Last weekend, a Londoner turned pub tour guide introduced me to a fantastic bookshop encased amongst the winding streets near Covent Garden. While I’ve walked this area many times, I was a bit surprised that I’d never registered the compelling window display of books and maps. But my oversight shouldn’t have been all too surprising; the best but often challenging thing about London is that it’s got so much jammed inside its boundaries. It’s incredibly easy for properties and landmarks of varying renown to go overlooked.

And at about the same time that I was on this pub tour, I started to get the sense that this time in London is slipping through my fingers. I’ve lived here over two years now, and what used to be unfamiliar has now become routine; my heartbeat has slowly adjusted to align with the city’s unique rhythm. Less than two years remain for me—and this means that sooner rather than later I will be preparing for something new.

This is my last tour of duty in the Navy, and after this job I will embark upon something that is still very much an unknown. I’ve been putting it off for years, but I need to finally figure out what life out of uniform will resemble. And this is truly an opportunity of great fortune—not everyone is given the option to try a second act that hopefully better align with one’s true interests. The only problem I am face is deciding exactly what it is I’d like to do…and how I will finance this next portion of life.

But back to the bookshop. Stanfords is a regular Aladdin’s Cave of discoveries. I realized this as soon as I set foot through the front door. It is known to have the world’s largest collection of maps on hand, and this is what initially drew my interest. Inside the shop, however, it didn’t seem like the world’s largest bookstore—not as imposing as say, The Strand in New York City—but I still found myself being snaking around the aisles in wonder. Lead by my own inner compass as I found no shortage in points of interest along the way.

Stanfords has the most common-sense layout that I have ever seen in a bookshop. It is classified almost entirely by world geography: travel books to India are grouped together with books written about India—literature or otherwise. They do have entire map sections, and they can even print nautical charts. Each area is fascinating to browse even if you aren’t preparing for some sort of Shackleton-worthy expedition outside of England. The point is that you’ve got a myriad of chances to gloss over everything and feel the possibility.

I found myself initially heading to Africa, located downstairs on the lower floor near the globes and charts. I scanned for books both familiar and cherished. I looked for new titles written by authors with African names. But soon my mind started to recall an Irish subject that I wanted to pursue up on the first floor. After already spending 30 minutes walking around I climbed the stairs quickly to Europe before I could get distracted by a new thought popping into my mind.

With each stop and start along the shelves, I found myself picking up and then putting back different candidates for purchase. As a book lover who finds no joy in e-readers, I constantly struggle between bringing something new home and forcing myself to first finish the title sitting next to my bed. Or the book that is currently folded in between the layers of my duvet.

Sometimes I feel as though my career and even my time before the Navy has all been too varied. It’s been incredibly magical—but it also has really been all over the place. I can’t call myself a specialist in anything at all—rather I love to immerse myself in different topics or regions for undetermined periods of time. It’s like a macrocosm of me wandering around this bookstore in a single afternoon.

While I’m not worried about finding a new job and career path, I do fear that I will sign myself up for something that I don’t exactly want to do. Just because I am good at something doesn’t automatically mean that I also want to do it for another couple of decades. I know that I will be able to change my trajectory at any time, but I am also tired and have no great desire to commence a series of stop and start employment while in my 40s. I want the ability to put down roots so that I can really dig into something meaningful and worthwhile. While the Navy has served me more than I can express, I don’t want to continue serving as a generalist.

I almost managed to leave Stanfords without purchasing a book. I had met a friend at the shop, and after I made a nominal purchase of two greeting cards, I went back upstairs to find her. She was lingering in the Russia section and held a book of Turgenev short stories in her hand. An excellent choice indeed as this author always paints stories set in landscapes that would be right at home in this very bookshop.

As I waited for my friend to make her purchase, I hung back and stood next to a table marked, “European Literature Classics”. Having been overcome by everything else in the store, I had somehow missed this small table. Many of the titles were familiar, but some were also new. My eyes came to rest on a colorfully-illustrated book that I didn’t recognize. I picked it up and flicked through the pages. Here and there I saw simple illustrations. I read a bit. The chapters looked smart yet funny. All like something out of Kurt Vonnegut’s head. I was intrigued anew. I knew right away that I wouldn’t be leaving the bookshop empty handed.

So I have finished my previous book on Irish culture in Paris, and now I’m digging into this new Stanford souvenir. The book has been translated into English, but I still find it to be a delightful tale that is sending me to places and customs that are completely unknown to me. I don’t know what all of this means for my future beyond London, but for now—and actually what is actually my life’s habit—I’ll continue to take in what is put in front of me. With a little luck, the job thing will show itself to me in some corner of a fantastic book shop.