Coming full circle

It’s Monday morning at 7:48am and I’m standing on my local train platform, sipping a vanilla oat latte, just as my train pulls in. I start a new job today. Forward progress but I can’t help but look back.

Just over 15 years ago I made this same journey for the last time: my weekly commute to university. Actually, let’s be honest, the last time I was on campus it was likely thanks to my father-in-law driving like a demon to get me there on time to hand in my dissertation. I’m just a bit more relaxed this morning.

I’m starting a new job today at my old university. The intertwining of old and new feels strangely comforting. I’m looking forward to seeing how the campus has changed and how things work behind the scenes. Since working in the higher education sector, I’ve had several colleagues who seemed to have inside knowledge - the nods and shared looks - by working at the university where they studied. I suppose I’m one of them now.

This tapestry of old and new extends to my journey too. The once familiar train lines have been renamed and recoloured - I have a vague memory of knowing this was a thing - but the signage hasn’t kept pace. The Overground is now the Mildmay line (Actually I’ve been misreading it as the Midmay line for several stops now due to how similar the letters are), but the old signs still exist. The inconsistency must be confusing for anyone travelling through London for the first time.

A recent Facebook post shared by my brother says that the barber in Edinburgh that I went to growing up, is retiring this month after almost 60 years. ‘Benny’s’ was an institution. A place of familiarity in my anxious childhood. It was on the same street where my dad shared a flat with his mates - the one that was haunted - and opposite the bowling alley we went to. Something about the way they wielded the tools of their trade and the inflection as they spoke. Consistent. Unchanging. Barbers are like that. I haven’t thought about that for years.

I’m an hour early for work - because of course I am - so a short detour is needed. This is only my second time being on the London Cable Car. The first and last time was almost a decade ago when I was a volunteer, supporting adults with learning disabilities. We took several forms of transport with one of our members that day, the cable car being a highlight. I finish my coffee - prepared by a friendly barista I haven't seen since before the global pandemic no less - and make my way to a waiting carriage.

As I glide over the docks, snapping photos of the Millenium Dome, I’m reminded that this isn’t far from the place I worked during my studies: a property company with a rabbit warren of an office building. It was a bit sketchy but easy work for a penniless student. I remember I used to receive my wages via cheque.

I’m starting a new job today, going back to my familiar stomping ground, but I couldn’t be more different. So much has happened to me in the last fifteen years. I’ve lost and gained numerous friends. I’ve survived trauma and loss. I’ve burnt out and been reborn more than once. So much of what I’m feeling today feels like closure as well as new beginnings. I’m looking forward to what comes next.