In Sydney, my life often felt too full. I had a job, a thesis, a blog, a freelance writing career. I had a boyfriend, an exercise addiction, a family I saw every weekend, and the number and quality of friends that comes from spending twentysomething years of one’s life in the same city.

So one of the things that appealed to me about moving to London was the idea of doing an “edit” on my life.

There was the literal edit of shedding all my ‘stuff’: deciding what to take with me, what to put in storage, what to give to away, sell or simply chuck out. There was the cutting down of obligations, so that rather than jumping from thing to thing without a rest, I’d have time to focus on my biggest, most important projects.  Finally, there was the transition from having more people I love than I ever have the time to give enough time to, to moving to a city where I know around seven people.

“On some level,” I confided before I left, “I’m kind of looking forward to moving to a city where I don’t have many friends. I can be a great friend to three people!” Not so much to 50 or so.

But there is something to be said for the intimacy that comes from spending twentysomething years in the same city, and the constant process of refining - and, yes, editing - that goes alongside it.

In Sydney, I had the perfect companion or confidante for every opportunity, problem or pleasure that crossed my path. I had friends to attend nerdy academic-style talks with, and friends to go to hipster, themed parties with. I had friends to play cognitive gymnastics with (that process by which you bounce from concept to concept and end up in a completely different place to where you started), friends to share dreams and aspirations with, and friends I could talk nothing but bullshit and boys with for hours.

Sure, they had the annoying habit of running off to other cities for a year or two, leaving large, people shaped gaps in the process, but the bones of it were there.

That’s not to say that London is all empty days and lonely nights. Far from it. I’m going out far more than I was in Sydney: exploring, socialising, meeting new people, reconnecting with old ones, and uncovering new scenes and subcultures. Nor am I particularly worried about being friendless in the long term.

But as comfortable as I am with the process of meeting people and making new friends, I’m not convinced it will be easy, either. Friends who’ve moved overseas before me have commented on the difficulty of finding a place where you really fit. At the same time, you have to take the time to get to know people before you figure out who you do click with - some of my most soul-matey friends were acquaintances for years before we decided to live in each other’s pockets. (This incidentally, is why I’m such a big believer in the benefits of ambient friendship - you never know who is going to become important in your life, or when. Why not tend to those looser relationships?)

So, because making friends - and equally, being part of a community - is something that is important to me, I thought I’d give over a few entries this week to exploring the issue further. I think it’s an even bigger, more important, issue in an age where so many of us really don’t stand still - where as much as we care about the people who matter to us, they aren’t enough to stop us from jumping on a plane or train to explore a new city, country, or opportunity.

First cab off the rank? How to make new friends in X easy steps. (I’ll figure out how many steps there are once I’ve written the post.)

And what about you? Have you ever moved to a new city or country? What did you find most challenging, and what did you do to overcome those challenges? And if you haven’t headed elsewhere yourself, how do you feel about the fact that so many others do? How do you think it’s affecting friendship?

Related: On Facebook and friendship
Going where thousands of Australians have gone before