‘My summer holiday changed my life’

When Natalie Blenford packed up her London life and moved to Tel Aviv for the summer, she had no idea it would turn her whole outlook around…

THIS TIME EIGHT WEEKS AGO,

I was crying in Nando’s. Crying because I had a flight to catch, so my pre-travel fear of turbulence was in full swing. Crying also because I didn’t have a sun hat and I hadn’t changed my currency or bought my Avène Thermal Spring Water. But truthfully I was crying because of something deeper. I was about to turn my back on my London life and fly to the Middle East for the summer – and I couldn’t even explain why. All I knew was that something needed to change.

Aged 35, I’d lived in the same threebedroom flatshare in West London since 2012. I’d seen 12 flatmates come and go, and while I loved my multicultural street, I couldn’t face showing another new tenant how to work the central heating, while the ones who’d moved on graduated to marriage and home-ownership, which made me feel like I was lagging behind.

I lost my dad three-and-a-half years ago to cancer, and sometimes the pain felt so raw it was as though it happened last week. I’ve got lots of amazing friends, but I’m single – and not happily so. I frequently found myself alone in bed at night, panicking with a fresh wave of loneliness. I’d cry and want to call a friend to ask, ‘Will everything be OK?’, but I didn’t want to worry people, so I’d end up crying into my pillow and frantically reading Twitter to try and distract myself from the spiral of negative thoughts.

I did go on dates – maybe one a month – but none of the men I was matched to sparked with me, and the idea of meeting someone in a bar or club seemed impossible.

When work was busy, I felt OK; as a freelance writer and actor, I often juggled interesting assignments and auditions. But on quiet weeks I’d wake up anxious, realising I had nothing to do except check in on friends and their babies on Facebook, then see what was available on Classpass.

To make matters worse, in early June I was diagnosed with endometriosis. After months of crippling pain, I had an explanation – but I also faced the prospect of fertility problems. Another blow.

I’ve always thought of myself as a positive, proactive person, yet recently one thing had hit me after the other. Every time I looked at my gorgeous niece and nephew or my friends’ babies, I had to consider the fact that it might be harder for me to have children. Deep down I was devastated and one night I retreated to my mum’s house, only to wake up screaming at 3am, as a full-blown panic attack took hold.

When my gynaecologist offered to operate immediately, I knew I needed to be brave and get on with it. But I wondered: was this all my summer had in store? Surgery, recovery and weeks of worrying about whether or not I’d have kids? I wasn’t ready to face it. I urgently needed a change from the status quo.

I decided to take a chance and spend three months living and writing in Tel Aviv. I’m Jewish and have long had a connection with Israel, but I only have a handful of friends here and no family. I’d become riddled with self-doubt and I needed sun, sea and a sense of possibility to make me believe I could still have the things I dreamed of – success, love and a family – in the face of what I saw as my London rejection.

Armed with some savings, I arranged to stay on my best friend’s parents’ air bed for a few days after my flight. I had no plans. No fixed abode, no job, no social group. Just a desire to breathe the salty air and reconnect with who I really was.

The first week was tough. Tel Aviv is a hectic, 24/7 city where drivers beep their horns, people party all night, every night, and the temperature rarely dips below 30 degrees. It was a shock. But I realised I could either dehydrate and let the city’s energy overwhelm me, or I could slap on some SPF 50, embrace the vibe and live a totally different life from back home.

I found a big room in a dusty flat one block from the beach. The next Saturday, I was swimming in the sea at sunset as a ridiculously hot guy approached on a paddle board. Yoni was 28, a lifeguard and in possession of the best torso I had seen in real life, ever. London Natalie would have nervously shaken off his advances, but Tel Aviv Natalie actually gave him a chance. We swam together and ended up kissing as the waves crashed around us.

Distracted from the negative thoughts about my health, I could enjoy life and its simple pleasures again. My red hair and freckles mean I stand out here, and I’ve been asked out more times in the past eight weeks than I have in three years in London. It’s renewed my faith that a relationship could be on my radar. In London, I’d simply given up hope, sad as that is to admit.

The friendly, open culture has given me a boost, too. Whether I’m sipping iced coffee in a tree-lined boulevard or taking a yoga class in the park, people talk to me all the time. I’ve been offered writing work, an audition for a TV sitcom and dates off the back of quick conversations.

Spontaneous balmy nights out have helped me to feel alive again. And taken my focus off the benchmarks of success we are obsessed with in the UK: money, property, career, marital status, babies – all of which were making me feel like a failure when now I can see I am anything but.

In four weeks, I’ll return to England. Leaving will feel bittersweet. While I can’t wait to see my family, I’ll miss the energy, optimism and sense of possibility that pervades in Tel Aviv. People keep asking me why I want to come back. I’m not saying no to anything. Yoni was a bit of fun, but I’ve had dates with four other guys this week and I wouldn’t run away from true love if it found me before my flight home.

Taking three months off sounds radical, but as students we got time out every summer to stock up on wellness-boosting vitamin D. I might be broke now, but my long holiday has rebooted my lust for life. It’s up to me to see what happens next. n

I had NO FIXED ABODE, NO JOB, no social group. Just A DESIRE TO RECONNECT with who I really was