On falling in love

The idea of falling in love with oneself is typically reserved for inspirational quotes on Pinterest and self-help blurbs everywhere, but after spending a month in this city I'm beginning to understand what it means. Here in Glasgow, I have more free time than I've had in probably ten years, and one constant companion: myself. I have no choice but to like myself, but not in the self-absorbed way that I've been proud of myself for being kind or having a high GPA or being on the side of all that is right and good. I have to really like myself, get to know myself, be okay with being anxious and insecure and irrationally excited about old buildings and unpackaged food. I'm not really on a vacation: it feels a little more like a honeymoon, even though I've never been on one of those, but for just one person.
For eight hours every week, I am scheduled to be in the classroom -- the remaining time is mine to do with as I please. This is a daunting prospect for someone who has spent years working as hard as possible to do everything. I'm accustomed to filling my waking hours (and many hours that I should probably spend sleeping) with academics, activism, employment, and anything else I can find; certainly not with my own company. My time feels oddly empty. There are no clubs to organize, no job to go to, fewer hours of class. Fewer people I know to spend time with, and fewer possessions filling the bag I carry with me. The people and things with which I have stuffed my life to give it meaning are mostly on the other side of an ocean.
With the opportunity to decide exactly what I want to do, I spend my time exactly as I'd like. This may seem obvious, but it's remarkable. As a result, everything is thrilling: spontaneous afternoon trips to see cows, celeriac and truffle soup in a tiny cafe with a perfect playlist, hikes with beautiful vistas around every corner. Instead of living a collection of scheduled moments, I live scenes and smells and sounds. I have no extracurriculars or activities, and as a result a much smaller social life. But it's dawned on me recently that I didn't travel to Scotland just to go to university, to do what I've always done in a different place: I traveled to Scotland to do things differently, to provoke a fundamental sea change in how I think and move in the world. That means different academics and different ways to fill my time: it means stripping my life and my time down to the essentials, and building it up again with only things that matter to me.

Some things I love right now:

Reading. Not cramming an entire book into one night so I can say smart things about it, but really, lovingly, anticipating hours spent with a good novel or social history.
Cafes. Hip and friendly baristas and art in the foam atop the cup, imaginative soups and ambient playlists.
Walking. The sounds of the street, a small mission to buy a sponge or take passport photos or go to class,
The BBC. Podcasts on my twice-weekly walks to the National Piping Centre, Sherlock and Call the Midwife while eating dinner, push alerts on my phone as a breath of fresh air from the American media.
Grocery shopping. Lists of precisely what I want to eat, friendly greetings at the shop, feeling the oranges to select those of the proper firmness, the sound of slicing fresh bread.
Cooking. The ritual chopping and sauteing of garlic and onions to begin dinner preparation, constructing oatmeal breakfasts studded with all manner of toppings, learning to cook quinoa and bake scones.
Travel. Planning the route and packing a bag and taking just a few photos to remember.

I've always felt that I need to do more, that free time is in a sense a wasted opportunity, that I am being unproductive in a way that will doom me for years to come.Now, as my list of commitments gets smaller, time seems to expand. A long Saturday can seem to last a lifetime, or a blissful blink of an eye. And yet I don't feel that I'm doing less: rather, my priorities feel just right and I feel like I'm doing more of what matters. It is an incredible privilege, in this world of disparity, to be warm and safe and healthy and to have the resources to explore at my leisure. To love what I'm doing and love my own company on this adventure is the best way I know to be grateful.