When I was 23, I moved to England by myself, not knowing anyone there. It wasn’t totally spontaneous, as I had to apply for a working holiday visa, but when I got there, I did a ton of spontaneous things. The biggest was that I was staying in London, didn’t love it and went to the train station with all my stuff and hopped on a bus that said Brighton because I remember my mom saying her friend’s daughter liked it there. I checked into a hostel, found a bar for lunch and asked the bartender if he knew of anywhere I could live. The guy sitting at the end of the bar was also named Lindsay and he was leaving for Australia the next day for three weeks and his subletter fell through. We met and we got along, so I checked out of the hostel the next morning and moved into boy-Lindsay’s tiny bedroom in a four-bedroom shared house, with all of his things still in it. It worked out great and I ended up moving into the laundry room with a mattress on the floor once he came back because I liked his roommates.
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