I remember writing about a start of winter once that caught me by surprise. I found myself caught in cold winds shivering at the train station. Going home and curling up warmly with a book on Friday night was all I wanted to do. I also remember those cold nights that I went out relentlessly. Cold, rain, gloom, it didn’t matter, one could shiver at the tube station or wait for a cab.
I also feel like NYC encourages that kind of relentlessness. It reminds me of that London self who had no concept of what her body needed at times. I feel like people here are like extroverts constantly distracted and over-booked. Of course, it annoys people like me who choose their timetables with care. I cannot imagine saying yes to 2 or 3 events for 1 night. Why would anyway want to do that to themselves? I now know that that is no way for me to enjoy myself. What am I maximizing, pleasure, fulfillment of responsibilities or just cramming on auto-pilot?
Hence after enjoying the first warm Saturday in a long time, I am now curled up in bed, sorting out books to read and stuff to watch, catching that moment of contentment I so needed in the sea of turbulence that has been this winter.