On being OK with your own company

23.05.18

I used to cringe and have the desire to hit things when well-meaning people waxed lyrical to me about "being OK in my own company."

I’ll start this post by saying, ‘I wish I had more friends in London.’ I always wish I had more friends. But there is a certain satisfaction in genuinely stating, ‘I am OK with my own company.’

I wouldn’t recommend this path. It was a long and winding road of over two years, of various ups and downs, of fostering nine cats at a time, of avoiding going home at all. 

But I’m finally here. Happy. 

I feel like Carrie off Sex and the City without the casual flings.

I spent my afternoon doing various life admin and helping a good friend apply for a job. Amazing really, how often people ask me to write their applications for them; some successful, some not, but better applications nonetheless. The thing is, any writing is better with a sub-editor. It was a privilege to do this as this person is about five pay grades above me and was also the one who introduced me to project monitoring; something I love doing. Mentors are so rare in this world and I have been so lucky to have them. I know now, they have been lucky to have me too.

In India I was confronted with the fact that I am an unmarried 31-year-old female. I couldn’t avoid it - I was asked almost every day - and then I was asked why. After the first few days I just told people to go fuck themselves, but it really did make me think about why. The answer is simple: choice. 

I’ve had so many opportunities to couple up and get married and make babies. But I can’t fake that stuff. It has to be real for me. I’m not looking for perfection and I’m not looking for standardisation either. If I think about it, it has been an easy and natural choice.

I was brought up by such a strong and independent female that it is no wonder I am the way I am.

This path is not what society tells us to do, it is not a choice that every woman has and I welcome it with three arms. 

Bless this period in my life. 

If I was not single, I would not be in London. I would not have a passion for Jiu-Jitsu, I would not have got into animal rescue, my friendships would not have deepened; everything would be different. 

I am so grateful.

Anyway, so I went to Covent Garden to get my passport photocopied and to fill in a form for the tenth time for the same company, still having to go into my phone to get my correct mobile number and current post code. Fun times! 

It was time for a haircut. 

Cringingly expensive, I dolled out £64 for a cut and blow dry. I almost cut it shoulder-length but pulled myself back just in time. It’s OK to be sporadic in life but that doesn’t mean you have to get a bad haircut. I love long hair. I don’t care if it’s in bad condition, let it grow, let it grow, let it snow! (not with dandruff.) 

My hairdresser was this impossibly sophisticated European man with a curly and impeccably-groomed moustache. He was beautiful and professional. 

But usually in Melbourne I just go to Russell Street in the CBD and get a beautiful Asian person to cut my hair for half - cough, a third - of the price. It’s uncomfortable being racially-selective for my haircuts but I can’t recommend the hairdressers on Russell Street enough. And I do that every six months. I don’t care that sometimes I have to rip knots out of my hair, it is the price of long hair. Nonetheless, a positive experience, and I am a creature of habit, so I will probably go back for this £64 goodness. 

He also didn’t make small talk with me, even though I tried to. He just let me read the Economist in peace. 

It’s hard to find a good hairdresser. 

I went for a bit of a stroll after my cover letter favour, full of chilli peanuts and shiraz from a gorgeous pub in the centre of London. It’s funny how important you look on a laptop in a pub. People leave you alone and assume that your work is so important. I always used to think people like that were twats. 

I ended up on campus of the London School of Economics and Political Science, which is funny, because it would be a dream to study here one day. Maybe one day. 

I have five more days of freedom in London before I get sucked into the 9 to 4:30 (hilarious hours in my new job). 

These days are my oyster (with my oyster card har har); sure I was expecting more time off, but I’m also excited to work, and I feel very lucky. It’s also good to be writing. 

The biggest privilege and personal milestone though, is that I am content, just like this, right now, right here.

Just like this.  

Just this.