Sunday, September 17, 2006
Greenwich Mean Time. We hear it from the time we are small as a guide, a reference to all clocks. But how many of us ever get the opportunity to stand at the exact locaton where both time and place are defined for the whole world?
(Greenwich is a very popular tourist site, so I would wager ... a few million tourists a year? But sorry - I digress. Not the point at all.)
It was a beautiful, sunny, weekend day. Families were picnicking in the park and the warm London weather was a welcome respite after a crap August. But I was standing there, straddled over the eastern and western hemispheres, not in awe ... but very grouchy, indeed.
I blame it on the mental breakdown I had the Friday before.
One of the girls from my office was celebrating her birthday and invited whoever was interested from the office to come out. So, since I don't really get a chance to party it up in London very often I went with Matt and a bunch of his friends and met up with her and her friends in Covent Garden. We were pub crawling and having a good time and then, towards the end of the night, Matt and I got separated from everyone because we stopped to say bye to a few of his friends who were leaving to catch the last tube. We went to the last place on the itinerary and paid £20 to get in ... but the rest of the group wasn't even there. Turns out they'd gone someplace else.
I guess it was a combination of a few drinks and losing everyone and being out really late and having to take the night bus home, but - I totally freaked out. I started to bawl and was ranting about how I hate it here, I don't have any friends of my own and that we live in a flat that has mold (which has been more or less sorted now, but had me totally grossed out for a long time).
Why is it that, even when we have everything we think we could ever want, sometimes it's still just not good enough?
I know I'm lucky - even for the simple fact that I do have people around me to remind me of that:
Brook, to reaffirm that even though Brits and Canadians may speak the same language, this still does not make us the same;
Lisa K., with a simple reminder of what I gained by coming here - my guy and an adventure that not many people get to experience;
Rose, who'd been overseas for much longer that I have, to point out that slumps happen and that even having a couple of friends around can be enough;
Jeny, whose comments remind me that home is where the heart is - that maybe things aren't perfect in England, but they wouldn't necessarily be so in Vancouver, either;
Andrea P., who's practically lived the same post-Canada life as me, reassuring me that it's not possible to love it here all the time and impossible to stop thinking of the next place - whether it be home or still abroad;
And John, who refuses to feel sorry for me when I go on about Paris, Greece and elsewhere.
It's easy to forget why we make the choices we make - especially when things seem to not be working out or when we get lonely and miss certain familiarities. But every once in awhile, it's good to go back to the place where it all began ... breathe in and out, get some perspective and remember the reasons why we do the things we do.
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