Saying goodbye to London

(Orginally published July 2014)

Its a strange thing, to leave home. Its even stranger when the home is an adopted one. In leaving London I felt/feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself, while simultaneously feeling ridiculous for feeling this way (lots of feelings happening here) because the truth is – London, the UK, never really was my home. I’m an American. I should feel most comfortable here, among peers who understand my culture and accent. However, I am an American who has always felt more at home anywhere but here.

I still remember the first time I went to the UK and my immediate love for it. It was the first time, at the age of 16 I'd ever travelled internationally and almost immediately it was as if I had arrived home – rather than leaving it. I had entered my comfort zone. 

There have been a few articles bouncing around my social feed lately about ‘what it feels like to leave london’. I associate with them, I agree with them, and it is only upon seeing these and watching/hearing about other friends leaving that city that I realized, finally - after a year and a half - that I’ve done the same thing. I left London. London is in my past. Although my gut reaction when anyone asks me where I am from is to say 'London', that is no longer true (and really never has been). And that is heartbreaking.  It is with great effort that the words 'Washington. State.' form on my lips when approached with this question.

London may yet still be in my future – I hope so – because the thought of London being something that I did when I was young, an anecdote that I tell my children or future friends feels foreign, seem strange, not right.  My mind can't shake the fact that I am a Londoner even if my reality is long past this.  

This city on the other hand. New York. Few I know who leave it then long for it back. Stories here are of burnout, of maturity. Of too much, too fast and now ready for a change . New York is a beast. Some people take pride in surviving it. Some, I’m sure would even say they are thriving on it. But it seems, to me, something  instead to be managed for a time. A stepping stone, akin to getting a college degree. The city is fun while it it lasts and then we move on. New York becomes the thing you check off your list, something you conquer and then leave in pursuit of a quite, more manageable, more quality life. Of course, it could just be me. There is a lot of back and forth, a lot of love and hate with any big city. And I’ve had no shortage of great moments in New York nor miserable ones in London. But I’ve never felt a longing for a place (or even person) as much as I have for London.

This blog is no stranger to it – I imagine most are so used to my posts on this topic since I’ve left the UK that I’ve lost many a follower. I even considered not putting this post up. Keeping it personal, private, simply using it as a means to put my thoughts to paper and release them from my ever spinning, thinking mind. And then, almost simultaneously, I decided to post it and that this would be the last of its kind. It would be the last comparison, the last public longing for a place I have willingly left behind. I’ve made my bed, so I will live in it. New York is not bad a place to choose. I will keep my longing to my journal – where such things belong. And instead, take a stab at positive reinforcement. Blogging about the things, the times, the moments that make this city interesting and keep us all intrigued –whether for good or bad. Even those who hate the city or don’t understand it are intrigued as to the ‘why’. Why we bother. So its time to explore and find the answer to this, the 'Why'.

So here we go. Lets start again. Next Post coming soon.

Chile & Argentina

(originally published in 2014)

There are so many, many things to say. So many, many angles to take; so many ways to tell the story of my recent adventure through Chile and Argentina... I'm not quite sure where to begin.

This trip was rife with expectation - I was expecting it to fix my life.

I was expecting this trip to bring me clarity. To provide answers to all the questions that had been swirling around my head about work and relationships. To give me healthy habits back. To show me the value of time, of relaxation, of taking it easy. I expected to come back having found grace for my crazy landlord. This trip was going to sort me out.

This trip also worried the hell out of me. I legitimately thought I was going to die. That my plane would fall out of the sky, I would be hit by a car in a freak accident, I'd fall off the edge of a cliff, or that some dormant, terminal, disease would rear its head and appear in my body at just the point I was in the most remote parts of Chile. I was so worried that I purchased all the different travel insurances, looked up what happens to the possessions of 28 year old women without wills upon death. I connected my emergency contacts to each other - brought together lines of communications in case the worst happened.  I have no explanation for why I felt this way - it is certainly not a type of anxiety I had ever felt before regarding travel, but from the moment I purchased the ticket, I thought I was going to die.

Spoiler alert - I didn't die and this trip didn't fix my life.

My life is still as messy as ever. I still go to Starbucks and order a latte with a piece of pumpkin loaf and feel guilty about it on multiple levels - from my personal dollars supporting big corporations to consuming all those wonderfully tasty useless calories that will likely give me cancer one day.  I still worry about paying the bills, about the loans. I still have a crazy landlady and very little grace to deal with it. I still, on occasion, drink too much.  Work is still both exciting and boring and I'm starting to believe that there is just nothing one can do about the boring moments... I am still in that 20's state of mind that occasionally has me wonder what is next, if what I am doing is what I am supposed to be doing and if it - any of it - whatever 'it' is - is really worth it.  I still dream about falling in love with a boy and meeting in one of those crazy romantic ways that one only sees in Rom Com movies about the holidays (only to be supremely disappointed with each passing day that this doesn't happen). And I still dream about having one of those 'life-changing' New York moments when you meet someone on the street and they have the power to fulfil your dreams and change your life forever, introducing you to a new passion or pulling a talent out of you you didn't know you had (I probably watch too many movies). I still make stupid mistakes, say things I shouldn't and do mean things to people I love for not very good reasons. I am still a mess.

So, no, this trip didn't fix my life - I am no wiser nor better. But, while on this trip, my attitude toward life changed. And I feel different for it. I feel new.

Amid all of life's noise - the crazy landladies, the little and big things that go wrong on an almost daily basis, the messy relationships and bad decisions, I feel anchored. Something in me has shifted, in a way that feels permanent. In a way that I have never felt before. I can neither fully explain it or even understand where it came from and why it has suddenly appeared. Perhaps it was the wonder of experiencing a new culture or the magnificence of nature's beauty; Perhaps it was weathering the storms of cancelled flights, closed airports, language barriers and things just generally not going as planned - almost never - on our trip.  Perhaps it was conversations I had or tears I cried. Perhaps it wasn't the trip at all. Perhaps this is a moment all 28 year olds have.

Whatever it was, when I landed at New York's La Guardia airport at 9am on a Wednesday morning, for the first time - ever -  since moving to this city (with all the various trips and travel I have done since living in the city),  landing here, in New York, filled me with genuine joy. I wasn't giving myself a pep-talk to 'just get through it', I didn't land looking forward to the next plane that would take me away, I didn't land with regret or with tears in my eyes... I was glad to be back. And more than just glad to be back on American soil, but glad to back in the City specifically - happy to be 'home' and excited to face the adventures and trials that were and are to come.  When I realized how foreign this feeling was, it stopped me in my tracks - literally, I just stopped (and got yelled at by the guy walking behind me...). It stopped me because it was a new feeling, one which surprised me, but one that I liked and because at that moment I knew something was different in me; that something had changed.

I feel a new ownership of life. A new security and confidence in me as a person, in who I am and what I have to offer (however big or little) to those in the world around me. I feel a little more in control - of my moods, my words, my actions - and less as if I am living at the whims of the circumstances around me.

And so, yes, life is still messy. Work can still be boring. I should not have had that final cocktail last night... but, but that is okay because those things don't define me and I am finally starting to realize it.

So how was Chile? Argentina? How was my adventure to South America? It was good. Great even.  And because I am still not above showing off - I will post photos and blog about the things people are probably more interested in hearing about; things such as the majesty of the mountains in Patagonia, the intensity of the sunset in the Chilean desert, the blueness of glacier ice when it has aged thousands of years, the steak, the Malbec, the Chilean hiking guides who thought my companion and I were 'not normal' girls (we think it was a compliment) or when upon learning my name, one guide immediately burst into fits of laughter as if I had just said the most hilarious joke (this one, we think, wasn't a compliment)... those stories too are worth telling. But, for me, the most important story of this trip is the one I've just laid out above.

So, I thought I was going to die. And, in a way, I suppose I did.

Rock n' Riga

So, I went to Riga ... in November.

Here are two important things to remember about Latvia:

1) Riga is a very popular stag do (bachelor party) destination for British party boys, and their fathers, to go to and celebrate with the almost married.  And subsequently make fools of themselves.
*Take note that vodka redbulls will be consumed by a majority of the people on your plane ride to Riga, no matter what the time of day (in my case, 6am)

2) In November, Riga is COLD.  Snowy.  Icy.  Freezing, cold.  Bring a scarf.  And some sort of fury creature to where as a hat.

yes, "que frio!" indeed.

Old Town

The trip itself had a rocky start, with our group of five being cut down to four at the last minute. And, when we finally boarded the plane, only three of us would be living it up Latvian style.  But all turned out well and, despite the infiltration of British stags and the below zero temps, Riga is beautiful city and I had a great time.  There is truly nothing better than dancing to techno in a crowded club full of Europeans (photos to come in a following blog)

Christmas in Riga! 

 Some things I learned on my trip:

A) Techno loves Barbara Streisand:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uu_zwdmz0hE&feature=related

B) Having someone who lives in Riga to show you around is essential.  You will hit the best parties, and places to eat, and avoid any unnecessary contact with tourists

C) It is never good to get lost in a club, in a foreign city, for over an hour.  Juuuuust a little bit of a bad idea (sorry mom and dad - but hey! I'm fine!)

D) Sushi is surprisingly popular in Eastern Europe and Russia.  Surprisingly popular.

E) Spending three days with three boys isn't so bad afterall.

Rock n' Riga.  Such a random trip.  So fun.

A christmas window display?