Preparing to Leave

We returned to London on a Friday evening, and for me it felt like coming home.  I had started the process of disconnecting while we were in Italy, anticipatory grieving, and opening the door to our flat in London was like walking back into a fairytale. 

We had been pretty measured and disciplined during our first few months in London, limiting our dining out to once a week, only getting "treats" occasionally, spreading out our big tickets activities in a sustainable way.  But coming off three weeks of daily gelato and a splurge weekend in Venice with only seven days in my new favorite place, we let go of restraint and made the most of it.  For the most part, we just wanted to soak up time with the people that had become dear to us-- new friends from church and school, expat connections we'd made with UVa friends, a wonderful Mother's Day BBQ with my newfound Aunt and cousins.  We cried at every farewell, and marveled at how amazing it was to have been able to make such real connections in such a relatively short time.  It felt so counter-intuitive, wrong, against-the-grain, to have to end these genuine friendships when they had just started.  We have spent years in Burlington and Durham on lonely islands in terms of close relationships.  We are grateful that in the year or two before London, we had finally found a "group" and we've had friends praying for us and keeping up with us from abroad.  But it took 5 years! What is it about arriving in a new place that enables and encourages jumping into deep relationships with less hesitation?  Maybe it was God's special provision for us during this season, but I also think there are two other ingredients...

1. Me- I tend to be overly self-aware, and I hold back out of fear of rejection.  When I show up in a new country, where no one knows me and I have a limited time, I have nothing to lose.  Why not initiate?  Why not put myself out there?  Say how I really feel?  The spirit of adventure that got us packed and across the ocean with three young kids and seven suitcases pervaded my being and affected my posture towards new people in the same way I was more able to fully appreciate and enjoy new spaces with fresh eyes. 
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2. Them- There are cultural differences between Americans and Europeans.  I've hesitated to say that out loud, and this is not an exhaustive treatment of that subject, but I noticed a difference in how people introduced themselves, and the followup questions they asked. Instead of name/occupation/school/neighborhood, we got name/what brings you here/how are you finding it?  Sure, maybe it's because we were the new kids in town, but I was so appreciative of how warmly and openly we were received, and how I never got the sense that we were being sized up or evaluated for whether we would fit into a social circle, whether my clothes, shoes, bag, or car said I was good enough, cute enough, or interesting enough to be worthy of getting to know.  

I even took my wild animals out to tea!

​Europe, and London especially, is full of people from so many backgrounds that the same socioeconomic, skin-color and external markers of status that I'm accustomed to don't work.  During our time in London, we got to know people who had lived in tents in Africa, families that owned historical property in central London and castles in Scotland.  One friend had Number 10 Downing on speed dial, another stayed home to care for her disabled granddaughter.  At our church alone, there were those who had inherited millions, and others living in public housing.  Recent refugees and those with Royal blood.  However, just looking around, it would have been impossible to tell who was who.  I make these observations in part as a critique of American suburban culture, in which we are hyper-aware (without noticing) of status.  I also revisit these ideas to highlight the freedom I felt when I didn't play by those rules.  I was more myself, and didn't make assumptions about others, resulting in more authentic, vulnerable relationships, that went deeper faster.  

Early on, over a meal, the Vicar of our church in London, who himself had moved to London only four months earlier, invited us to dive in headfirst.  He encouraged us to come on the church retreat, even though we wouldn't be lifelong members.  "You either jump in, and be a part of what God is doing, or sit on the sidelines and watch."  That permission to participate fully and join in, expecting that we could be useful and experience God's blessing, no matter how long we were there, was a gift.  It kept me from holding back as I so often do, fearful of overstaying our welcome or being perceived as overzealous or needy.  So we did.  We went to bible studies, had coffee with people we met there, volunteered to serve the homeless in the church basement, spent a weekend in the countryside with a wise older couple, prayed, laughed and cried with the wonderful people we got to know.  

In addition to saying farewell to new friends during our last week in London, we of course also had to go to all our favorite London places "one last time."  (Hoping that there will someday actually be another time!)  It helped that I had a birthday that week, giving us a proper excuse to picnic in Regent's Park on Tuesday afternoon, have ice-cream sundaes at Fortnum & Mason on Wednesday, and eat waffles outside the Tower of London on Thursday.  I woke up early to fulfill my goal of running all the way around Hyde Park before we left, and we stayed at Holland Park until it closed at dusk.  I took the long route, down the Mews behind our flat, every time I could, and went out of my way to use the charming pedestrian passage with the arch, just because I could.  I appreciated those cobblestones, rounded and softened by so many feet before mine, noticed the tree-lined avenues, finally filled in with springtime glory, the pastel doors with their interesting hardware.  I soaked up the energy of the people coming and going on the Tube, the little thrill of going upstairs in the double-decker bus and finding the front seats available. I enjoyed the nuances of life in London- Waitrose bags with fresh bread,  a pound for the grocery cart, the ping of the contactless card machine.  The city was dressed in all it's bunting and finery in anticipation of the Royal wedding, even giving Charles and the kids a Royal farewell as they happened to see the motorcade pass on the way to Windsor.  Living so near Kensington Palace, it was fun to feel a part of it all, even if we did leave the day before the wedding.  
I could go on and on.  As I look back at our pictures, and keep finding receipts in various wallets and pockets, I can honestly say we have no regrets.  It was so wonderful.