When I was 20, I lived on a tiny island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea without a cell phone and with very spotty WiFi. I was too tall, too pale, and too organized to be allowed, yet there I was and there I unexpectedly thrived.
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It was a slow, gloomy morning in South Kensington—my last day in London and the first morning I woke up looking to intentionally ease into my day. My daily museum was a 15 minute walk away but I had awoken so unusually early that it wasn’t open yet. Unfortunately, it seemed I had too much time to kill and absolutely no plan. Some people would say that’s good for me. I would of course say otherwise.
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