Since graduating last year, I have have a newfound appreciation and understanding of the city that I now call home.

I moved to Sheffield at 18, right in the middle of the pandemic, clutching a student railcard and a vague sense of adventure.

Like many students, I arrived not knowing my Ecclesall Road from my Ecclesfield.

It was the height of Covid - a strange time to begin life somewhere new, and certainly kept me in my student bubble for a little while.

Fast forward five years, and I’ve swapped the sticky-floored student bars for flat whites, late nights for early runs, and made Sheffield my permanent home.

The city centre I encountered back in 2020 looked very different to the one I walk through now.

For those of us who remember the half-dug-up roads and the “temporary” fencing that became as permanent as the Town Hall, the transformation has been remarkable.

My friends and family who visit now always comment on the pedestrianised feel and how much more modern the centre looks: “It’s got such a nice feel to it now.”

I know from the comments online that many people are concerned about footfall, and how getting into the city centre feels harder than it used to.

But I think Sheffield is evolving in response to a much wider shift, with the decline of the traditional high street changing how we spend time.

What’s happening here isn’t perfect, but it’s part of something bigger - a move toward creating spaces that people actually want to spend time in, not just rush through.

To me, it feels like the city has grown alongside me, from student to resident - and I truly enjoy working in the city centre.

As a student, I didn’t have much money to throw around - unless it was on a £5 round in Tigers or a questionable takeaway.

I rarely ventured far beyond my usual haunts, partly because my bank account wouldn't allow it, but also because student life has a way of keeping you in a bubble.

But now I have a bit more freedom to explore, one thing I’ll say is that no city does cafes quite like Sheffield.

There’s something about the cosy, independent spots dotted through the city that makes for the perfect Saturday morning.

My current obsession is Porter Coffee on Sharrow Vale, though I’m slowly working my way through the city’s brunch scene - a big task, but someone’s got to do it.

What’s shifted most for me since becoming a “real adult” in Sheffield is the people I meet.

When you move from the student circuit into the wider city, you encounter stories that you would have completely missed otherwise - from speaking to a 100-year-old woman who’s lived here long enough to see the Sheffield coal mines, to chatting with small business owners who understand the nuances of business in the city.

Sheffield is full of grit. It’s not always glossy, but there’s a quiet determination to this place that I’ve grown to really admire.

This is also my first summer actually in Sheffield, as usually I’d head home as soon as term ended.

Experiencing the city without its usual 60,000 students is a whole new thing: it’s quieter, but no less vibrant.

I’ve finally had the chance to go to some of the festivals I always heard about but never made it to.

In June, Doc/Fest takes over the city with hundreds of documentaries from around the world.

July brought Crossed Wires, Sheffield’s own “Glastonbury of podcast festivals,” and Tramlines - my first one - was an unforgettable blur of music, and the triumphant return of Pulp.

It turns out Sheffield doesn’t slow down in summer - if anything, it comes alive in a different way.

I’ve also seen more of the city’s complexities.

Visiting Page Hall for the first time, for example, was a real eye-opener to the challenges some communities face, things you’d never encounter if you only stuck to Ecclesall Road.

On the flip side, walking through Dore sometimes feels like stepping into a different city entirely.

And then there’s High Green, where I met Denise, who runs Cones, and reminisced about a time when cows were slaughtered just across the road.

These encounters helped me understand why, even amid all the shiny new developments, nostalgia still runs deep in the city.

Even the Peak District feels different now. As a student, my ‘hike’ was a spontaneous march up Stanage Edge in trainers with no snacks.

Now I plan routes properly, even if I still get distracted and end up somewhere entirely different. Hope Valley remains a firm favourite all the same.

Some things haven’t changed, though - the nature here is still unmatched.

Endcliffe was my first love, but now I’ve added Graves Park into my weekly running route rotation. It’s big enough to get lost in your thoughts but not so vast you need Google Maps to get out again.

Being a young professional in Sheffield means learning about the city beyond the clubs and lectures. It means understanding why people are protective of their neighbourhoods, why bike lanes and pedestrianisation schemes stir such debate, and why - despite grumbles - there’s a real sense of pride in this place.

It’s a city made up of pockets: Sharrow Vale’s indie charm, Hillsborough’s community spirit, Nether Edge’s hidden gems.

And I cannot fail to mention, that sat in La Parilla tapas restaurant, I have also since had my first Henderson’s Relish taco.

There’s still so much I want to explore - more pubs to discover, more routes to run, more corners of the Peaks to get lost in. But what’s clear to me now is that Sheffield isn’t just a student city.

When I stood at Tramlines last week watching Pulp and The Reytons declare their love for the Steel City, I felt it too, that deep, infectious pride.

And transitioning from a student to a full time resident has allowed that pride to grow.