Tag: strangers

Comfort Zone

Today I saw my friend who is visiting the UK from New Zealand. 

We met in school over 20 years ago. I remember him from school. I don’t know how close we were. But reconnecting on facebook a number of years later led to very long conversations on summer nights in the garden. We spoke of our time in University and how life had changed or stayed just the same. We spoke so freely and unlike any other way I’d encountered until that point and when he left to go home I remember sitting and replaying the evening over and over. It fascinated me. 

Soon after he left the UK and travelled. I maintained my habit of working to pay for my travelling and then upon my return from Australia in 2013 my life changed drastically. Me became a we and I became an us. We would be travelling to Spain. Both of us made choices in our lives. As life does, time moved on and before long those chats with my friend seemed a distant memory. If it wasn’t for social media and emailing, the friendship would have struggled. 

It was in 2016 that we reconnected while he popped back to the UK and then flitted away again. And yet our emails remain to this very day. We are both married and settled. I was lucky enough to watch his wedding over zoom last August and was grateful to be one of the few who graced that group. Our emails now speak of how life is treating us and the next big goal we each have. 

He flew into the UK last week and his parents held a garden party today for family and friends to see him and his new wife. It seems I am the last friend to stay in contact with him, he points out that he also lost contact with others, taking ownership of his actions as usual. I felt extremely appreciative to be included. Mr W was there, naturally, but I felt extremely nervous to be surrounded by people I did not know. This was cushioned by the fact that after 6 long years I was seeing my friend again.

I was being flung between the zones of comfort and excitement. Something that took me by surprise was just how ‘known’ I was. His parents and sister all knew more about me than I expected and I felt like it acknowledged this friendship we had all the more. After 5 hours of talking and laughing with strangers I felt almost confident to step outside the comfort zone. To talk freely about nothing particularly important but let it bolster my nervousness and say ‘hey, this is how you grow.’ Would I see these strangers again, possibly not. But does that mean you don’t bother engaging with them? No. I think it goes a long way to have a voice no matter where you are. Or who you are with. I know that this time last year talking to strangers was really difficult for me. I felt I needed to be asked questions or find an instant common ground. But now, today especially, it felt great to just talk as if I’d known people for years because that’s when the ‘I’ comes out in me. How interesting it is for the other person I’ll never know, but it goes a long way down the path of self-awareness and acceptance. 

The biggest example of this dare I say ‘progression’ is discussed in ‘Coffee for four’ (link below). The best way I can describe it is feeling as comfortable talking to strangers about nothing in particular as talking to a loved one about something deeply personal. It resonates on a different level, from a different zone but gives you that same feeling of warmth and acceptance. I’d like to think it opens me up to new ideas and opinions. Which ultimately is what we seek in travel. To have our eyes opened to new cultures and places. So embracing that ideal in our home lives can’t be a bad thing. I think it’s just something that’s more accepted when you travel. As if your brain is ready for the onslaught of everything new, shiny and exciting. When you are at home it’s almost as if you don’t need to try. You are comfortable. 

Fundamentally, this is a question of confidence. It reminds me that somewhere inside still exists the girl who chases horizons and finds joy outside the comfort zone.

Coffee for four

He knew

I’m known by my oldest and closest friends to be very quiet in the mornings. I have a ‘quite frankly, leave me alone’ demeanour, considering the fact I’m quite ready and willing to be up any time before 9am, it’s something that has improved over the years. Even now, I rarely talk to Mr W within the first hour of waking. The people that know me understand but I often find strangers think I’m rude. I don’t mean to be. When I’m properly awake I don’t talk to strangers either. There’s a shyness there. An inability to strike a conversation out of thin air. Often, I think, why would they want to talk to me? 

A 6am walk around Thetford forest, Norfolk, a few weeks ago, saw us frozen by foot but warmed by heart. The frosty ground thawed in front of us as the sun peeked between the trees. It was a beautiful morning. Something a complete stranger took a moment to remark to us as he walked his dog. A complete stranger. 

Today, in Colombia Road, London, a queue formed for a doorway serving coffees and pastries. In my hands I held the plants and flowers my heart could not leave behind. Behind us, a small child stretched his neck out of his buggy to see the world speeding by. He became completely enthralled by my Dad chatting to Mr W. I told them both they had a spectator and the child was brought into the fold with a cacophony of hellos as I wandered away to window-shop. Coffees in hand, we made our way through the neighbourhoods and the buggy, boy and father caught up with us, my Dad continued talking to him as if they’d met before. Talking about the area, coffee and doughnuts. It didn’t delay our return to the car, but it added a touch of ‘something’ to the stroll.

Later in Greenwich Park, while Dad and his partner wandered over to the meridian line, Mr W and I looked down the hill towards the Maritime Museum, across the Thames and beyond. We took our photos, revelled in the small droplets of rain and snuck a kiss by the blossoming chestnut trees. As he returned to us, Dad called “put her down”, followed by the laughter of another two complete strangers. They had not seen us, but having been stood only metres away thought the remark was meant for them. The six of us stood for barely 2 minutes laughing over the confusion, and jokes about us “getting a room”, until we departed. A simple interaction. But an interaction with strangers nonetheless. 

It gave me a smile. Small stuff like that usually does. It got me thinking about the joys of the ‘small stuff’. 

A copper stovetop kettle sits in our loft. Intact but dusty, we outgrew using it within a year of buying our home. You see, with a stovetop kettle, water for a cuppa takes at least 15 minutes to boil. At first the novelty was the point, but as time went on and visitor numbers grew, we found that it wore a bit thin. A quick pit stop for a coffee was not the name of the game. A shiny electric kettle soon replaced ol’ copper pot and tea raced out of the kitchen. Post Haste! 

I miss that copper pot, the lack of urgency it had and the whistling calling you back. It made you grateful for the tea, the whole process relaxed and rewarding. You didn’t take it for granted and in turn it was the best cuppa! The effort made it so.

Recently I’ve noticed that life is full of these moments, drawn out and satisfying.

Using a cafetiere, rather than instant coffee. A slow Sunday walk in a flower market, 30 miles from home, rather than grabbing a bunch at the supermarket. Planting seeds to grow your own vegetables, rather than bunging it in the trolley when shopping. Cooking a chicken on the spit roast BBQ for 3 hours rather than in the oven for half that time. Tending to the coals, watching it from afar, a G&T in hand. Talking to a man, pushing his son in a buggy about coffee. A harmless and funny misunderstanding with strangers in a park. A man in the forest, walking his dog, remarking on the beautiful morning. 

He knew. He knew it was the small stuff that matters. He had to share his joy with someone. Even me, the girl with the ‘leave me alone’ face and frozen toes.