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The Quiet Joy of Being A Local
I was waiting in a queue when an interesting thought came to mind
In my twenties, I travelled the world extensively. I practically lived out of a backpack and loved every second of it. It was a dream come true.
As I entered my thirties, the very thing I used to love became a drag. What I wanted had changed. I craved for a more simple, quiet life. I longed for a stationary, more local existence. One where I could watch the trees change colour and the seasons pass by. One where I could greet people I know and walk down a few familiar streets.
I wanted a home. A cat. And somewhere to call my own.
I didn’t want anything fancy, just something rough around the edges and crafted by my own hands.
I was reminded of this this morning when I went down to my local coffee shop. Before I got to the front of the queue, a black Americano was waiting for me. “Morning Andy!” Rodney said with a big grin on his face.
This is what I have been ordering for the last six years, so it’s not surprising he knew what I wanted. What surprised me was how it made me feel. I felt seen somehow, as if my daily routine mattered.
A big smile rose up on my face as I greeted him back. It’s a greeting we’ve done almost daily for 2,190…
