

There is a version of adulthood we've all been sold, and most of us bought it without reading the fine print: school, college, a job, the same job, a slow accumulation of furniture and formality, until one day you look up and you are exactly who everyone expected you to be. Nobody forces this on you. It arrives quietly, dressed up as good sense, as stability and by the time you notice it, it has already made most of your decisions for you.
Your 20s aren't infinite, but they are the one decade when you're likely to have the fewest obligations and the most room to move - a combination that doesn't come around twice. Which is exactly why you should take up new hobbies, change your job if you're unhappy, start your own business, a run club, a ballet studio - whatever your heart desires.
I left Delhi at eighteen, certain I was missing something extraordinary by staying. For close to two and a half years, I was miserable in ways I hadn't budgeted for. Living alone. Coming home to a flat with nobody in it. No one asking, out of habit, whether I'd eaten. No 5pm ritual of tea and idle conversation, the kind every Indian household runs on. I spent a lot of those two years quietly resenting the decision that had gotten me there.
And yet. I would make the same decision again tomorrow, and here's why.
There's a logic to staying: it's easier. The routes are memorized, the routines automatic. Building a life somewhere unfamiliar, a new job market, an apartment hunt from scratch, a social circle with no head start is inconvenient by design, and that's the point. Nothing forces adaptability and self-trust quite like being dropped somewhere with no safety net and having to figure it out anyway. You don't build character by avoiding hard things, you build it by walking directly into them, badly, and doing it again the next day until you're not bad at it anymore.
At home, you're rarely actually alone — someone always knows where you are, who you're with, what you'd probably order. Move somewhere new and that scaffolding disappears. Suddenly it's just you: your own decisions, your own company, your own reflection with nothing to compare it to. That kind of solitude is uncomfortable, and also revealing. You find out what you actually like doing when no one's watching, and how capable you really are when there's no one left to call for backup.
Stay in your hometown and half your life gets decided for you before you've had a say — the friend group you fell into at fifteen, the career your family expected, the version of you everyone already has an opinion about. Leave, and every piece has to be built on purpose: who you spend time with, what you value, who you actually want to become. It's slower and messier, but it's yours in a way inherited defaults never are.
No mortgage, no kids' school zones to consider, no decades of accumulated stuff, fewer people whose lives are entangled with the logistics of yours. If you're ever going to take the risk, this is the cheapest - and lightest - it will ever be.