How Floristry Made Me Reconnect With the City

I’ve long been a bit of a London denier, if you can call it that. While it was once a teenage dream of mine to stomp my stilettos through the city in some high-flying career, I soon realised, somewhere in my early twenties, that I’m just not that kind of girl. You’re much more likely to find me in my trusty Birkenstocks than Jimmy Choos.

Still, it’s easy to get swept along with the current. Nearly two years into London life, I’ve come to appreciate so much of what the city has to offer: reconnecting with friends, discovering new musicians, wandering through exhibitions and, of course, the food that makes London what it is. But despite finding my feet, I still struggled to call this concrete jungle home. For a long time, I didn’t even want to make the association. London felt so disconnected from how I saw myself.

A little over six months ago, I realised that what had really left me feeling at odds with the city wasn’t London itself, but the lack of hands-on creativity in my life. I’d dabbled in pottery, embroidery, knitting and plenty of other crafts, but nothing quite clicked.

As a child, I was forever making daisy chains and picking wildflowers, but somewhere along the way, I’d lost that part of myself. Living in the city, it’s easy to overlook green spaces. They become part of the scenery, somewhere to run through or cut across, rather than somewhere to truly notice.

Earlier this spring, I decided to indulge my curiosity and sign up for a floristry course. In those three days, I felt more connected to myself than I had in years. My only job was to be present and create something beautiful, even if it was only temporary. As I arranged each bouquet, London disappeared. In that little sun-soaked studio, the noise, rush and pressure of the city simply melted away.

The change didn’t stop when the course ended. I found myself wandering my local streets looking for flowers I’d never noticed before. Becoming a beginner again gave me permission to slow down, learning not just the names of plants but the rhythm of the seasons, something that can easily blur together in a city. Wild irises, mimosa and rhododendrons suddenly became part of my vocabulary. Sharing what I’d learnt with friends and noticing the abundance of nature woven through London’s streets made me appreciate where I live in a way I never had before.

Floristry also introduced me to an entirely new community: generous, welcoming people who were eager to share their knowledge. My weekends quickly became filled with flowers, and travelling to events and studios opened up corners of London I’d never explored before. Somewhere between the bouquets, the markets and the green spaces I’d spent so long overlooking, I realised I’d stopped trying to resist the city. Instead, I’d found my own way of belonging within it.