The Fine Line Between Complaint and Gratitude

Good Morning, Friend,

I’m writing to you from Notting Hill, London, where I landed Tuesday morning and will be for the next six months. My business partner (and brother from another mother), Joe, generously picked me up at the airport and drove me straight to my new flat (still not used to calling it that). From that moment on, it’s been off to the races.

pinterest, uncredited

The past few days have been a whiplash of emotions. The high highs: reuniting with my two business partners, finally having consistent in-person meetings, belly laughing at their razor-sharp humor, learning from their big brains, feeling our plans click into place. (I’ll introduce you to them soon; there’s no better way to describe them than to say: they are excellent men.) Add to that the privilege of being in a stage of life where I can pick up and move cities. I’ve got a partner cheering me on (hi hun!), no kids to uproot, and I’m here for work I believe in. Pinch me.

And then…the low lows, often triggered by the most ridiculous things: opening the cupboard to find mugs that -obviously- aren’t mine (cue the tears), fumbling with the shower controls (cue the tears), walking out to grab coffee only to realize I need Google Maps (cue the tears).

If you’ve been following these SUNday posts, you might ask, “But Nat, haven’t you been in London off and on all year?” True. But there’s a vast difference between visiting and moving. Work Trip Mode versus New Life Mode. My dear friend Katie Zion, wrapping up her own London chapter as I arrived, helped me name this over dinner: When you’re visiting, you don’t need to belong, you’re a joyful guest. When you move, belonging becomes the point.

That’s why I suddenly notice belonging everywhere: a car slipping into the staff spot at the local church, a baby being changed in a corner-flat window, the barista who knows the regular’s order in front of me. Ordinary moments that announce: these people live here.

And whether I welcome or resent those moments depends on something almost embarrassingly simple, like: Am I tired?

Take these three real-life, just-happened, examples:

1. Nearly concussed by a double-decker bus

• Tired: Good LORD, so this is how I’m going to meet The Creator? Get on the “right side” of the road, Mister! A plague upon you!

• Rested: Wow, it’s so magnificent how their bus system is so powerful and efficient! How do they navigate the narrow roads with such an impressive piece of machinery?

2. Lost on my way to dinner

• Tired: Forget it! Call the whole thing off! This was a dumb idea and everyone is staring at my dumb shoes that are totally wrong for this dumb weather that can’t seem to make a singular choice minute to minute - is it sunny? Is it rainy? Make up your goddamn MIND, SKY!

• Rested: Amazing how the light changes the mood and texture of these absolutely charming hanging flowers cascading from this sweet little pub; I’m going to ‘drop a pin’ on it and return here later. And, oh my gosh, you’ve got to be kidding, am I stumbling upon the… is that… the blue door from Notting Hill the movie???

Waiting for Hugh Grant to pop out in all his Hugh-Grant-ness.

3. Waking up on GMT

• Tired: Everyone I know is asleep and completely unreachable - let me innumerate all my loved ones and how none of them are here, one by one by one by one - LETS BEGIN: Kevin is asleep, Dad is asleep, Brooke is asleep, Jaycee is asleep, Jill is asleep, Smooch is definitely asleep…

• Rested: Wow, look at all these glorious texts from all my loved ones who wanted to make sure I woke up with a little note from them. I’ll make a cuppa in my friend’s fabulously cute mugs and listen to them like a meditation from Love Itself. Gosh, aren’t I lucky? Isn’t life just THE BEST?

Friend, it’s night and mutha-effin day. A testament to how naughty the mind can be and how necessary it is to disinvest from its tantrums. As soon as I realize I’m in a tantrum, I go through a very very ridiculously simple checklist I call “The ABCs” (which I’ll share in just a bit) and it helps me get back to the most essential practice. The practice we always need, and the one that’s easiest to forget: