UK or Cyprus? the choice
In Cyprus, there’s not a lot of choice.
Bear with me here, because I have a point to make – and it might not be quite what you think!
Say that you’re gluten-free, over 6 foot, or trying to furnish a flat without IKEA. Maybe you want a specific book, or size 9 heels, or a silent practice mute for a French horn.
On this island, there are any number of things that are not always easy to find – or, at least, find in variation. Okay, you’re not exactly stuck – you can hunt things down, ask around, or order online if you’re patient.
But it’s rarely quick, and it’s seldom simple. More often than not, you’ll have one option, maybe two – and you take what you can get. Choice, on this island, is often a matter of compromise.
Then you arrive in the UK (as I did, last summer). And suddenly, you’re surrounded by A World of Variety!
Walls of oat milks, aisles of ‘free from’ foods, entire shelves devoted to nut butters. There are clothes designed for every size and height, toothbrushes that range from charcoal-infused to gum-care to bamboo-handled with an ergonomic grip. And if you want furniture, you don’t just pop to the nearest IKEA: you go to the charity shop, ebay, freecycle, Facebook marketplace. And someone, somewhere, will have precisely the pink pineapple lamp you’ve set your heart on!
At first, this is exhilarating. A theme park of possibility.
“When I moved back home to Hebden Bridge, I was blown away,” says 63-year-old Margery Stemmins. “I walked into Matalan and just stood there, staring at the bras! In Cyprus, I’d been surviving on the same two M&S numbers for years – one black, one white. It was all they had in my size.
“But here, in the UK, I was faced with balconettes, plunge, wireless, seamless, sports bras, sleep bras… in everything from magenta to teal. I honestly didn’t know what half of them even did!”
This is exactly how I felt on my return to the UK. Those first trips to Waitrose and Sainsburys became a pilgrimage through aisles of cold-pressed juices, walls of mushrooms, shelves of shampoos, biscuits I’d never heard of. (What happened to just Digestives, Gingers or Hobnobs? Anyone?)
Even when I didn’t need to buy anything, I found the possibilities astounding. Amazing. And online, it was even more so…
Amazon is something else. Do you need it in blue, in a larger size, in cotton? Do you want it at 2 for 1, as a discount deal, delivered today to behind the second wheelie bin from the right? And can you really trust Kevin from Milton Keynes when his review suggests ‘This spatula/snowglobe/loo seat changed my life’?
My mind boggled at the choice in Britain, especially after living on a small Mediterranean island for so long. It was exciting, glorious, wonderful…
And then it wasn’t.
Because rather too quickly, the theme park became overwhelming. And here’s the point I want to make. Within just a few days, it all became Too Much. Too much choice, too many options.
It began to dawn upon me that this was all just stuff. Piles and piles of stuff. Endless variations on oatcakes and phone cases. Set up, not for humans, but ‘consumers’.
Because the important choices – those that shape your days, your relationships, your peace of mind – don’t need to come in 15 flavours and 63 sizes. And the really meaningful stuff in life isn’t available in the supermarket aisles or at the click of a button…
“I was only in London for two weeks, but the first thing that struck me was how little control people seemed to have over their own time,” says Larnaca resident Marilena Kyriakou. “Everything felt scheduled, rushed, booked in advance. Dinners with friends were planned like a board meeting.
“Then there was nature – where’s the choice? Sure there are parks. But I couldn’t just drive up the mountains or down to the sea. I couldn’t pull over to pick figs from a tree. Everything felt fenced off, managed, far away. The choices I was used to just weren’t there.”
Marilena is touching on something I’ve felt over the past few weeks.
I’ve never had access to so many ‘things’ as I do right now. And yet somehow, I’ve never felt less in charge of my own life.
Yes, I can choose between 10 brands of quinoa or 20 types of colander. But do I have the option of paddling in the sea while the sun sets over the horizon? Can I call a friend and meet for coffee right now, because we’re both within a short drive of each other? Can I choose to live more slowly, more simply, more fully?
In Cyprus, I reckon choices don’t sit on shelves. They’re woven into the fabric of everyday life: in the warmth of spontaneous conversation, a weekday swim, in the decision to pause rather than push. They’re in choosing to say yes to a spontaneous meze with friends, to opening the door when your neighbour knocks – and staying for a chat instead of rushing on.
Choice, it turns out, is a tricky thing.
Somehow, we think we should be chasing it in supermarkets and scrolling for it online, mistaking quantity for the quality of freedom.
But real choice – the kind that has meaning – isn’t about having more. It’s about knowing what matters, and having the space to choose it: space to breathe; time to be present; connection and closeness.
Maybe, in a world obsessed with having it all, the real luxury is simply being able to choose a life that feels like your own. A life that isn’t flashy or packaged or next-day delivery, but instead is very real. In Cyprus, I think we have that.