I had forgotten about the new. Going back to a city I knew, even in a few small areas, I had forgotten to expect the new as well.
Staying in someone else’s flat for a week, I realised I had to learn the neighbourhood too – from scratch.
Now living in the same place for what is (for me) a record-breaking length of time, I forget about the new in where I live. I know where to buy my food. Where to find bus stops.
Which part of the road is better for crossing to get a clear view.
Tired with travel, with transfers and changing trains at rush hour, I opted out of new for the first night abroad. Much of the next morning too. I blamed lack of sleep, turned over, and put off the serious job of food shopping for a bit longer.
As a parent, you seem constantly pulled between same old same old and new new NEW! Everything is the same as the day before, and the day before that, while everything is also changing, because there are teeth to come out suddenly at supper time, and new thoughts to express on well-established comic book heroes.
But here, it is all new. Which way to turn out of the apartment. Which side of the road has the Metro entrance, and which has the exit. Do we go up the street, or down, to find the food shops the owner has promised?
Dan’s sense of direction takes over. We find the right street. We negotiate the shop that sells gluten-free items, and find what we want, fairly quickly. Then we have a choice of other supermarkets on the street to finish the shop.
Another, larger, shop to negotiate. Normally, this would be fine – but Junior Chef is with me, and uninterested in my foreign supermarket browsing past. ‘What about this one? Or this one? Or this one?’
Trying to avoid having each item in the shop passed to me in turn, I invoke the Shopping List, and take over some decisions. We go round some aisles several times, looking for different things. Slowly the trolley collects its load.
Halfway round the fruit and veg section, I give up. I have made enough decisions. I have run out of thinking space. It is all taken up with new, and price comparisons, and trying to picture cooking in the kitchen we are coming back to.
The next day, after I catch up on sleep, I brave it out alone. I do the extra shopping I should have done the day before. And I go back to the same supermarket, because by now I have learned the layout, and that will do me just fine.
It brought me to realise that newness can be a gift too, even if at the time it feels far removed. We become used to our environments, our shopping choices, our spheres of operation. It often feels easier to keep going.
Easier yes, but easier to keep doing the same. In Newville, I remind myself that it is enough to find what I need, for that day, enough to return and do it better another time.
Were I to stay for longer, I might try out the other supermarkets, shop around, compare prices. But for now, my goal is to do the tasks to settle in. That is enough for now.
It’s easy to find my way about in Busytown. I know it well now. Newville demands my attention, my preparedness to be flexible, to observe and then make choices.
Newness finds me – but I also have to keep choosing those new places too in order to encounter it.
Maybe I am finding flexibility rather than newness itself, but that too is a find worth keeping.