Here’s a few thoughts on growing older and how we see new places. There really is no experience like going a new place, and like opening a new book, we all love an explore.
Just like sloths.
So, finally, it’s time to get a ‘real’ job, having not necessarily deliberately put it off for a few extra years. You’ve got to hit the road in search of some dollar. In my case that means single-handedly annoying hundreds of commuters every day by daring to bring my bike on the train. I end up in some funny places, often they seem like anomalies in the landscape, as if some unknown god was taking the settlement somewhere more fitting, dropped it on the way and just decided to leave it where it fell.
Now, I love a new place. That moment when you walk out of the station, take a cursory glance around and plump for a direction. You take on that exploring place, like how you peel open a new book’s first page, take in the smell, the feel of the paper. Some places are cardboard cut-outs of others, but there’s always the odd corner, where someone has pushed back against the tide.
Judging a place has always been an interesting one, because of course a motorway service station is never going to be as interesting as a European capital you’ve not visited before, even considering that our relative expectations will be very different. So how do we work out if we like a place? Well, having visited a few relatively similar London satellites recently, I realised there’s a few things that make me stop and take a moment, but by far the biggest is not something unique but something they [should] all have: the library.
Yes, I appear to have reached that stage in my life, where I’m still excited by new places, but a lot of them don’t stand out from previous experience, but the child-like excitement for new books burns unabated. So, a new place? A few hours? Overriding reaction?
Well. How big was the library?
You know what I’m talking about. 😉
And U.S., do what the man says. Don’t boo. Vote.