Stolen moments in a deserted tube station.
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Perspective
A few months ago, on a fresh London evening, a girl friend and I were sitting at a pub catching up about the year away. We talked travel and work and friendship. Under the buzz of after-office revelry, we opened up about pain and history and the men in our lives. She asked me about the Boy and how things were going. And I said in an instant, “I don’t know how it’s possible but everyday it gets better and better. Usually, things start out really great and fizzle away over time, but with this one, it’s been the opposite”. She smiled and said, ”I love the slow burn”.
The slow burn.
Like unwrapping a present one fold at a time, the slow burn is an exercise in patience. It’s believing when there is no proof. It’s anticipating when there is no map. It’s moving forward in the complete pitch black trusting that whatever happens, things will turn out as they should. It’s the opposite of control. It’s about not needing to know the future, it’s about being ok with uncertainty, it’s about embracing the moment.
The last year away has been a slow burn for me. So much of the path I took while traveling, exploring and learning was uncharted. On certain occasions, I didn’t even know where I’d sleep that night. And on a grander scale, I had no idea what I was going to do after the journey was over, whenever “over” came. It was an exercise in becoming completely comfortable with myself and all the non-answers that plagued me. Did I make the right decision? Am I in the right place? Where will I be a year from now?
There were moments during my travels when these questions would drive me crazy. I’d been so used to having answers, to having it all planned out. Sitting in the nucleus of a self-made bubble of ambiguity was sometimes painful, sometimes exhilarating and almost always scary.
It has taken me a while to realize this but the slow burn is probably one of life’s best gifts. In friendship, in work, in love and in dreams, the most important element is time. Time reveals all the details that matter. Time gives you the perspective and level-headedness to see past the fear, the heady excitement and the unease of change. It helps you dig through the superficial and gives you the clarity to really see the bare bones truth of what you need to know. It really is like opening the most amazing present there is, one small fold, one piece of scotch-tape at a time.
Patience is key. Welcome the slow burn. If you rush through, you may miss out on the stuff that matters.
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We just finished an incredible two weeks in Greece – eating, beaching, swimming, dancing and overall indulging in such ridiculous languid pleasures that I feel guilty writing about it all here. The sun, the sea, the music, the company, the scenery, the food. Death by pure pleasure.
In addition to the beautiful Greek breakfasts that we had in Santorini, we gorged ourselves in seafood galore. Sardines, calamari, octopus and fresh fish. We spent most meals at local fish tavernas along the sea or along the caldera and we made it a point to stay completely away from the tourist restaurants.
Sampling restaurant/taverna food for two weeks straight was a fantastic learning experience in “eating out”. My best friend Mari and her boy, AKA “The Greeks”, taught us to use the Greek salad index. Whenever we looked over a menu deciding to eat at a place, they advised that we always check the price of a Greek salad. Local, down-to-earth, family-run places usually price a Greek salad at about 5 Euro. A place that prices a Greek salad at 10 Euros or more is catering to tourists. Stay away!
Using this index, we found some incredible gems. The kinds of places where the restauranteur, his wife, his kids, and the grandmas would all take part in serving us our meal. Usually, these places offer cold, sliced fruit and raki complementary after the meal. By 9pm, they are always packed full of people, the noise of screaming kids and clattering plates abuzz in the air. Magical.
It’s hard to believe that only three days ago, we were sitting in our swimsuits, having walked straight out of the sea and sat down to eat fresh fish on the outdoor terrace of a local fish taverna. These have been some of the best meals of my life. Dinner with good friends, over incredible food, watching the sun set in blaze of glory.
Just gorgeous.
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A well traveled friend stopping by London a few weeks ago described this city as obnoxiously expensive. And that it is. I remember when I first transferred here back in 2007 how hard it was for me to adjust to the prices. A box of cereal converted to $5. A litre of milk $3.50. A McDonald’s big mac meal $7! A movie ticket the equivalent of $24!!! It was (is) madness! Friends at work told me that if I had any hope in enjoying my time here, I’d have to STOP converting things in my head and just think in pounds. That’s easy to do if you’re earning in pounds but if the monthly paycheque is coming in dollars, a $24 movie ticket is a hard thing to swallow.
A few weeks ago, the mayor launched a London bike scheme – a network of publicly available bicycles strategically placed throughout the centre of the city similar to programs in Paris and Barcelona. Great idea, right?! I thought so too, until we saw the prices! It’d make more sense to purchase your own bike at these rates!
On the other hand, obnoxiously expensive can also be ridiculously entertaining. Last week, we visited The Wonder Room at Selfridges and as I licked the display cases of jewels upon jewels of sparkling beauty, a very nice sales lady offered to let me try on a £14,000 ruby encrusted, rose gold, Boucheron seahorse cocktail ring. Be still my heart! Why of course I’d love to try that on! In fact, I’m happy to adopt the entire animal line and house them on all ten of my fingers. Obnoxiously beautiful. And right next to it: a £365,000 5-karat diamond ring. I thought they’d made a mistake by adding a few too many zeroes. Apparently not. As lovely as a stone like that would be, I’m not quite sure I could wrap my head around the fact that I’d be wearing the equivalent of the expense of a small mansion on my finger. Apparently, a client was coming in later in the day to purchase it. Heh. I didn’t want it anyway. Too gaudy for my delicate little fingers 
And then there are the ridiculous cars and the £7000 car wash that they need. And not to mention the crazy hotels and eating venues and shopping streets. This place looks, feels, sounds and smells like the most liquid and gratuitous market in the world. There isn’t a hint of the recession here. And that’s scary!
It’s been a fun few weeks perusing the swank neighbourhoods and shops in this city. And sometimes it just makes me laugh. A year ago, I was trying to decide which hole in the ground to pee over in Africa: the one with the spider on the wall or the one with the turd on the floor. A friend once told me that I should push to experience a wide breadth of what the world has to offer and wide that experience has been thus far!
Perspective.
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