STREET SYNTHESIS

A night in London.
I spent the majority of a Friday with Rea and her Uncle Homer, nervously anticipating the moment they'd have to leave me on my own to find The Beaver. Yes, The Beaver, my hotel of choice, located in the cozy neighborhood of South Kensington. I'll never forget that moment, exiting the tube, saying goodbye to Rea and Uncle Homer, Rea anxiously wishing me good luck: "I'm sure you'll be fine. I guess I'll see you on Sunday?" "Yeah, Sunday probably. I'll be fine, don't worry about me!" I was terrified. I turned, feigning confidence, and walked up and out of the tube station, never looking back. I felt certain that if I did, it would "give me away", so to speak, as a tourist... not like my bursting backpack with a burnt orange longhorn wouldn't have taken care of that for me.

I made my way to The Beaver. It was dark by that time, and being in a strange place in the dark always makes me feel vulnerable. Evidently, this lovely borough of Kensington wasn't as nice as I'd thought. I walked through that neighborhood, feeling so scared, so small, so Texan, so tourist, so SORE THUMB sticking out for the world to steal what little this gal's got with her. All of a sudden, I looked in the window of a home to my left. I stopped dead in my tracks at a serene scene of a young mother with a baby in a bassinet, watching TV with the lights off, several candles burning brightly on the mantelpiece. In this moment, my fears were erased. As irrational as it may have been, I felt safe. If this mother and her baby are here, I'm ok. Nonsense, but it's how I felt. I continued to grow in my confidence as I walked down the street, not at a gunshot pace like before, praying no one would approach me, but more in fascination at these evening paintings I was fortunate enough to behold. A small family eating dinner together in their vibrant red formal dining room, wine glasses on the table (elbows off). Two teens on a white leather couch, watching (but obviously not watching) a movie, hyper-conscious of hand positioning, too close for Mom's comfort. Looking through a living room to the kitchen, an older woman washing dishes with a small TV on the counter displaying the evening news. These scenes seemed so normal, so familiar, so comforting. They reminded me that yes, I'm in a strange country, a new neighborhood, at night, alone.... but these people are just people. They live here. They rock their baby to sleep here; they eat dinner here; they make out on the couch when Mom isn't looking here. It's just a neighborhood.

&...

as I stepped into The Beaver, I felt a small sense of accomplishment- at least I'd made it to my hotel room. At least there was that. I watched some British TV, thumbing through the pages of a Time Out London I'd bought with good intentions earlier that afternoon. So many things to do, so many people, out and about in this city. I could see some just out my window on the street. Girls in their "going out" heels. Yet I was on pause there in the room, paralyzed and panicked. I think something inside of me, the way I was brought up, told me not to go out alone. Cue inner dialogue:

Mom would kill me. I'll get mugged, I'll get raped, I'll be stuck here in London and no one will ever find me again! Besides, BBC is quality television. We don't get this back home... well, maybe we do, but not as many options as here in England! I'll stick around here, relax, maybe take a shower. Yeah, that sounds good- I need to relax anyway, been so busy this week! No one will ever know. No one will ever know.... that I've sat here on my butt all night long?! No! No, I can't stay here. Must go out. Must find SOMEthing to do! Be brave, you'll kick yourself later if you don't go out and make some sort of memory.

And so I did. I went out, took the tube and I found Soho. I found Picadilly Circus, I found Covent Garden, I marched along the Strand. I did it alone. And I didn't get mugged or raped or maimed in any way. I did meet Luis, the Columbian rickshaw driver who let me sit in the back of his ride while I ate a slice of pizza, trying to figure out where to go next. We had a most pleasant discussion about Columbian music.

~~*~~

Yes, yes... there it was, the Amazing Learning Experience. It sort of encompasses my feelings about this trip to England- growth being the key element. Self-confidence out in the big, bad world, out of a safety bubble with emergency numbers. I feel proud of myself, like on this trip I've honestly accomplished something real, something useful for the rest of my life. I know it's silly to feel proud, really, when I've only grazed the surface of "experience", and it was an English-speaking city... but hey, a gal's gotta start somewhere.