I thought I'd live in a big city after graduating. Instead, I moved to an island with fewer than 60 people.

​​When I finished university, people would always ask me what I wanted to do. I saw myself eventually moving to London, building a career, and settling down there. A lot of my friends had already done just that, and I thought I'd do the same.

I was living with my parents while I tried to work out what I wanted to do with my life. Despite my British hometown's relatively large size, I felt extremely isolated. It felt like there was nothing for me here. I had a job in healthcare administration, but I had no direction.

That's when my mom showed me a job opening on Lundy, an approximately 3-mile-long island in the Bristol Channel. I'd gone on a family trip there once before, and loved the landscape, history, and nature.

I applied right away and, within a month, I had quit my job, packed up my belongings, and hopped on a ferry toward Lundy, my life on the mainland behind me.

While on Lundy, I met my partner, who was volunteering there. He had lived on other remote islands — Skokholm and Fair Isle — and told me all about them.

There was a whole world out there of remote islands, and now I wanted to experience them all, these far-flung reaches of the UK now within my grasp. When he left Lundy to take a job in Fair Isle, I decided to follow him, applying for a job as a housekeeper at the island's Bird Observatory.

So, a year and a half after graduating, I moved to the most remote inhabited island in the UK.

There is more community on this remote island than I ever had at home

Fair Isle is only accessible by boat or by plane. My flight was canceled due to poor weather, so I spent the ferry journey from Shetland to Fair Isle racked with anticipation, my excitement and fear mounting with each wave the ferry bumped over.

I didn't know a lot about my new home, just that the population would be under 60 and I'd be about 300 miles from the nearest major city.

What struck me as soon as I arrived, though, was how welcoming everybody was. People smiled, said hello, and introduced themselves immediately.

I quickly learned that this was the norm here. Each time the ferry comes in, the community gathers at the harbor, ready to help bring supplies off the boat. Just about everybody helps, even if they aren't expecting anything for themselves.

Driving around the island, people always smile and wave — now, I have to remind myself not to do this whenever I go back to my hometown, where this kind of casual friendliness feels less common.

Everyone I've met has also been so generous in sharing their knowledge of the island and its history. One islander has taught me how to machine-knit and hand-finish traditional Fair Isle knitwear, and I've participated in the community "Hill Caa," herding the wild sheep and helping shear them, something I never thought I'd get to do.

I've found the community I lacked at home, and I'm the most sociable I've ever been. The Bird Observatory's bar is the island's social hub, hosting music nights, parties, knitting meet-ups, and more.

Most evenings, I can be found there with a cup of tea, chatting with colleagues and guests, and looking over the sea as the sun sets.

It took me a while to adjust to parts of island life, but I love it

My time on Lundy had given me a bit of familiarity with island life, but the remoteness of Fair Isle still surprised me.

Occasionally, when the fog descends or when the wind rages, the planes and boats are unable to come, meaning there's no way of leaving. The weather changes quickly here, too: The sun gives way to storms at the drop of a hat, and plans change with it.

At first, all of this was stressful for me. I was so used to next-day delivery and being able to get whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Here, mail is often delayed, and visitors can get stuck.

I've gradually grown more comfortable with the unpredictability, though. After all, it's never the end of the world if supplies come a bit late. Occasionally, we run out of fresh fruit or milk, but we make do with what we have.

The head chef at the Bird Observatory is incredibly resourceful, and no food is ever wasted — we keep a stockpile of food in the pantry, saved for the weeks when no boat can come, and no leftovers are wasted.

I feel happier than I have in years

Never did I imagine that I would be housekeeping on a remote island after university, but I'm so glad my life has turned out this way.

My job covers my accommodations, food, and utilities, so I've been able to save money. I'm also surrounded by nature, and I feel so much happier having access to such a beautiful landscape.

I'm also lucky to be surrounded by people who are so passionate about wildlife. Pods of whales often swim by the island, and running up the hill to see them so close to shore is unlike anything else.

Life on a remote island can be unpredictable, and there are some things I miss about living on the mainland, but the benefits of living here — the experiences, opportunities, and people I've met — completely outweigh any negatives.