There is something about London that can’t quite be captured by the other great metropoles around the world.
During my years aimlessly wandering the quaint streets of Kensington, Notting Hill and Greenwich or the dodgy pubs in Shoreditch, Camden Town and Clapham, I never felt more at home.
I was so far away from my actual home in the Garden State, but everywhere I turned I saw something eerily familiar. Sure, I had some homesickness and yearned for the people in my life awaiting my return across the pond… But I felt right.
Almost as if I could not help but feel welcome despite having less than a handful of people in my life less than some 3,000 odd miles away. It could be a quite lonely experience.
“There’s something so god damned remote and beautiful and detached about being way to hell and gone up on a little yellow leaf… a sense of being alone in the best sense of the word, not loneliness at all but just an escape into something delightful… you used to get it after you had had a lot of guests and they all went home and the house was finally cleaned up and you could turn on the radio and cook your own kind of stew and read and look up and know god damned well that you were alone.”
Steinbeck in a letter to his Stanford roommate
I felt purpose in finding myself during those days.
Work was insanely busy but I was making the most of it. Waking early to run and stretch on my rooftop balcony before a hot shower and some tea every day helped me handle the stress. On the weekdays, after my shower I would wander into the living room and work in front of our street facing windows. Occasionally, breaking to peak out the windows at the customers of the Audley Pub having a piss-up at any hour.
On weekends, I would usually organize the next week’s work a bit in the mornings and then plan some excursion into lesser known parts of the city.
This was where the loneliness really came in handy.
I never had to fight over which museum to go to or which flea market would be best for today. I could guarantee myself a day of reading in the Clapham Common or Hampstead Heath, or decide to busk for a few hours near Marble Arch to make some petty cash. I had no one to wait on so I went with the wind.
I was so all over the place it was probably best I was by myself. I could take in nature and civilization however a given day unfolded.
Happy to just sit back and observe.
Street Noise
He was easily affected by the eerie, calm nature of the morning. After some days of mayhem, the serenity was a welcome verse in an otherwise chaotic tune. A symphony of stress and madness, turned sharply on its head.
The coda affected his perspective immensely. The prominent minor tone seemed to all but dissolve, brightening the atmosphere. The sun was out, the rain had stopped, the wind relaxed, the trees singing.
Connecting the dots was not so arduous for the moment. Like stringing notes along a scale, each falling in line. Or watching an ancient violinist, effortlessly weaving skill and natural talent. It was not mute to him, but spoke volumes.
Sadly, he knew this undisturbed moment would come to an end as the symphony was building to a fortissimo. Thundering onward in a low rumble towards a final point.
As the climax came, the clarity faded into a cacophony of noise.
– Jack Rupple
