Today marks one week since I moved out of my family home into a shared apartment in London.
- I expected tears and nostalgia but none came. I catalogued my departure through photos for posterity’s sake and to capture any wistfulness that may appear; it didn’t stop for me.
- However, I fully expect to experience a wave of sadness and a pit of regret, and, for that reason, had set a timer of four weeks, the end of which would signify that I survived the anticipated adjustment period. Evidently, I like to plan. Even for events, such as spontaneous emotion, which you cannot really prepare for. I have given myself full permission 21 days to cry, mope, and fret.
- Who knows if I’ll need it. ‘Home’ is only a Liz Line away.
- It’s early days but I already have some insights from living in this big city. Maybe they were so immediate because London’s impressions on me are still fresh and new.
- There is absolutely no room for self-consciousness. For the continent that I live in, let alone the country I was born in, I’m at the locus (nexus) of opportunity. Everywhere I turn people are turning ideas into action. They’re absorbing (breathing in) inspiration and using it to fuel their worldview. So many sights, so many people, within breathing distance of so many ideas. I am so close to this ‘air’ that me, even at my most insecure state could influence action. It would be a mistake to let chances pass simply out of a fear of being perceived. It doesn’t have to be a monumental action either. I acknowledge that my social anxiety as it stands makes me hesitant to take photos of pretty landscapes (that I don’t plan on posting for clout btw, I have a faceless instagram account, and that’s to talk to my friend who is my 1 follower) for discomfort out bringing attention to myself for superficial reasons. Since I spent so much time in a lifestyle that was uninspiring what counts as normal here is invigorating. Coming from a background of cultural lack, I can’t afford to be shy and pretend like I’m unfazed when I’m not. Idgaf if I look like a dorky tourist captivated by the mundane & quotidian. I will continue to stare at that gangly tree because of how sublime it looks in the foreground of the softly glowing sunrise. This week I saw these bright purple flowers that looked like wisteria and even though I was in a rush I stopped and gestured the stalk of one flower to my nose to verify (It wasn’t). A staff member asked me if it smelled nice and I saif ‘slightly’. I was so glad I did that because I satisfied my desire to know. Had I chosen not to stop, I would have forgotten about the inclination, but the realisation that I hesitated for reasons that weren’t self-directed would have set a twinge of regret. I know how those twinges, twangs, and pangs accumulate. Hopefully, I will extend this attitude towards more substantial activities, or perhaps the little things are what matter, since it’s an additive experience after all. Either way, in London, pride is a limiting restraint on exploration. Ask questions, read the fine print, and stand tall while doing it. Literally stop and smell the flowers if they catch your eye.
- ‘Of course, I can’. I went for a walk to the nearest Thames bridge. The landscape – longstanding monoliths of legend interweaved with modern office and residentials – inspire me deeply. There’s so much activity within each tiny snapshot, with each blink, I get the foolish idea that I could be a part of it. I know these aphorisms are reserved for media about New York City but, I feel like I can make it, I can do anything. It’s not even that I need to question “Do I dare to start?”, the sheer fact that ‘hustle’ and movement is what’s normal here means that the environment ushers me to follow the same flow. Of course I can start a side hustle – why would I question that I couldn’t? I publish a piece of longform journalism, I can explore my obsession with digital argumentation for a living. I can fall in love. There’s incentive, there’s encouragement, there are good influences that I don’t want to be in the business of turning down. In what I call reassuringly dismissive, for anything I want to do, I should do it, because in the scale of what goes on here, that’s nothing! This way of thinking removes the tasks and prospects away from their tall perch, stacked by tiers of increasing improbability, and makes them normal…
- Start new habits immediately. This one is a work in progress, although I know it’s true. I’ve scoured through many personal posts from ‘lonely’ people living in London seeking friendship and fellowship, after arriving months ago. What I presume is that many of them sensibly opt to settle in first, and master obligations such as a new job, new surroundings. As would I. However, knowing myself, I might get accustomed to the old, comfortable routines that never served me, yet I find comfort in them. This is when I remind myself: I’m not here just for a change in view, or a closer commute. My reason is more monumental than that – I’m here to experience becoming – to test my mettle & see what I’m made of. I can’t do all of that from my room & I can’t do it alone nor do I want to – my flat, although lovely, is a base that I return to for recovery and planning my next foray into exploration and eventual satisfaction. What would this look like? In my case, that means ceasing to use television as a crutch or a means to fill time. I am already a encyclopaedia of useless sitcom references; I do not need more. (“Even so, they have made me” – Vincent Van Gogh) Living on my ‘own’ has always been a distant dream – now that it’s here before I was fully ready, I have no more excuses for not crafting the life that I want. Every activity is accessible and available to me. Since moving, I occasionally think “Who I am doesn’t need to be theory anymore, stuck in my head. I can make it a reality…” and then I get tearful at the oxymoronic weightless gravity of the prospect. “Why not?” and “What’s your excuse?” are incredibly motivating thoughts to me. For that reason, I aim to eat two more frogs – besides this one – before I meet with you next: start a sport and try my hand at public speaking.
- Locate your centre of gravity. For me this takes on figurative and literal significance because my posture is preposterous. For a place with so much going on, you want to make sure you’re grounded by something when needed. What is holding you together? Can you trust in it? I’m not outsourcing or depending on anyone, so act like it.
Kenya Williams 