Since I had two days mushed together via the wonders of jet air travel, it is difficult to sort out what event happened on what “day.” Thus I will post about it all!
We are staying in a hostel, which had me a bit nervous. My past experiences with hostel were youth hostels in Mexico and Italy. I didn’t want to be in a communal room for my honeymoon since I’m not turned on by that level of exhibition and I was worried that we are too old for hostels. Hostels are geared toward the young and the broke and while we’re still the latter, we’re less and less the former. Some hostels allow only guests that are under 26 and that 4 years younger than me. The Husbandit insisted that this particular hostel would be fine and it has been. It’s not specifically a youth hostel though it definitely mostly caters to and serves the 18-26 crowd. Not all of the rooms are communal and I’ve seen folks well over their 30’s and 40’s staying here. It has brought up a thought that’s been recurring for a while though, “I’m not too old for this yet, but soon I will be.”
At 29 (and childless) I can still “get away” with a lot of 20-something stuff, trendy fashions, staying at hostels, some friends’ drama, drinking too much, dancing all night. But I can see the point at which I won’t be able to in the eyes of the public around me. And I’m already at the point at which I don’t want to do a lot of those things. A lot of the those activities are ones that never quite suited me to begin with–I’ve never been a frequent heavy drinker, I’m a gossip but I’m not attracted to drama, and my fashion sense has always been….eccentric. I love dancing but I always felt a little out of place at regular clubs, like I was putting on a mask. So, I feel a mixture of relief and nostalgia at the prospect of no longer having the expectations of being a 20-something. Staying the in hostel has been a very telling experience; on one hand part of me looks at the 21 year olds with their backpacks a little enviously, remembering the camaraderie of backpacking through Oaxaca with a group of other 21 year old women in college. On the other hand, I think about how anxious and self-hating I was at 21 and I’m happy to be where I am now. I think part of grows older joyfully is recognizing what you love and finding away to keep it in your life. I want to keep dancing as long as I have legs (and after that I’ll be the old auntie popping wheelies in her wheelchair at weddings) and I want to go on trips with friends again. I see no reason why either of those things shouldn’t happen.
Along with the navel-gazing I also did some nave-gazing (cue groan) at Westminster Abbey and went on a tour of Parliament. Being in both of those buildings targeted what I’ve loved about London so far. It is awe-inspiring to be in a place that has been a people place for over a millennium. Standing in Westminster Hall and seeing architecture built by the Normans, standing in front of the tomb of Queen Elizabeth the I, standing in the undercorridors of Westminster where seeing the medieval masons’ marks–I find it inspirational just because of the sheer longevity of it all.
After a day of walking around and some…ahem…honeymoon activities, we went out for fish and chips and worked on a joint writing project. It’s been a good day, thought I’m still dealing with some residual anxiety and tension for too much working and too little sleep. I’m trying to make this experience like hitting a reset button.
First Acts 