Fear, I am finding, is a matter of being afraid, but doing anyway. Of course, at the highest point of my terror (a gradual building up until the moment I had to say goodbye to Nate at airport security), by which time I had already paid for a plane ticket, summer school in Edinburgh, hostel accommodations, etc., I had little choice but to go, but the point stands, I think!
I was so incredibly sad to leave home, a note which might surprise many of you, as it did for me; after talking about these plans for so long (beyond a year!) it seems almost silly that I was so deeply affected by saying goodbye to my beloved Vancouver.
Beyond sad, I was also fearful (as I’ve already established) of all the things I can’t plan or don’t know, but of the things I do know, I know that I am so lucky. To be a young woman of colour, able to be on my own on the other side of the world so long as I am armed with common sense and constant vigilance, my family and friends still so accessible thanks to modern convenience… I am so lucky, so privileged, to be able to do what I am doing now (i.e., as I type this out from written journal entries, sitting on a train rolling across the English countryside). Frankly, it seems almost disrespectful not to go, fear and sadness notwithstanding.
Once I landed, I encountered a few unexpected hurdles… the cashier at the ticket office in Gatwick was impatient and incredibly unhelpful and did not seem to understand that I couldn’t understand how my train ticket worked. I got on the train, though I wasn’t even sure it was the one I was supposed to be on (my heart dropped into my stomach when an attendant came by to check tickets, but thankfully, I was on the right train).
I also didn’t realize that you had to press a button to open the doors on the Gatwick Express. I could feel the disdain of the man next to me as he reached around to press the button for the crowd of us trying to get off the train.
When I arrived in London from Gatwick (a half hour train ride), I was dismayed to discover that I had more than four hours until my train departed to Nottingham from London St. Pancras. After a desperate respite at the ever-familiar Starbucks (save for the fact that they didn’t have wi-fi… what’s up with that?), delighting in the fact that Buckingham Palace was only a ten minute walk away from my very spot and that the theatres of Hamilton (previews) and Wicked were even closer, I set out to King’s Cross/St. Pancras.
Once I got off the tube there, I still had time to kill, so I figured I would visit Platform 9¾. I am familiar with King’s Cross and Harry Potter, of course, but in my jetlagged state I wondered where I would find the “Harry Potter trolley thing” (which is how I was conceptualizing it). I saw a sign for Platforms 0-8 and promptly realized that I’d probably find the “Harry Potter trolley thing” by Platform 9. The line was long, as expected, so I left and headed to St. Pancras, where I spent some time wandering the shops, chewing gum, and walking to keep awake.
I relish in the thrill and accomplishment of getting around a new city successfully and with relative ease. So far, despite its bustling metropolitan-ness, London has been simple enough to navigate.
I think much of my comfort in London has to do with the fact that London feels so much like home, although I couldn’t tell you why I think so. Los Angeles, New York City, Miami, Orlando, and the cities I visited in between—these cities all feel distinctly un-Vancouver-like to me. I’d say it’s the trains, but NYC had trains, too, so…
It was warm and pleasant in London today, although it would have felt far more pleasant if I wasn’t dressed for colder weather. Dressing in layers isn’t a particularly useful technique when you’re alone, carrying a lot of things, thus not really having hands or arms to easily carry outer layers that you’ve shed.
The trouble with today—other than exhaustion—was being lonely. Not alone, because I’ve felt capable enough on my own, but lonely: by this time, all of my friends and family at home are asleep (even nocturnal Mom), and I truly have only myself for company. I’m used to being alone for the most part, but with so much waiting to do (downsides of being early and prepared), I’m bored and longing for company, even if it’s only virtual.
But at this point, I am far, far too tired to be sad and scared and lonely. I just want to take a long shower and get into bed!
I appreciate these rare chances when I have no choice but to take my time, to use my own two feet, to clear my own path, and to go slowly. I am always on my way somewhere, and almost always I am in a rush, but when it snows, I am slow for once.
I fell in love with the hot and sticky Manhattan. I fell in love with the way the city and its humidity clung to my skin, I fell in love with the way it suddenly poured while we were in Times Square, like an overcompensated apology for the heat.
I fell in love with being a tourist in the City, wearing my Statue of Liberty hat and having pizza on Wall Street, trying to grasp all the important decisions being made steps away from me, all the important exchanges that have been made, were being made, will continue to be made.