All That Life Can Afford

"No, sir, when a man is tired of London he is tired of life, for there is in London all that life can afford." -Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)

It's not like I needed to move again. I've moved a lot since coming to Seattle - from South Queen Anne/Uptown to Maple Leaf, to West Queen Anne to Hayden Lake, to Fremont, to another place in Fremont, to a stretch of Greenwood that Greenwood won't claim, and now to Beacon Hill. I can field strip and reassemble my bed in under five minutes. I am the Queen, the Empress, the Goddess of Moving. And I don't much like it.

I spent my childhood and adolescence moving frequently and on short notice, then did eight years as an army wife before I ever spent two years in one house, so all I really want is to find a home and settle into my comfy chair and be carried out feet first someday far in the future. This is my favorite of all the cities I've ever lived in and here, I determined, I would stay until they pried me from Seattle's cold, dead fingers. Seattle is perfect. It's not too cold in the winter, or too hot in the summer. It's green and lively and full of interesting people and places and things to occupy the body, mind, and spirit.

So why am I about to move to London?

I've had a rather torrid affair with Dr Johnson's city since my first visit in 1997, when I walked all over town for eight hours with my nose in a borrowed "A-Z." I got lost and found again any number of times. I saw Shaftesbury Square and Charing Cross Road and Nelson's er, column, and Whitehall and the Green Park and Buckingham Palace and everywhere in between. I walked the length of Hyde Park and made the first of many pilgrimages to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, as any child or former child ought to do when in the neighborhood. I fell in love, and although I'm sure London does not return the full fervor of my affections it has always been kind to me. I've visited six times so far and my passion, at least, has not flagged. I have often thought of living there for a while, just for the adventure of it, but rents are high, and it never seemed possible.

So when, only a few weeks ago, my lovely daughter sent me a link to a page of quite affordable bedsitting rooms in central London I realized that the key to being able to have my adventure was to lower my sights and expectations just a few degrees. A small flat in Zones 1-2 costs about as much as a three-bedroom house in most Seattle neighborhoods, but I began to see that if one were willing to make do with more modest digs and a shared bath, one might be able to pull off an extended visit for little more than my current living expenses, and one might not actually starve to death (watch this space for real-world results of this theory).

I had received word that a film producer was ready to pay me an advance on film righs to a piece of short fiction I had published in 1994, so I was already planning on visiting the U.K. for a couple of weeks around Easter weekend. I can write and edit from anywhere, so I wouldn't need to be back in the U.S. until about a week before LACon. I could extend my visit to about 4 1/2 months. If I moved fast and seized the opportunity I could have my adventure.

And I was terrified.

Now I have my ticket and 24 hours from now I'll be cooling my heels at the boarding gate for British Airways flight 0048 from SeaTac to Heathrow. Yes, I'm still terrified, but that alone has never slowed me down much. To keep me from flying away tomorrow it would take terrified and an anvil.