and anxiety. I think at the core of it, I felt totally disillusioned with the path I felt I was supposed to follow. I didn’t want to be part of a system and a culture that was systematically destroying life on earth. I know that sounds hyperbolic, but at this point, I was deep in the academic literature around climate change. I was reading every IPCC report that came out, somehow thinking the more I understood, the clearer the solution would become.

After the consultation with the doctor, I didn’t take the medication he offered me. It seemed like putting a band-aid on a gaping wound. He recommended I take some time off. Get out in Nature. Prioritise my mental health. So, I started planning a trip that would ultimately change the course of my life. As the summer of 2019 rolled around, a couple of months before I was about to start my master’s degree in architecture in London, feeling as lost as I had ever felt in my life, I packed my bags for a solo adventure that would change, well… everything.

Thanks for reading Part 1 of this four-part mini-series exploring a journey from the city to the farm. Stay tuned for the next instalment! Part 2 should be coming out at the end of next week. Feel free to leave comments below and share with anyone who might find it interesting.

Finn