6/8/25
I’m alone in London.
I’ve been walking –
in the rain,
under gray, cloudy skies.
In the wind,
sun beaming overhead.
To the Overground, to the Tube.
North towards Dalston Junction into the city,
back again towards my Airbnb in Peckham.
There’s a glorious amount of time to read when you’re alone,
truly alone.
I-don’t-know-a-single-person-within-150-miles-of-this-city kind of alone.
I’ve been uncomfortable.
But by intentionally positioning myself in the realm of discomfort,
I’ve also found myself whispering,
“I’m proud of you.”
Like a mother watching her teetering toddler,
one awkward step at a time.
On the surface, they’re minor moments.
Tiny steps.
Handshakes at a liturgical church,
momentary panic.
What’s the right thing to say right now?
Then the pause.
Sweetly, kindly, lightly –
you’ve never been here before.
No one’s thinking about it.
Move on.
Weighed down by British rain,
everything feels less serious.
I’ve been reading the Unbearable Lightness of Being.
When I graduated high school, my AP Lit teacher gifted me my first copy –
it’s battered, falling apart at the spine.
I ripped the cover off to save his handwritten inscription.
I bought a new copy to bring with me,
and I spilled coffee all over it on my first day.
I’m alone,
I’m in London,
and I’m finding it easy
to be kind to myself,
to slip up and move on.
To take a teetering step
and beam with pride
rather than self-criticism.
They’re yours too –
moments to whisper,
to love.
To beam in the wake of an inevitable slip.
I’m rooting for you.
Lightly,
Leah
Leah Kepley, M.Ed. 