The sun has been out for three days straight now, and the result is nothing short of spectacular. I’ve been told by many that nothing beats London in the summer (the English love talking about the weather – a unifying subject that allows for polite, agreeable conversation to fill any awkward void, it comes up often), and 72 hours in, I’m inclined to agree. This city is a stunner in the glaze of blue skies and a cool breeze.

Half of it is the architecture, the plotted parks of greenery in between rows of stunning period terraced houses, the bright green awning of a tiny corner café that’s empty inside but brimming on the patio. But the other half, just as assuredly, is the people, and the contagious hum of thrilled energy that is a city populous that’s been absolutely sun-starved since September. Everything is better when the sun is shining, and while I have a deep appreciation for blanket-burrowing-cup-of-tea winter weather, I am in love with this energy. It’s not quite May yet but I can already feel the swell of optimism and magic that stirs without fail this time of year.

(This year the feeling is all the more potent because I am experiencing a bone-deep level of self-satisfaction that I should probably be a little sorry for, but can’t even manage that much. I’m in awe of the reality of getting to exactly where I am. I’m a happy person – I’m probably as genetically predisposed for positivity as it gets – but the level of baseline contentment I’ve had for the past few weeks is unreal, even for me.)

In all my return-to-England daydreams I never really imagined myself landing in London, but now that I’m here, I can’t get enough of it. I ended up in an apartment on the edge of Notting Hill, about a twenty-minute bus/tube ride from work on Regent Street, with every amenity imaginable (including a gym that I’m sure I will perpetually aspire to use, but likely will never enter) less than a ten-minute walk away. Roughly zero percent of me misses having a car. I do tell myself that statistically speaking, eventually I will become disillusioned with public transportation, but right now that’s a distant thing, because the public transportation in this city is phenomenal. It genuinely stresses me out thinking of how many things have to go right every minute of every day for it all to function as seamlessly as it does. I actively have to not think about it whenever I’m on the tube.

Last weekend the sun showed its face on Saturday and I was off for the day, so I wandered out into my new neighborhood bent on guessing my way to Kensington Palace. Hyde Park is a straight shot down the street from my building, so I could have done it the easy way, but I was determined to weave a bit through the stunning streets of Notting Hill on my way there to make the most of the weather.

Again, with the sun out and proud, I’d guess that every Londoner that wasn’t at work had the same idea as me. Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, and Kensington Palace were filled with families, dog walkers, runners, and tourists. I ended up making a giant circle around the palace and walked up the street just outside of it, gaping at several embassies, mansions, and gated driveways in the process. At this point, the day was still young, so with Kensington Palace checked off, I jumped on the tube and knocked out the Tower of London.

The Tower of London is about a thousand times more my speed. Never in my entire life have I felt the way I did when I was inside, standing in a place that was so deeply entrenched in the overlapping lives of countless historical figures. Sure, post War of the Roses the place has a well-earned bloody rap, but I was in complete awe of this structure that has stood for so long and seen so much. That this same building, the same rooms I walked through, hosted Norman lords and existed when the conquest was still a very fresh and controversial part of local memory. I called my mom while I was standing on one of the inner walls to tell her about it because the list of people that would understand just how inexplicably emotional the experience was is rather short.

Since then, I’ve had an almost normal-person schedule at work (bring on that Mon-Fri life – JK it feels weird and my retail4life body doesn’t know how to handle it) so further exploring has been minimal.

But every bus ride and every lunch break still feels like an adventure of sorts because I’m reminded that somehow I’ve managed to pick up my life and plant it here with a level of success that I did not imagine possible.

So, I mean, I guess there’s that too.