The Grey Mirror (Or: Why London is Just Seattle with Better Accents)

I flew 4,700 miles to stand in the exact same weather I left behind.

That’s the first thing you realize when you land in London in January. It’s not a "new world." It’s just Seattle with heavier stones. The sky is that specific, flattened shade of wet wool that I’ve lived under my entire life. The dampness doesn't just sit on your skin; it gets into your marrow. Honestly? It was weirdly comforting. My body didn't even realize it was in a different time zone until I looked up and saw a building older than the entire United States.

It’s been a week. I should probably lie and tell you I’ve been "soaking in the history" or "exploring the vibrant culture."

The truth? For the first three days, my world was exactly three blocks wide.

I woke up, walked to a Pret A Manger (which is just Starbucks for people who like mayonnaise), bought a sandwich, and walked back to the hostel while listening to a podcast about serial killers in the Pacific Northwest. I didn't look at the Tower of London. I didn't see Big Ben. I just needed to exist in a bubble of "Same" while my internal clock tried to figure out why the sun was setting at lunch time.

It’s a safety blanket. When everything is loud and foreign—the sirens sound wrong here, by the way, more like a warning than an emergency—you cling to the generic. I ate a lot of egg salad sandwiches. They were fine.

I did try to be social last night. I forced myself down to the hostel common room because I felt like Aunt Lenore was watching me psychically and judging my lack of "engagement." I ended up sharing a table with a girl named Jax who is on a "Gap Year." (I’m still not entirely sure what she is gaping from, but she had a lot of bracelets).

Jax had the energy of a nuclear reactor. She listed fourteen clubs she wanted to hit before Tuesday. I nodded, drank my tea, and felt my social battery drain from 100% to roughly 4% in forty-five minutes. I told her I had to go charge my phone. I have two phones. They were both at 80%. I just needed to stare at a wall.

Today was supposed to be the big day. The "Cultural Immersion" day. I stood on the corner of Earl's Court Road with a Euro coin in my hand (I don't have Pounds in change yet, sue me). Heads: The British Museum to see the stolen rocks. Tails: The laundromat down the street to wash my flannel.

I flipped it. It landed in a puddle. Tails.

I can’t tell you how relieved I was. The Rosetta Stone will be there in a month. But having clean socks? That felt like a spiritual victory.

I’m heading to Glastonbury on Monday. Lenore says the "Energy" there is undeniable. I’m just hoping the coffee is better than the instant stuff in this hostel kitchen.

Current Mood: Damp.
Current status of "The Quest": Postponed due to laundry.