Insomnia

From The Blue Castle, one of my favorite childhood classics, when Valancy expresses doubt that her husband actually loves her:

"You've been lying awake at three o'clock too long," said Barney, shaking her. "That's all that's the matter with you.

They're definitely words of comfort, whenever I think about all the things that float through my brain during my (often) sleepless nights.

Small World Syndrome

Just to be clear -- I'm not trying to avoid people -- but this passage from Anansi Boys made me think about what a small, strange world it can be sometimes:

"It is a small world. You do not have to live in it particularly long to learn that for yourself. There is a theory that, in the whole world, there are only five hundred real people (the cast, as it were. All the rest of the people in the world, the theory suggests, are extras), and what is more, they all know each other. And it's true, or true as far as it goes. In reality the world is made of thousands upon thousands of groups of about five hundred people, all of whom will spend their lives bumping into each other, trying to avoid each other, and discovering each other in the same unlikely teashop in Vancouver."

On Failure and Happiness

Randomly, I've been re-reading Geography of Bliss this week: a visiting cousin happened to leave his copy behind, which was a stroke of good luck, since my copy is currently 5000 miles away. I flipped the book open and found myself reading about Iceland, and specifically, what makes Icelandic people, on average, amongst the happiest in the world*:

"Having multiple identities (though not multiple personalities) is, [according to one Iceland resident] conducive to happiness. This runs counter to the prevailing belief in the United States and other western nations, where specialization is considered the highest good. Academics, doctors, and other professionals spend lifetimes learning more and more about less and less. In Iceland, people learn more and more about more and more."

And, by way of explaining how multiple identities are able to be cultivated:

"It's because of failure," says Larus, pushing his glasses against the bridge of his nose.
"Failure?"
"Yes, failure doesn't carry a stigma in Iceland. In fact, in a way, we admire failures."

This all intuitively makes sense to me. As an oversimplification:

If you're not worried about failing, you're more likely to try new things, which is likely to cause happiness.

(* Caveat: At least, according to Ruut Veenhoven and Eric Weiner. As pointed out by friends at brunch, there are too many unanswered questions/concerns about the methodology to rely too heavily on its accuracy. And who knows if Icelanders *are* happy? They seem to be having their own share of troubles these days.)

Leaving and Leaving You

And just like that, a year has gone by. It's officially been one year since I've moved to London. A year that's been undoubtedly exciting: exploring a new city, reconnecting with old friends, making new ones. But also a year of longing: missing New York (which feels more like 'home' now that I'm 3000 miles away) and missing loved ones.

I spent part of last weekend at the Southbank Centre, which is hosting the Festival of Britain. As part of the Festival, there are some Scottish poems exhibited, including the following poem by Sophie Hannah. It's perhaps a little maudlin, but it seems especially fitting today.

Leaving and Leaving You

When I leave your postcode and your commuting station,
When I leave undone the things that we planned to do,
You may feel you have been left by association,
But there is leaving and there is leaving you.

When I leave your town and the club that you belong to,
When I leave without much warning or much regret,
Remember, there’s doing wrong and there’s doing wrong to
You, which I’ll never do and I haven’t yet,

And when I have gone, remember that in weighing
Everything up, from love to a cheaper rent,
You were all the reasons I thought of staying
And you were none of the reasons why I went

And although I leave your sight and I leave your setting
And our separation is soon to be a fact,
Though you stand beside what I’m leaving and forgetting,
I’m not leaving you, not if motive makes the act.