I am interrupting my own Substack-article-reading catch-up session by starting this new piece of my own because I was just struck by a wave of gratitude so intense that I nearly started crying in the middle of this sweet pink cafe, and I have to tell you why. Long story short, my life has changed quite a lot since I wrote my last piece titled this way (incidentally, that was my first ever Substack post!) - I started a new job, took on a new client at my existing one, finished my degree, said goodbye to several beloved uni friends (oh, guess I’ll start crying for real this time), and moved into a new flat. Long story long…well, keep reading, I suppose.

My new job is in a restaurant. Yeah, four years of studying and tens of thousands of pounds of debt later, that is where I find myself. It’s not an easy job - hospitality is not for the weak - and I’m sure some people truly find their calling in it, but I am not one of them, and this isn’t really where I’d anticipated to land as postgraduate life commenced. But, actually, I strangely love it. I love the changing shift patterns each week (although my body clock definitely doesn’t); I love the amount of tourists that come in and ask for travel advice to maximise their time in my favourite city (although sometimes it’s just too busy for me to linger for much of a chat); I love how many quirky little ways of doing things this family-run place seems to have (although it does keep me on my toes, even a month in). My coworkers are great, the managers have been nothing but sweet to me, and thank goodness the food is delicious too - we get free meals on long shifts and you best believe I MILK that opportunity. Oh, did I mention it’s on one of Edinburgh’s most beautiful roads, with a terrace overlooking the technicolour facades of the shops below? No wonder it’s a tourist hotspot. I can hardly blame them, as frustrating as they can be as customers. I’m not mad at the generous American tips either. I am mad at the hectic pace sometimes, and the feeling of needing just a few more hands on deck, but otherwise it’s pretty good.

From my old flat, I could walk to work, but from the new one I take the bus. It’s just about walkable I reckon, but I’ll save my steps for the shifts themselves. I keep my phone in my pocket at work and the health app tracks what I’m up to. One Saturday, I walked 13.8km just back and forth around that restaurant and along its terrace. That’s obscene, right? Like I said, hospitality is not for the weak.

I moved flats because university has come to an end, and my two best friends and I had always planned to leave our precious flat once the final semester came to a close. One of them has moved back down to London now, and I miss her and my other friends who’ve left desperately; viscerally. But I also feel intensely lucky that some of my closest friends are still in the city, one of whom I lived with before this, and others of whom still have some studying left to do. I always knew I wanted to stay in Edinburgh at least for a little while postgrad, but if I’d ended up with no remaining friends, I’m sure I’d be feeling very unmoored right now. They won’t be here forever, maybe not beyond summer in some cases, but at least I have the love and continuity my old friends bring, for now.

Five of us went to Ikea last night. One of them just got a car recently which has been SO FUN already. Until now, we’ve all relied on the buses, which are decent here, but I’d forgotten just how much freedom comes with being able to hop in and whizz about whenever and wherever you fancy. I didn’t get anything particularly bulky yesterday for my new room, but remembering I didn’t have to lug my haul home on public transport was a welcome realisation. We’ve started making a summer bucket list which is proving pretty car-reliant, or at least would be made much easier by travelling that way. Coastal fishing villages, nature walks, shopping trips, and so on. I hate not evenly sharing that kind of responsibility amongst us but, in this case, it can’t really be helped, and she seems happy enough to be our chauffeur for now. I will just keep professing my gratitude at every opportunity, before every slam of the door when she drops me home.

Home! I’ve still not said much about my new one, have I? Well, here goes. I’m still south of the city centre. Initially, I’d wanted to move north to Leith, far from the student-infested realm of the southside (I say, ironically, as a student myself officially until July), but had no luck in my search in that area. In hindsight, I’m so glad I’ve ended up here. Two of my best friends are still within walking distance, and I have actually found I quite like being close-ish to my old haunts while also having a new area to explore. Well, sort of new. It’s quite a fancy area really, one that I wasn’t wholly unfamiliar with prior to moving, but that I’m raring to make my own. The nearest supermarkets are Waitrose and M&S, so that gives you an idea of the vibes around these parts. I’m shocked to have found somewhere I can afford here, frankly. But I’ve truly, as my mum put it, “landed on my feet.” My landlord is really sweet (what is going on?) and he lives on the top floor of our duplex flat, but it doesn’t feel weird or overbearing. We get on well. On my floor, I have another flatmate that he rents another room to, and she’s also lovely but I haven’t seen much of her so far. We’re both still settling in though; she only preceded me by a few weeks, I think.

My room is, if I do say so myself, already looking deliciously decked out. Complete with a double loft bed, built-in wardrobe, big white bookshelf, small desk and outrageously comfy armchair, the bare bones of the room indeed showed promise, but I’m still proud of what I’ve done with it in a short space of time (I’ve been there less than a week???? Crazy). My shelves are lined with an irregularly arranged mix of books, photos, jewellery, trinkets, and miscellaneous everyday items I might need to grab on my way out. I finished arranging my desk last night when I returned triumphantly from Ikea with two magazine racks - my collaging supplies finally have a home rather than littering my workspace! Well…craft-space, I guess. No deadlines for me! Not anymore!

When I get home today, I’ll probably finish putting up photos. I have a plan to decorate my wardrobe doors with a sort of gallery wall but we’ll see how that pans out. My morning was spent with my two current clients for my other job - I’m a carer on Mondays and Thursdays (today is the latter) and a server on whichever other days is required. I’m a bit scared of saying too much about all that lest I break the confidentiality I am sworn to, but it’ll suffice to say that neither elderly lady needed much help around their respective flats from me today, and sent me off after only half an hour of their respective 2-hour slots had elapsed, leaving me plenty of time to run errands and, now, to sit in this sweet pink cafe, reading and writing and eavesdropping. I am full of peach tea and pain au chocolat and I am very content.

I’ve been obsessed with watching Iwana Cristal’s vlogs on YouTube lately. She and her boyfriend Adam are insanely funny together. During one I watched the other day (I forget which, forgive me) they were talking about their favourite emotions. Iwana said ‘contentment’ and Adam, without missing a beat, said “that’s not a feeling.” He went on to gently argue that it’s more of an absence of feeling, kind of passive. I get what he means, but I agree with Iwana, who said she feels so actively content often enough to know that it absolutely is an emotion in its own right. She described being in beautiful natural surroundings, or with her family, and feeling a peace so absolute, a contentment so palpable, that it just couldn’t be described in any other way. It’s not as loud or exuberant as happiness (though it overlaps, of course), but it’s just as fulfilling. That’s what I feel as I write this now. A shot of contentment, chased by immense gratitude that I get the privilege of feeling so at peace. Did I use those words right? I don’t drink alcohol so I’m not actually sure if that made sense. Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen that particular metaphor, but I’ll risk it. Anyway, I digress, as usual.

Before I hopped on Substack about an hour ago now, I had just read a chapter of Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer called ‘Allegiance to Gratitude’. There, she contrasts the Onondaga Indigenous tradition of beginning the school day with the Thanksgiving Address with the American obsession over the Pledge of Allegiance. She says she loves her country, but to her that means more than the “republic for which it stands” - it encompasses the land, the water, and all worldly residents, which the Thanksgiving Address accounts for. A lot of what she said resonated heavily with how I feel, getting to stay here in my favourite city. When I bounce through the hills, high on the fresh air and the views rippling out below me as the sun sets, I am swaddled by this place that has given me so much; that I hope to somehow give back to one day in my own way. Maybe that’s cheesy or something, I’m not sure, but it’s true. I feel held by this place, like it gets me. I certainly get it, I think.

Grounded in reciprocity and love (beyond the confines of arbitrary borders), the Thanksgiving Address calls Robin to wonder what a life led by gratitude looks like. I’m not sure yet exactly, but with her help, the wisdom of many others, and the mind I am cultivating for myself, I intend to find out.

Thanks for being here and indulging me by reading all that, if you’re still here! Please tell me about what you thought of this self-indulgent piece, and also about your own life and all your loves. I want to hear from you, always!!! We’re all just muddling along so we may as well muddle along together!