Sydney Is Not For Manic Depressives

I have spent 80% of my life living in Sydney (the rest is split between London, North America and now Auckland).

After spending a month in Sydney, I finally figured it out. Sydney is all about status, how good you look, what you buy, your job title, where you live, how many boys ask for your number in a single night, it all means something.

After a month of highs and lows I realised that Sydney siders are always looking for the next high, the next buzz, the next something incredible. They are always chasing the white rabbit.

Don’t get me wrong, Sydney constantly delivers, with amazing people, parties, bars, art, events and festivities happening regularly. There is always a buzz to be found in Sydney.

But it’s like being an addict or a manic depressive, with every high comes a lull or a low that can only be sated by the next big thing, something cool, something hip, something better than anything else.

In Sydney you just start to expect this. With amazing weather, fantastic beaches and a harbour that surpasses them all, you start to run out of superlatives to describe Sydney. So there is this foundation of amazingness that always has to be added to and exceeded.

Don’t get me wrong, Sydney is in my top 5 cities in the world (ignoring housing prices, cost of living and the rise in shootings), but it is also emotionally exhausting. You have to be ready for the roller coaster ride that keeps looping the loop.

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