It’s been over two weeks since we got back from Scotland, and I’ve realized something important.
Ever since we got back from Reykjavik last year, I was mooning over how beautiful the city was, how much I missed it. I regretted not seeing the mountains and the volcanoes when I had the chance. I even daydreamed about packing up and moving there.
And now I’m doing the same goddamned thing all over again: four weeks ago I was in Glasgow doing this, three weeks ago I was in Edinburgh doing that – all this nostalgia for something from barely a month ago!
Having that new knowledge is simultaneously reassuring and disappointing. Reassuring because it means that it’s somewhat predictable. Disappointing because it means that what I actually really miss is the feeling of being at leisure and catered to. I don’t miss the cities I visit so much as the act of visiting – of being who I am when I’m not home, of finally getting to let loose and spend all that money I’ve been carefully saving, of seeing and doing and eating new things.
The disappointment and longing hits particularly hard at this moment because, as I write this, I am commuting to work on a standing-room-only Go Train. I am trying desperately to maintain balance by hooking my arm around a metal pole, feeling my feet ache, and dreading the fact that there are still four more stops to go and there isn’t any room for more people to get on.
The weather is very Glaswegian today – rainy, cloudy, high teens to low twenties – so here’s a random list of stuff that I miss about being there:
- Weathered-looking stone buildings
- Soor ploom candies
- City streets meant for walking, not driving
- Buskers being everywhere
- Not needing air conditioning to feel comfortable
- Listed prices on items where the tax is already built in so you don’t have to do mental math when you get to the register
- The feeling of finding neat, unexpected little shops cheek-by-jowl next to each other
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