Some signs can't be trusted
I'll admit it. Constant reassurance is ... reassuring. That's why I accept all signs I'm headed in the right direction in moving to London. Give me horoscopes; give me British comedy on North American airwaves; give me snow in England. All signs say "Go!"
Anything to the contrary, I ignore.
According to Jung's personality tests, I'm an Idealist. A very particular kind of Idealist – my peers comprise as little as 2% of the population. The Idealist in me wants that to mean I'm special, but really it just means 98% of the world thinks I'm a flake.
Still, there are occasional esoteric votes against my move to England my blinders can't obscure.
One's on Montreal's Saint-Laurent Boulevard, at the exact point I paused to hug my friend D after our good-bye breakfast. He was promising to visit me and offering that reassurance I so appreciated, when he noticed a new shop just across the street.
"London!" I yelled.
"Actually," he said, "it reads, 'London't.'"