Between 3 and 7 — Ginger & Juice

Yesterday was the first day that I actually felt like myself. I woke up way too early, washed my face, and had my coffee. Then I made avocado toast, took a least 6 overhead pictures of it... and then I planned out my day.

I decided to go to the suburb of Marylebone. I had seen some gorgeous pictures of it (read: a blogger I follow posted about it on Instagram, and I thought "I need that shot"), so I decided to explore it for myself. I was so proud - I took the tube, made not one but TWO transfers, and only had to shoot some side-eye at a stranger once.

I'm only slightly embarrassed to tell you that I've gotten lost literally every single day that I've been here. I don't get lost like "oh, I should have made a right back there... let me go back a few steps." I get lost in the way that I will walk more than a mile in the wrong direction, and I will do it with total conviction. In the words of Mark Twain, "it ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so."

As I made my way through Marylebone, I got turned around trying to find a store dedicated entirely to cheese. I eventually found it, but first I found a museum - The Wallace Collection. I had no idea this place existed, I wasn't even looking for it, but it was beautiful. It's a family's personal collection; they owned some noteworthy and impressive pieces. I walked into one of the drawing rooms, and there on the wall was Jean-Honoré Fragonard's The Swing. I thought it must be a copy (because how did I not know this was here?), but it's the real deal. I thought I would cry, but I didn't. This was very surprising to me because in addition to getting lost, crying has become the other thing that I do every day.

Have you seen that video where Kristen Bell reacts to meeting a sloth? She tells Ellen Degeneres that "if [she's] not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, [she's] crying." She's crying if she's excited, she's crying if she's sad. I have never really found this statement relatable; unwarranted tears aren't my M.O. ... until this trip. Over the last two weeks, I've realized that if I'm not between 3 and 7, I am a MESS. The list of things that have made me cry on this trip is extensive and nonsensical. It includes quotations on greeting cards, a preview for a Jake Gyllenhaal movie, a dysfunctional metro card, a really helpful salesgirl in Sweaty Betty London, George Harrison's Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp (which I definitely heard in an episode of How I Met Your Mother), and not one but two Gerry Rafferty songs. (I went to Baker Street yesterday, so sue me.)

You can practically hear that haunting sax solo.

I'll tell you what I told my parents. I keep thinking that I'm okay and that I'm handling everything around me with some version of grace or poise, but I've realized it's all very fragile. I'm very fragile. It's a balancing act. As soon as the tiniest thing tips the scale, I become completely emotionally overwhelmed. It's not the kind of thing where I start to well up and think "dammit, I was doing so well! I really didn't want to cry today. " It's more like "what are these pools of saltwater collecting in my eyes? What the hell is happening to my face?" The tears are a total surprise to me every time.

The other day I was invited to lunch in Notting Hill by a friend of my cousin and while I could have walked to the restaurant, I decided to take the tube instead. I bought my Oyster card a day in advance and planned my route and timing accordingly (because I'm such a spontaneous and wild soul). The day of my lunch, I left my apartment an hour early. I walked into the station like the bad bitch I aspire to be and approached the turnstile with the confidence of a disgruntled commuter and swiped my card. The machine beeped loudly and flashed "PLEASE SEE STATION AGENT" on its tiny screen. I had been rejected. I remained totally calm (I thought) and walked around trying to find somebody, anybody that worked there. Finally I spotted a guy in a navy blue jumpsuit. This was clearly not a style choice, it was a uniform. He was definitely an employee.

As I approached him, I thought some combination of words would come out of my mouth... a kind of greeting or signal to let him know that I was present and needed assistance. This is not what happened. Instead I ended up staring at him for an uncomfortable period of time. When he finally turned towards me and made eye contact, picking up on whatever insane energy I was putting out there, he said "are you okay, Miss?" If I had been even remotely inhabiting my body, I would have said "oh, YEAH. Sorry, I just have a quick question." This is not what I said. He asked if I was okay, I paused for way too long as I came back down to earth and tears collected in my eyes, and I shouted "NO!" Then I exhaled super loudly. (As you can imagine, he was thrilled to assist me.) This whole reaction was a total surprise to me because I truly thought I was fine. This was not an emergency, and I knew that. No one was hurt, no one was in danger, no one was going to be late for their lunch commitment.

A few days later I was in Whole Foods on a mission for cheese... and I lost my sh*t.

A sorority sister living in London invited me to a dinner party last Friday night, and I jumped at the chance to talk to people aside from my own reflection in the mirror. She asked if I could bring the fixings for a cheese board, and I was more than happy to... the cheese is just better over here. What surprised me is how overwhelmed I was by this teeny tiny task. It consumed me. I was literally at the store for 45 minutes sampling cheese, trying to contain my emotional flooding. As I exited the chilled room where they keep the dairy products, I was feeling extremely fragile. Then the worst thing that could have happened HAPPENED. I realized I knew the song that was starting to play in the grocery store. It was Florence & The Machine's "Shake It Out." If you've ever heard this song and can remotely relate to how vulnerable I was feeling, you know where I'm going with this.

I said "Oh, F***" out loud in the produce department. I already knew what was about to happen and hustled towards the escalator to find the checkout line. This song cuts into my soul when I'm doing dishes after ordering takeout, so you can only imagine what it did to me in the South Kensington Whole Foods. The checkout line was at least 20 people deep, and I knew there would be no avoiding crying in public. I clenched my jaw until it hurt my entire face. I really wanted to keep it together, but it wasn't going to happen. I was already at an 8 or a 9. I think I've mentioned before that I have a VERY active imagination. As I stood there listening to that song (and becoming totally unhinged), it was not hard for me to produce the delusion that this song was playing for a reason. The universe clearly meant it just for me... standing there in the grocery store next to all the magazines and gum, carrying $40 worth of cheese. It was the universe saying "you are exactly where you are supposed to be right now."

I bought my cheese, collected myself in the taxi, and headed to the party. As soon as my fellow Delta Gamma opened the door and wrapped me in a hug, I felt better.

I woke up yesterday thinking that I finally felt like myself because of my total emotional release in Whole Foods, but upon further review I think it was the party I attended. I know I made a point in an earlier post about loving my alone time, and that is still 100% true, but there is something to be said for meeting generous strangers and being totally welcomed into an established circle of friends. I woke up the next morning feeling so hungover my hair hurt, but I was also really happy. Do I think a good ugly-cry in public helped? Yes. Would I ever have dared to do that at home before this trip? Probably not. That aside, there is something about meeting new people and having the opportunity to put what I talk about here into practice, to unapologetically be myself in person (as opposed to say, a blog); it was so rewarding. I don't mean to imply that I'm not totally myself at home with the people I know and love, I am... but I think I have the tendency to fall into certain roles that I'm accustomed to playing (and some that I no longer enjoy). It can be hard to change or break out of them. It feels so good to start fresh and set the tone for who I am right now. Does this version of me well up when she hears Gerry Rafferty's Right Down the Line? Yes... BIG TIME. But even so, she's genuine and I am really enjoying getting to know her.