My corner cafe under a bridge

This morning, I’m sat in my favourite spot.

The spot is nothing special. In fact, most would probably call it average.

It’s a cafe just a short stroll from my apartment. Not even an independent cafe, but a chain. Two storeys, reliable wifi, and my table tucked away in the back corner. The perfect people-watching seat, always quiet. A writer’s dream, really. The baristas know me by name, and I can cradle one coffee for five hours without anyone batting an eyelid.

The cafe sits beneath a bridge, grungy and unspectacular. Nothing about it screams aesthetic.

And yet, this morning, as I walked here past traffic lights, dirty side streets, and screeching sirens, I felt this rush of gratitude.

Because in a city so big, this very ordinary corner of London has become my home. It’s not the picturesque streets of Notting Hill, or the greenery of Hampstead, or the neon buzz of Piccadilly. But somehow, it feels more special.

I’ve been reflecting on that a lot this week. I only planned to stay in London for a year. Now, nearly two years in, I’m already thinking about extending my visa again. Somehow, my time here has felt like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye.

The truth is, I don’t really know what’s going to come next.

A lot of people in their twenties seem to have five-year plans. Careers mapped out, relationships timed, a clear picture of where they’ll be a decade from now. And here I am, barely certain what I’ll be doing at Christmas. The rest feels like an endless expanse of ocean. My future could drift anywhere. I could move to Italy next year and it wouldn’t even shock me.

And honestly, there’s something exciting about that. Not knowing. Letting the future stay unwritten for a while.

If these mornings in my cafe have taught me anything, it’s that the best moments aren’t usually the ones we plan. The most memorable nights with my girlfriends are the ones thrown together last minute. The big, “perfect” plans rarely match the magic of the spontaneous.

Which makes me wonder: the more we chase after the best life possible, the more we risk missing the life happening right now.

So maybe I don’t need to know where I’ll be this time next year. Maybe the point is not knowing.

Life rarely unfolds according to our plans. The best parts often sneak in sideways, unannounced. A new friend. A sudden decision. A corner cafe under a bridge that somehow becomes your anchor. And maybe that’s what makes it all so exciting. The not knowing. The freedom to be surprised. The chance that tomorrow could look completely different from today.

For now, all I really know is that I’ll keep coming back to this little spot. Writing exactly whats in my heart. Watching the city pass by from my quiet corner table. And maybe that’s enough. To notice the ordinary, and let the rest unfold when it’s ready.

A x