Last night at a colorful pub just north of Oxford Street, I met a boy I will never meet again. He accosted me just before I reached the bar, with its rows of beers on tap and whiskeys and rums on inlaid shelves, and he adorably (and drunkenly) started to converse with me. We talked for a bit, all the introductory questions, and then I gestured towards the bar. Okay, he said, smiling, sorry for blocking you. I smiled. It’s no problem. 

I ordered a pitcher of Strongbow for my table of friends and arrived back to find the boy chatting amiably with my flatmates. He had called in his friend to teach us British card games, and we were soon playing cards, downing beer, and dancing happily like old friends. In his drunkenness, he was soon declaring that he “loved us all”, and made us swear that we too would “get pissed”. And then, just like that, he and his friends were off. The boy promised to find me on Facebook, but I expect nothing, and desire nothing.

Nothing lasts, and that idea is beautifully liberating. The boy and I both know that our infatuation is temporary, that tomorrow will bring new faces to greet and more names to forget. No future is expected or even thought of, and thus there is no pressure to impress or to pretend. I can be exactly who I want, secure knowing that any impression I leave today will be irrelevant tomorrow. 

Living in London is thus about embracing the present, in marveling at each architectural gem and new friend in front of me, and accepting that these fleeting images and people will not be with me tomorrow. It’s about striking up a conversation with a Scottish bartender on the Glasgow subway and walking away without knowing his name. It’s about smiling at a old lady on the street who’s playing the violin and never exchanging words. Mostly, it’s about celebrating being with others in the present without placing expectations on the future or worries on the past. 

Nobody knows who I was back in Los Angeles, and nobody seems to care. Here it’s about the continual redefinition of self, about who I am right in this instant. I can carry the morning papers and be British, be loud and improper (American), or throw up peace signs and carry a DSLR like a Japanese tourist. I can be anyone. I am completely anonymous, caught up only with what’s right in front of me. 

In that respect, my encounter with the adorable boy amplifies this sense of anonymity, of defining myself in the moment without regret. I continually remind myself that each amazing person or thing I see is like a butterfly: living its own life, fluttering into mine to share its beauty for but a moment. 

I fall asleep each night feeling blessed and wake ready for a day of new joys.