The questions we are afraid to ask
The questions we are afraid to ask
And the questions we don't need answers to
Welcome to The Lighthouse! A newsletter written by a Canadian author (Cait Flanders, that’s me!) who found herself living in the middle of nowhere in the UK. It’s deeply reflective and also intentionally lighthearted. There’s enough darkness online and in real life. Let’s hangout in the light. 🕯️
Hi friend,
I didn’t know where I wanted to live in the UK, when I first moved here, so I came up with some search criteria. I was looking for three things: (1) a small house, (2) within a 30-minute radius of Tall Man, and (3) in a town that felt walkable. I go for at least one long walk every day, sometimes more. I wanted to be able to walk into nature from my front door. And I wanted to live in a town where I could walk to a grocery store, a library, some shops, etc.
I wanted a good coffee shop too, but there were only a handful of tearooms and one of the coffee chains. Better than nothing, I thought and decided to give the town a shot.
It was better than nothing. My drink of choice is a coconut flat white, and theirs is ok. A little big, but ok. But a trip into the coffee chain (even in a tiny town) didn’t provide the experience I was craving. The experiences I had at my favourite independent coffee shops in Victoria and Squamish and Cardiff. I wanted to know the people, and for them to know me. As friendly as I tried to be, it just wasn’t happening here. The staff weren’t picking up on my bids for connection.
It took almost a year for me to notice another coffee shop in town. But was it a coffee shop? I couldn’t tell. It kind of looked like a restaurant. Or maybe another tearoom. No shade to tearooms, but they aren’t “my” place. I knew what I was looking for. Was this new place it? I walked by a handful of times before finally getting the courage to walk in and just ask:
“Do you do takeaway coffee?”
“Yea, of course we do!” the man behind the counter said.
“Do you happen to have coconut milk?”
“Usually!” he said, as he checked and found some.
While making my drink, a woman joined the man and they started asking me questions: my name, where I was from, how I ended up here, what I do for work, etc. I asked some questions in return. I learned they were related (a family-run business!) and had only moved the business to this town a couple years before. I also got confirmation they were, indeed, a restaurant, but did everything as takeaway too. Just like my favourite spot in Victoria. I told them I’d been looking for a place like this, and was sad it had taken me so long to find them.
“Well, you’re here now,” the woman said with a warm smile, and a look that made me think: there’s no shame here. This is a safe space.
They both reached out to shake my hand goodbye, and I left with my drink and a sense that I might have finally found some community in this town. It started with the courage to walk in and ask a simple question. I didn’t know that nearly two years later, I’d be walking in and asking the question that revealed the one thing I didn’t want people to know about me.
The first time I can remember using a computer was in the second grade (1992/3). I was living in Victoria, BC and attending James Bay Community School, which had a small computer lab filled with rows of Macintosh Classics. I remember staring at the rainbow Apple logo, and thinking that using the little machine was a new and special experience.
After that, my mom started bringing her giant Microsoft computer home from work on weekends, and I learned how to use DOS. We got our first family computer with Windows 95 when I was 11. And I got my first personal computer towards the end of high school. (It might’ve even been a gift from my boyfriend!? I don’t remember how I got it, but I do remember he built the tower. I later gave it to my grandma, with its decorative neon blue lights and all.)
I’ve been creating things on computers since I was a kid, and publishing things online since I was a teenager. In college, I learned how to design print and digital products, and edit photos and audio and video. I’ve since used all kinds of software and apps. Worked in various learning management systems. Designed and managed successful blogs and websites. Recorded and edited all of my podcasts. I also worked with startups and fintech for more than a decade.
It’s safe to say I’ve used and enjoyed technology for a long time. I’m not always an early adopter, but I have always appreciated what it can do. And yet, there are still so many things about tech—and especially fintech—that I don’t know.
One of them is a secret I’ve held onto until this year:
…
I don’t know how to pay for things with a smartphone.
To be fair, for a long time, I didn’t want to be able to do this. It seemed foolish to have anything financial attached to your smartphone, for security reasons. I didn’t even like to use banking apps, other than to deposit the occasional cheque by uploading photos of it (and I would delete the app, as soon as I was done). Having my debit or credit card on my phone wasn’t an option, in my mind. So I didn’t have to learn how to pay for things with my phone, because I didn’t want to.
Since moving into The Lighthouse, I’ve learned how to do a lot of new things. Some have been the big things that come with settling in a new country, and learning how rent, utilities, etc. work here. But I’ve also learned how to do lots of little things I’d never done before. Like, how to mow a lawn. How to manage a garden. And how to take care of the wild hedgehogs that live in said garden.
I’ve also learned to embrace more fintech, since moving to the UK—and that started week one, when I opened for my first bank account. The bank I use only has an app (there’s no website you can log into). I felt a little hesitant about that, at first, but now I can’t imagine banking any other way. I also transfer money through apps, invest through an app, make changes to/claims via insurance policies through apps, and can even access the HMRC (like the CRA or IRS) through an app. Ok, I don’t do that last one, but it’s an option!
Broadly speaking, the UK has more fintech (and receives more funding for fintech) than Canada, partially because of Canada’s ancient regulations. For that reason, it’s not surprising that only 13% of Canadian banking consumers use fintech, compared to 32% in the UK1. Before moving here, I was in the other 87%.
At some point in the nearly 3 years I’ve lived in the UK, I added my debit card to my phone. I didn’t need to, but it makes online shopping a bit easier (which is something that has become more of a necessity, since moving to the country). But I still didn’t know how to pay for things in-person, with the card in my new digital wallet… and it was starting to make me feel kind of stupid. And also, if I’m honest: it made me feel old. My feelings had changed from not wanting to do this thing, to at least wanting to know how.
I would watch Tall Man pay for things with his phone and think: that looks so easy! Just a few clicks and taps. So one day, I decided to attempt it for myself. I walked into the coffee chain (a place where people don’t know me), ordered a drink, did all the click clicking and tap tapping I thought I had to do. And… it didn’t work. I tried again. It didn’t work again. Feeling defeated and slightly embarrassed, I apologized and promptly cancelled my order and left.
I didn’t go home and try to research how to pay for things with my phone. For some reason, I just kind of let the idea go after that. Maybe because I was embarrassed and didn’t want to look or feel stupid/old again. Or maybe because it’s not actually an essential skill or requirement for living, but is more of a nice-to-have option. But that was 6-8 months ago, and I hadn’t tried to pay for anything with my phone since.
Until last week.
The idea wasn’t intentional. I didn’t leave The Lighthouse thinking: I am going to learn how to pay for things with my phone today! I just went for my daily walk, and 10 minutes into it, decided I’d stop for a coffee.
This is usually how my decision to get a coffee goes. There’s another woman who goes to my coffee shop every Wednesday at 1pm. I don’t stick to a schedule like that, because I don’t know that I would want to drink a coffee on the same afternoon each week. (I don’t usually drink it after 12pm, period.) But I do treat myself to exactly 1 coffee per week. I decide on the day, and that decision is usually based on one of two things: (1) how I’m feeling after drinking my French press (cafetière) that morning (I don’t often want more than that but sometimes I do), and (2) if I’m just wanting to say hi to Ryan and his mom. Those are the owners of my coffee shop, by the way: Ryan and his mom (mum in the UK).
On this day, my decision-making criteria was a little different. While walking, I got the idea to stop for coffee, but then realized I didn’t have my debit card. No problem, I thought. I checked in with my body and noticed I didn’t care if I had another coffee or not. I wasn’t attached to the drink or the hit of caffeine. But as I kept walking, I realized maybe, just maybe, there was an opportunity for me to try paying another way. And maybe, just maybe, I could ask Ryan if we could do a little experiment.
He knows my coffee order, and often starts making it before confirming I actually want a drink. So I knew I’d have walk in and be quick with my words.
Before we could even say a proper hello, I blurted out:
“Don’t make me a coffee yet! I want to try something first. And if it works, then you can make me a coffee.”
“Go on then…” Ryan said with one eyebrow up, willing the idea out of me.
Then I went into the same spiel I shared with you in the paragraphs above. About how long I’ve been using computers and tech, worked for myself, worked in finance, etc. It was part backstory, part over-explaining myself, which is something I’m trying to pay attention to and stop doing (as much), but am still doing most of the time. This was one of those times.
“All of this is to say: I don’t know how to use Apple Pay on my phone and it makes me feel stupid. Do you know how to use it? And can we try it on your machine, before making a coffee?”
The look on his face shifted from curiosity to ease. Like he’d almost been afraid of whatever I was going to say, then realized this was going to be fine and maybe even fun. The way I imagine he looks at his kids when they ask questions about how the world works.
“Of course, Cait. That’s not stupid at all! But it’s really simple…”
Then he punched an amount into his machine, explained the literally-only-three-simple-steps (double-click the side button + authenticate + tap your phone) process, and the payment went through. I had done it! We had done it.
And then, Ryan made me a coconut flat white.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this little interaction, which was actually a huge interaction, probably only for me. Thinking about how many times I have not asked a question about something I didn’t know or understand. Questions about things people say or do. Questions about a place I might like to go or a skill I might like to have. Questions about things that might even be valuable to get the answer to—or at the very least, interesting to learn about.
Sometimes it’s because I’m afraid to look stupid or old. Sometimes (most times) I’m afraid I’ll be gaslit and have my “stupidity” used against me.
Sometimes I’m just tired.
But part of successfully moving and integrating into a new country = getting comfortable asking “What does that mean?” over and over and over again. It’s a requirement even when both countries speak the same language, as mine do.
“What does that mean?” is part of my shared language with Tall Man. (Along with “What?” and “Huh?”) Add the fact that he’s Scottish (which is very different from being English) and there’s a third version of the English language in our relationship—and another one for me to learn.
Tall Man always reminds me there is no such thing as a bad question, and that I’m also allowed to fumble my way through any question, until I get to whatever it is I’m trying to ask. I’m still learning this, but can feel my progress.
Apple Pay was first released on October 20, 2014. It took a full 10 years for me to embrace it, and then learn how to use it. I’ve still only used it that one time with Ryan, which is to say: it’s not a habit yet. But maybe I’ll start by making it part of my coffee routine…
My coffee shop has become another home to me here. A place I know I can walk into and be greeted with warmth, and by people who genuinely care. Over the last two-ish years, we’ve connected over countless topics—mostly light, but some deep. We exchange hugs and well wishes on birthdays, holidays, etc. I even make a point of going to say goodbye to them, before every trip back to Canada.
I feel like myself with them. I don’t need to hold anything back or make myself small. There’s no shame there. It is a safe space. Which is probably why I wasn’t afraid to ask Ryan for help. I felt a little silly, sure! But I still walked in and shared my truth, and he held it—and helped me. No shame, just openness.
There was one time when I was sitting outside on their patio, and his mom came out and kissed the top of my head. It felt like family. And similar to how there are things you can only get away with, when you’re part of a family, there is one major quirk about this place.
As you know, I treat myself to exactly 1 coffee each week. It’s always from them, and it’s always the same—delicious.
The only thing that’s different each week is the price.
For the first year or so, it was always £3.75. Then it bumped up to £3.85, which felt fine. Probably inflation, no biggie. But then one week it jumped to £4.05, which felt like a shock. Only the next week, it went down to £3.85 again. And some weeks after that, it went all the way back down to £3.75.
Thanks to my banking app, I can search the name of my coffee shop and see every transaction I’ve made there. Most of the time now, my weekly coffee costs me £3.85 or £4.05. But it still changes each week. Up, down, up, down, down, up, up, up, down again. This is just how it goes.
And here’s the thing, friend: I’ve never said anything, and I’ve never asked Ryan about it.
I’m not afraid to. I don’t want to ask any questions about this. Sometimes we need to know the reason behind how things work or why people do things, and sometimes we don’t. And I simply don’t need to know why the price of my coffee changes each week. (My sense is: they don’t know why it does either!) It all averages out anyway, but it really doesn’t matter to me. If anything, it feels like part of the charm of this place now. And the mystery of it keeps me interested.
What I can tell you is that on the day I asked if he could show me how to use Apple Pay, Ryan charged me £4.05.
The lesson was definitely worth the extra £0.20.
xx Cait
The Lighthouse is a reader-supported publication. I’ve been told each dispatch feels like something you want to boil the kettle for and curl up with. If you want to read them all, consider becoming a paying subscriber. Whether you pay and stay for a month, six months, a year, or many… it’s all appreciated. ❤️
https://www.mckinsey.com/ca/overview/springtime-for-canadas-fintech-industry
I was literally just wondering how that works. I’ve avoided it forever.
Aww. I’m not using it either. This has made me curious though. Maybe he charges you less when you bring your own cup? ✨