Never alone.

I recently went to London for a little solo break. I wanted to see some West End shows and walk around the city for a few days. Since I moved to Iceland, I've been trying to travel a little more and mark off some bucket list items. I love the theatre and I don't go enough.

My hotel was about an hour's walk to the theatre, and there was a transportation strike when I arrived. It basically started the day I arrived and ended the day I left, like the universe was telling me I needed exercise. So I walked, I walked and walked. I walked all around Hyde Park and along busy shopping streets. I went into little arcades and gallerias. Before I arrived at where I thought the theatre was, I stopped into a little bookstore. It was four levels with a winding staircase in the middle. I couldn't tell you the name. It was fun! I walked around, taking in the space and all the books. I saw an event board and noted a Jane Austen discussion happening that evening. I was heading to the theatre, so I couldn't go, but I felt a little tug from the universe.

I continued on my walk. I checked the map again on my phone and realized I was in the wrong place. The theatre was another hour's walk. I had already walked the whole of London for several days, and my old ass body was not up for another hour of walking and two hours of walking back. There was the bus and taxis, but traffic was jammed all around me, and I wasn't about to venture into that nightmare. I considered my options. I started walking toward the right theatre, but then I decided my body couldn't do it. It was the first time in my life where I didn't trust that my body could function the way I wanted it to. I've been an athlete and fairly fit most of my life, and this was a watershed moment for me. Yes, I could have walked, but I didn't want to address the pain and suffering that would occur the following day.

So, I turned around and started back the way I came. I grabbed something to eat and ended up at the front door of the little bookstore. I was a little late, but I decided to go in and check on the Jane Austen discussion. There were several women and a few men sitting down in a small little room off the main room in the basement of the store. A moderator was sitting at the front. They were engaging in a lively discussion around "Persuasion," a book I knew but have never read. I stood there for a while, listening to them chat. It was something I needed, I think. To listen and understand. I thought about sitting down and joining the discussion, but I hadn't read the book, and this seemed like a group of hardcore Austen fans, and I didn't want to say I had just watched the movie. I listened for a while and then I walked around the shelves, looking at various stories while continuing to take in the perceptions, questions, and opinions of Austen's work.

As I exited the shop, a part of me was urging, "Go back!... Join in!" However, my shy side won out for some reason. I used to be more ambitious, even courageous. That part of me still exists, I can sense it. I've been leading a quiet life, and the silence has somehow infiltrated me. It's not entirely bad, but it's not entirely good either. This hesitancy that's developed needs attention. I should have stayed and participated. I should have found a way, but instead, I walked. I walked all the way back to my hotel.

During my walk, I thought about my earlier hesitation and realized the night was still young. I decided to pop into a cozy little wine bar that was buzzing with energy. The night before, I had dropped by for a quiet glass of wine before settling in, and it was calm. But tonight? It was packed! People were chatting away, some already a bit tipsy while others were just getting started. People talking about work, couples on dates, friends catching up, and an older gentleman sitting solo, trying out different wines. I found a spot, ordered a glass, and pulled out a little Austen book I had picked up earlier. As I sipped my wine, I soaked in the lively stories floating around the room. For a little while, it felt like I truly belonged there, wrapped up in the warmth of shared moments and laughter.

People are just people.

I realized that I've always been this way. I love to listen. Not in a creepy way, but as a fellow human, observing interactions. Taking in the back and forth, noting the consistent themes. It's a reminder that we all belong, we're all the same. We all have our hang-ups and things that keep us from moving forward. We all have things. But what I take comfort in knowing is that I'm not alone. I'm not the first person who has midlife aches and pains. I'm not the first person who is hesitant with varying degrees of self-esteem. We're all human, and we all navigate this world the best we can and seek connection in various ways. I think that's okay, just being a listener. It's been something I've engaged in most of my life. I love listening to stories and hearing what people have to say. It's why I'm in mental health. I like people, and I'm starting to accept that I don't always like to engage, but I relish in the connection.

So, I guess I'm okay with who I am right now. There is no have too anymore to feel valued. I'm always connected, no matter where I am and being human is never a solo adventure. There is always someone, sharing humanity with you.

“Half of me is filled with bursting words and half of me is painfully shy. I crave solitude yet also crave people. I want to pour life and love into everything yet also nurture my self-care and go gently. I want to live within the rush of primal, intuitive decision, yet also wish to sit and contemplate. This is the messiness of life - that we all carry multitudes, so must sit with the shifts. We are complicated creatures, and ultimately, the balance comes from this understanding. Be water. Flowing, flexible and soft. Subtly powerful and open. Wild and serene. Able to accept all changes, yet still led by the pull of steady tides. It is enough.” ― Victoria Erickson

Be well!