Reflections on Baker Street. Literally. Yes, that IS a pun.

Having just dropped Momma off at 221b Baker street for her tour of Sherlock Holmes’ residence, I’m sitting in a little ristorante & cafe eating my spaghetti bolognese and sipping on my magically delicious soya flat white. Life is good.

I can’t imagine being back at school in a week, starting a nonfiction unit and telling my students that I took a last minute trip to Europe. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a bad example for the youth of today. Like, is it wise to do life as quickly and spontaneously as I do some things in my life? Nepal happened quickly. New Zealand happened quickly. Teaching in Texas happened quickly. This trip happened very, very quickly.

But, then I think, what is life without adventure? I feed of of these “pilgrimages”. They make me so happy. It makes me glad to be alive. and I like being glad to be alive. It’s not a bad feeling.

I know not everyone is like me. Many people find happiness in security and in being around the same community. And that is, indeed, a beautiful thing. I love that as well. But what I am thinking about now is the joy and peace I find in a place surrounded by culture. Currently, I am sitting in the lobby of our hostel. I can’t even count on one hand the number of languages and accents I am hearing even as this sentence is being typed. I cannot even begin to count on two hands the number of countries represented within a ten foot radius of where I sit on this tilting blue-cushioned booth. This energizes me. It brings me peace and, as I said, happiness.

I know not everyone is like me, but I have realized that I am like me. What’s more – I have realized that I like me. And I like me the way that i am. It’s a hard and long path for most people, I think, to come to this realization. My best friend is always telling me that I don’t need to care so much about what other people think. I am a people pleaser. But right now, I can eat a bowl of spaghetti filled with delicious gluten and it’s okay. No one actually cares. I can wear my Sherlock Homes coat and decide not to worry what people think of me. There are, in fact, much more offensive tourists than me. I can go to church wearing a nose ring and not stress about judgment. Because we are not meant to judge anyway.

I am me and that is perfectly fine. I’m not talking about being obnoxious and being whoever I want to me without consequences. Anyone who knows me will probably know that. I am me, though. And I am me because that is who I want to be.

It’s hard, I think, coming from the world in which we life, to be happy with yourself. There are so many pressures and opinions and ads marketing beauty products and “true happiness”. But I am content with who I am right now. I am an adventurer. I am an artist. I am an author. I am what I wanted to be.

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