Borrowed Time in London
- Stella Beckmann
- Nov 5
- 5 min read
“A city is more than a place in space, it is a drama in time.” — Patrick Geddes
Introduction
It’s 6:14 AM in Shenzhen airport. I’m in transit to Seoul, wide awake on London time after a sleepless night on a Starbucks couch. Reflecting on ten weeks in the city I once thought I knew, the hum of London still purred in my chest.
Before: The Bias of Memory
It was an absurd luxury being in one of the world’s most expensive cities with no rent, no deadlines, and no-one depending on me — the perk of having a bright older brother and sister. Knowing it wasn’t normal drove my desire to make the most of it, and maybe that’s why I noticed everything so intensely: it was borrowed time. I knew I could afford to drift, to watch, to reflect — luxuries not everyone in the city could claim.
London once conjured an image of black cabs gliding through puddles as pedestrians tilted their umbrellas to the darkened sky. The whole “beautiful gardens,” “royals” and “Nottinghill” mirage was a fantasy sold to Americans. My clearest memories were from a previous visit as a child in winter, feeding squirrels in Hyde Park, posing at the Kensington Palace gates, and rushing along windy streets past homeless people and flying rubbish. London felt more like a stopover — a pit stop on the way to the “real Europe”, where I imagined fondue pots and cobblestones waiting.
Returning years later, I realised how strange it is to come back to a city familiar in name but foreign in spirit: it isn’t about learning a new place, but about re-meeting the version of yourself who first saw it.
During: The Shock of Sunlight
When I arrived in mid-August, the city was golden and bright — not the London I remembered. That shock of sun set the tone for a trip that would undo most of my expectations (even if the heat was probably climate change).
I didn’t feel pressure to do tourist things. I wandered instead, building a rhythm of work and exploration. At a hotel lobby doubling as a coworking space, I’d try to write but end up watching scenes unfold — each visit like a new episode, chatting with fitness coaches, music producers, and watching strangers drift in and out.
That’s what struck me about London: you’re constantly surrounded by people chasing something. The person opposite you at a cafe could be a bestselling author, an AI founder, a broker, or a poet. Everyone hustles to justify their place in a city this intense.
London feels familiar yet foreign to a Westerner; it’s chaos within systems you already understand. It's culture shock, but not too starkly. Last night I passed a man painted green with elf ears and a purple dress, and no one looked twice. Every bar and café seems to compete for character, because to survive here, you have to. There are endless entertainment options: comedy, theater, musicals... You never run out of surprises.
And maybe that’s the magic of a city that has everything; it gives you the space to breathe, to try on different selves, and to let them go, until one finally fits.
Beneath the Glamour: The Real City
A brief internship at a finance firm gave me a glimpse of London’s working life. Each morning, I commuted to the financial district, floated between colleagues, ticked off tasks, and I joined Thursday drinks too. The lifestyle looked sleek from the outside — sharp suits, quick wit, and a private vocabulary. It’s the kind of life whose idea fuels you long after the reality sets in.
Sometimes my head pulsed from the heat in the Tube stations, or my heart raced as I swerved through crowds and jammed in my noise-cancelling headphones against the sirens. Even shopping on Oxford Street felt like combat; I came home drenched and dazed, wondering who could find this fun.
Sometimes I feared standing still, afraid of who might approach. Other times, I’d ask a stranger for help and watch them zone out, as if I were one of them.
Sometimes the city felt too big; you never do accidentally see the same face twice. On the train, your eyes might meet a stranger’s for a second, and they’ll never connect again.
The city can make you feel both invisible and too visible at once.
Some people thrive in the chaos. I found myself desperate for calm, whether through weekend escapes, or the stability of close connections.
London’s beauty sits uneasily beside its fatigue — whether one’s on the street in a sharp suit or a sleeping bag, everyone’s hustling for oxygen in the same overpriced dream.
Counterbalance: Nature and Stillness
A trip to the Lake District proved the theory about the United Kingdom being all grey wrong. Green hills and mirrored lakes that could rival New Zealand’s. Even in London, an hour’s train ride carried me into quiet and green.
At Hampstead Heath I sat beneath a willow, looking over the hills while a boy sunbathed in the grassy green nearby. The stillness felt almost absurd after the city. Had I found myself in a beautiful garden?
Maybe that’s why Londoners still read physical books on trains; it’s a quiet rebellion against the city’s constant motion, a pocket of stillness in transit.
In Regent’s Park in October, the foliage fluttered in the drizzle beneath a grey sky, offering a glimpse into a secret: the wise ones choose to stop resisting the gloom, and start romanticising it. That’s how they end up dressing the part and sipping pumpkin spice lattes. What starts off a coping mechanism eventually becomes second nature.
Train rides out to Bath, Oxford, and Cambridge felt peaceful, like being suspended in a time capsule watching the world blur by. Those trips revived my love of history and sparked a fascination with art. Back in London, I wandered the National Gallery halls, realising I’d never disliked art — I’d just never given myself the chance to see it. Alongside memories, a new curiosity followed me home.
Closing: What London Leaves You With
London is an unnatural city — vast, bizarre, and easy to get lost in. You’re peripheral: seen if lucky, and even then, easily forgotten. You’re a speck among billions of specks.
Yet in that vastness, there’s freedom: space to carve your own path, to find meaning, to build a self that fits. I’m grateful my preconceptions were challenged, and that the city forced me to look harder, at it and at myself.
Maybe that’s what privilege does. It lets you watch a city instead of fight to survive it.
London wasn’t a city of peace, but of possibility. In a city so restless, you learn to keep moving, but to notice the moments when the world briefly stands still.
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