Vicky Ewan: The challenge for young adults flying the nest

It's around this time of year that I start thinking about Christmas and present buying. As the children get older, I am reluctant for them to spend their money on gifts for me, when I know how hard-earned it has been.
Things have been a little unsettled for my younger daughter this past year. She had relocated to London with her elder sister last August, seeking to make her fortune and forge a new life for herself away from the strictures of her parental home.
The dream, however, was more her sister's than her own, a long-held desire to be in the heart of things and see the bright lights of the big city. My younger daughter had volunteered to accompany her, knowing that the process would be easier in solidarity.
The intrepid twosome upped sticks and left at the end of last summer, taking with them a select amount of their worldly possessions and a surfeit of hope. My lovely brother and sister-in-law had agreed to facilitate the relocation, offering their spare room as accommodation, and thus providing a sound (and rather comfortable) base to the girls, as well as a soothing balm to the nerves of the parents of the Whittington Two.
A temporary home was secured; jobs proved more difficult. Our elder daughter was eventually hired by a popular bakery situated on the stylish streets of South Kensington. She made friends and began a new romantic relationship; everything was looking rosy.
By contrast, our younger daughter struggled; her youth, combined with her limited experience, hampered her job applications, which were legion but unfruitful. Her days became small and lonely, her savings were dwindling fast.
As Christmas approached, the pull of home became irresistible, and she announced that when she returned to the bosom of her family to celebrate the festive season, she would be back to stay. I was not sorry, and neither was my husband; despite our regret that she had been unable to make the break successfully, we had missed her and her sister dreadfully, and were (not so) secretly glad to welcome one of our lambs back into the fold.
As the new year dawned, the hunt began again for my younger daughter, this time centred on a fresh ambition: to live and work in Exeter. First item on the agenda was finding a job, irrespective of location; surmising that securing work in her hometown could elevate her employability status and make her a more appealing candidate for companies in the city, she searched for employment locally.
It wasn't a speedy process, by any means; she applied online for what seemed like hundreds of positions, but scarcely ever heard back. Frustrated, she shifted her focus from full-time work to part-time, concerned about her dwindling savings and increasing period of unemployment.
Finally, a few weeks later, she was offered part-time work at a local shoe shop, which she accepted with alacrity. Her eyes were still on the prize, however, and her interest was piqued when, a few months later, a job opportunity at an office in Exeter presented itself.
She applied, and was granted an interview a few days later. The meeting went well, and my daughter took a liking to the company, but the deadline for notification came and went with no whisper of a verdict.
After several days had passed and I had privately convinced myself that she had missed out, I was elated to receive a message on the family phone group chat, saying, simply yet eloquently, "I got the job!!!!!!"
She gave notice to her current employers, and started at the new premises a fortnight later, settling in quickly and enjoying the challenges of office work. With the employment box ticked, my daughter's attention turned to her residential situation.
The commute to Exeter, though straightforward, was lengthy, adding a good two to three hours to her working day. She was adamant that relocating to the city would be the better option, the financial burden of paying rent for the first time notwithstanding - and as someone who has never lived alone, I was inclined to agree; it would be beneficial for her to find her independence and experience the highs and lows of solo living.
She identified several attractive propositions and managed a couple of viewings, but for a variety of reasons no tenancy was secured. Anxious to make the move before Christmas, she enlisted my husband's help, instructing him to view prospective places at times inconvenient to her because of work.
It was through these means that, despite potential issues with the length of time at her present job and no previous rental history, she was offered a flat in a pleasant part of the city. She was overjoyed, and is full of plans about how to coordinate the move and furnish the premises. It is a bittersweet time for her dad and me; we are proud that our daughter feels ready to fly the nest, but reluctant to bid her farewell again, knowing how much we will miss her.
We comfort ourselves with the knowledge that she will only be half an hour away, and she has promised she'll be back for Christmas. That'll be gift enough for me.