Saturday at Grace Street

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It wasn’t one of those days.

I woke up early, watched a thriller in bed and got dressed to meet a friend in the city whom I hadn’t seen in weeks. Unfortunately, when I arrived at our meetup venue, I realized she’d overslept (majorly) and wasn’t able to make it. Talk about being stood up. Anyway, since I’d traveled all the way (45 minutes!) I wasn’t about to just go home. So I went in and bought an iced honey lemon tea and a blueberry-lemon scone, and settled at the front of the cafe to write.

I usually carry my travel journal with me so I can record little slices of things along the way. I write the randomest things in there, like what I had for lunch and where I’m at. I try to be as descriptive as possible, because vivid descriptions trigger stronger imagery.

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This is what I wrote at 5:17 PM:

Traveling alone is both beautiful and scary. It’s an adventure that teaches you a great deal about yourself because you’re spending a lot of time with your thoughts. You gain independence and confidence from traveling alone. You slip into the shoes of a slightly mature, more reflective individual. You learn to listen to the melody of life echoing around you, and you start to find that melody really, really beautiful. When you spend your afternoon in a quaint cafe, penning your thoughts into your battered journal, you’ll realize that writing reveals things that are hidden from the surface, such as silent secrets suppressed deep into your heart, and as you continue to write, these things resurface: insecurities you’ve tried so hard to conceal, questions you cannot answer. The truth is, we’re all stories. There is so much more to us than what meets the surface. It’s funny how much a pen on a fresh page can reveal.

What did I tell you? Pretty random, huh? I don’t know how “traveling” led to something deeper, but it did. The mind travels really quickly. We’re constantly sifting through our thoughts, and then one thing leads to another, like a domino effect.

As we trace our path and imagine our future through journaling, we create a map of the journey.

As I sat there, sharing a long wooden table with two Korean girls who were deeply engaged in a conversation I couldn’t comprehend, I thought about how I adored the cafe.

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Located in the middle of Koreatown, Grace Street is a cute, lofty cafe with an interesting concept. It clearly advocates freedom in creativity. The white walls display sketches of portraits in thick, messy dark strokes. Across the cafe, a black wall is lined with photographs, featuring the work of a very talented Christian photographer. I was told that the cafe features a new photographer every month.

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You bet I’ll be swinging by Grace Street more often!

 

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