After a long day of meetings, or a lively and long dinner with friends, I am drained. I need those following hours alone, taking solace in my podcasts. In the same breath, however, I am grateful for the gift of being with others.
Something I’ve grown into is the identity of an “introverted extrovert”. The reason I even mention it is, the idea of being extroverted at all would surprise younger me. Coming into proper adulthood, I’ve given into the craving for a night out, not knowing where it will end up. But I also have no problem bailing if I get overwhelmed.
Today was the perfect example of how I find balance. I rolled out of bed promptly at 11:15 AM, then spent the whole day alone exploring East London. First, at the Spitalfields market to check out a clothing pop-up from one of my favourite brands. Then, ate some killer hand-pulled noodles alone, surrounded by a buzzing crowd. They were so spicy I couldn’t even finish, and I quickly searched for the coldest drink I could find to wash the peppercorns down.
Heading back towards the tube, I checked out EATALY as recommended by a colleague; a Superstore-level Italian grocery store and multiple restaurants. Looking at the prosciutto on a slicing stand, jiggly bags of mozzarella, and stacked tins of anchovies was perfect fun for me. Luckily for my wallet, I was too full to buy anything (for now).
A couple more hours to kill… why not pop into the British Museum on the way home? It was only a couple stops away. I braved the musk of the Central Line, then spent an entire hour in the “Enlightenment gallery”. I peered into cases carefully, while listening to a chill playlist I got from my last tattoo artist.
Museums make me emotional. Sometimes it is awe, but often it is pain and grief. I felt pain when I looked at the Haida and Nuu-chah-nulth cultural materials in the cases. They were paralyzed in time, and dim, the life sucked out of them.
After this long day and about 12,000 steps, I meandered home to my AirBnB in South London – it was already getting dark. On the train, I instinctively started to warm up the extroversion, calling my sister and mom back-to-back.
When I got home, I was greeted my lovely host. This being my first time using AirBnB, I don’t know if it is normal for the host to be so amazing, caring, and maternal.
She insists I wear slippers if she thinks I am cold, and tells me to use the portable heater. She’s made me the most splendid British meals, this evening an entire Sunday beef roast. We have intelligent, easy flowing conversations. I felt completely enamoured hearing stories about her life during the Rhodesian civil war, and how her mother is still there, nearing 100 years old.
Today, I asked her about the decorative Ostrich eggs on her bookshelf. I was convinced they were plastic, but wondered where the hell you’d buy something like that. To my shock, they were real hollowed eggs. I held one carefully, wiping the dust off one side, and I was in complete bliss. Little moments like these are why I love people; learning about their lived histories, their quirks, their friendships, their lost loves. It is natural for me to wonder – and I’ve learned it is usually okay to ask.
My job, which is focused around the needs and identity of the employee community, proves my theory. Sure, I need WFH days where I don’t say a peep. But I am also fulfilled by the fast-paced office days. I even enjoy water cooler small talk – am I too far down the adulthood rabbit hole?
One of my main intentions with this transatlantic move is to just let things happen. Not to overthink. To make mistakes, take risks, be stupid, and enjoy my life in a new way.
Next week I move into a permanent flat, I will have roommates for the first time, and things will get really real. I am ready.
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Check out this chapter in photos.
marina miller 