I was lying on the treatment table yesterday whilst a nice lady called Maya did cruel and unusual things with some thread in order to tame my eyebrows, and it struck me that when I move Iâ€™ll be screwed. The problem is not the big things, but rather the little things.
It has taken me four years of living in Southampton to find a hairdresser I trust to do funky but liveable-with things to my hair (and not cost a fortune). The same goes for a beauty parlour where I can trust them to work magic with my caterpillar brows, my favourite deli, coffee shop, skate shop, tattoo parlour, jewellery storesâ€¦
The list of the little things is endless.
Now, Iâ€™m not saying that London doesnâ€™t have any of those things. I know that it has lots of those things. The possibilities are endless, as the advert says, but how do you start to find them?! I still know people who commute back to their home town to get a haircut. My hairstyle maybe glorious and groovy, but glorious and groovy needs regular maintenance, and thereâ€™s no way Iâ€™m going to be travelling up/down on the train just to get a haircut!
I know that rather than the little things, I should be worried about the big things: getting a job, where Iâ€™m going to be living, things like that. But those are such big worries that I am just not acknowledging them right now. The little ones, those are the concerns that are freaking me out. Iâ€™ve settled in Southampton, thatâ€™s the problem. I never planned to stick down roots here, but I have.
And then there is all my stuff. Oh lords have mercy, the stuff! Iâ€™m a hoarder, a nester, and Iâ€™ve got the flat stuffed full of belongings to prove it. Once upon a time I could pack my life into a suitcase and a few cardboard boxes. Now the shoes alone need half a transit van!
Tell me again why Iâ€™m so fixated on moving to London?