Day 2

The city overwhelms.

My teacher compares city life to a short story;

Fragmented, fleeting, fitful weather, a thousand faces fading from recollections you pass them in the street. Every day is different.

Yesterday, the rain and sun vied for dominance.

The darkness, thus was reassuring. Steady, constant blackness. I helped make dinner for a 90 year old grandmother who expressed her concern when I asked for a second piece of cake -

"I don't think we should have seconds."

I listened to the first part of her life story and doubt I will hear the second half. I must construct a narrative the fill in the gap between colonial nurse service and turning 90 amidst seven grandchildren and abundant church friends. It was a good night leaving a film of happiness to settle into my sleep.

Today, I dwell in indecision. Struggling to deconstruct my old routines and build them anew here.

I made breakfast at 12 and read Sapho's poetry. I am in bed now – watching a lecture – but I refuse to feel like I am wasting the day. My mind pings with all the different things I could being doing – constructing an elaborate timetable that, I must remind myself, is but a castle in the air – without foundation. Today, I will work on building these foundations. On settling into London. On having grace with myself. On simply moving forward.

Sapho's poetry is full of gaps; filled by readers gauzy bits of speculation. Daniel Orrels believes that the decay of her manuscripts allows us "to develop and enlarge upon the tattered remains in whichever direction (we) chose."

I like these gaps. Indeed, I hope my record of London will be equally tattered. Not every minute or even every day need be perfectly scheduled and perfectly balanced with study, culture, and movement.

There is room for space. For nothingness. For an afternoon in bed and a morning walking around without purpose.

For grace.