In Defence of a Slow Sunday

and my love of the city

I spent this morning working with my hands, sculpting wax in a jewellery making class in south west London.

I attended this workshop with a dear friend, someone whose counsel I value and whose life choices echo many of mine own. We spent much of the day together in one of those rare ‘hang out’ Sundays, where the plan is loose, the time elastic, and the many shared hours allowing what is most important to rise to the top. Parts of the conversation surprised me, our discourse allowing possibilities to emerge that I had not expected, the dialectic doing what dialectic is meant to do: arriving at the truth of a matter, helping me see what I could not do alone.

It was a cold day, the type of baltic temperature which forces your hands into your pockets and freezes the tops of your ears until they hurt, but the bitter experience somehow only added to my joy, our muttered exclamations a shared intimacy. Errands were run, evening plans blurred, and I wondered if this level of contentment was achievable every day, or whether it felt so special precisely because it was such a rare treat.

I had written a different newsletter to share with you all today, but the tone of that piece is angrier, sharper, unresolved. It didn’t feel right to send it out, but I’m not at home, at my desk, and I don’t have a back up article to share. So instead, I thought I would write to you from exactly where I am, sitting on my friend’s couch, watching the arrival of dusk through their front window, the sounds of a neighbour’s guitar filtering through the wall.

It’s been overwhelming returning from Fair Isle to the Big Smoke of London. I’ve had two naps at my desk and not nearly enough sleep, throwing myself back into the fray with pure abandon and not enough grace. But what I am grateful for is returning to a city full of people I love, and who love me back. A city of welcome, of anonymity, of infinite possibility. I love this city, with all its foibles, and will forever be grateful for the lease of life it gave me when I was at my lowest.

It can feel impossible to find yourself amongst the grey concrete and pursed lips, the impatience and the traffic and the never ending, ugly, cold. But this city is also full of warm blooded humans and a quiet, unbreakable resolve. We mock the phrase ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’, but is that not the secular Inshallah, a saying that understands maybe not everything is in your control, but why not do what you can?

My phone battery has turned red now. I have so much more to tell you all, but I suppose it’ll have to wait for another day, inshallah. I hope your Sunday has been slow, regenerative, hopeful - or if not, at the very least, I wish you a moment of joy. Until next week, friends. Yx