Local Adventure and Cultural Observations

This weekend, I stayed in London. In fact, last weekend I stayed in London as well. And you know what? I had a BLAST. Maybe it's because I'm still on a high from burningman. Maybe it's because I'm so inspired that I'm making the best of everything. Or maybe it's because I've burned away all my fears along with the monster who swallowed them two weeks ago. Maybe it's because my good friend Kyle was here. Maybe it's because we explored some new career ideas of mine. Maybe it's because we spent 90 minutes, unsuccessfully searching for a good smoothie, and maybe it's because the people we met in our search were nice, friendly, and welcoming. Maybe it's because I didn't have anywhere to be or anything to do and I revelled in that freedom. I'm not really sure why it was such a blast, but I hope it continues!

I took a bit of time over the past two weeks to have a look around London. At the city and the people. This past weekend, inspired by my friend Axel's new project, WrittenOnTheCity, I began actually paying attention to some of the graffiti written on this town. I started asking myself what it meant, and what people were trying to say. And I found it fascinating. The picture above is by far my favorite. To me, it captures the idea of money being a source of evil and danger. It appeals to the socialist hippy in me that would love nothing more than to live in a commune with my favorite people, raise our kids together and share our lives as one big family. It also appeals to the devil in me that loves to send people there when they ask me where the nearest ATM machine (cashpoint) is :)>.

Last week, I noticed two particular "people" events. One was a beautiful girl (early 20s) at the train station on a a cell phone. She was crying. I struggled in the cab line for 15 minutes as I watched her. Why didn't I offer to help? Most of you who know me, know that I can't stand sadness. I will turn myself into a clown if that's what it takes to make someone smile. For some reason I couldn't approach her. Partly because she was on the phone, and partly because I questioned my motives. Regardless, I got in a cab, went home and felt guilty the whole way home (and clearly am still struggling with it). Two days later, I watched 2 people in my neighborhood approach a group of foreigners, ask if they needed any help with anything (they didn't look lost or helpless, by the way) and then showed them how to buy a ticket from the horribly user un-friendly bus ticket machines in London. It was such a crazy juxtaposition to my experience earlier in the week, and also reminded me of my guilt. I guess you can call this a confession. Partially a confession that I didn't help the girl crying in the station, but more of a confession that I had and allowed my "impure" motives interfere with my ability to help someone.

The last thing I took notice of since I came back is that, in London, a "non-fat" latte is called a "skinny" latte here. I'm not convinced that the rest of London is so "glass half-full", but I think that's one they have up on us americans.