For Now…

Forewarning: this post is written at 3:30a.m. England time by a woman in a slight state of insanity. Ignore any strangeness and/or bluntness that follows.

One last post in England before I go. I had to do it.

I honestly just can’t believe that it’s already over. It feels like yesterday we just arrived and stumbled around Lark Lane, looking for a place to eat; and yet I feel like it has been a lifetime since I left. I’ve changed, I can feel it. This experience was like nothing that’s ever occurred in my life before. There’s no way I can just go back to “normal”, not after seeing what I’ve seen and meeting who I’ve met. The people have shaped me. This city grounded me.

This morning I woke up early to venture out one last time to the Albert Dock. It was raining – really I wouldn’t have had it any other way, it is Liverpool after all – and I was soaking wet by the time I got back to my flat. But it was so worth it. I got up, dressed, and walked to the train station. I bought a day pass from the Indian man at the counter that I’ve seen too many times to count. I knew it was 3 pound 50, and had my money ready. I walked down to the platform and waited with the others. I smiled at a baby hidden under a rain tarp in its pram. The train arrived on time, 11:16a.m., and I got on. I sat across from another mother and child, and watched the words “This train is for Southport, the next station is…” until I reached Moorfields. I got off, went up the long escalator, and slid my ticket through the machine. I walked through and made my way briskly to the Dock. I passed familiar buildings and landmarks and signs and thought back to my first day, venturing around with my newfound friends and flatmates. Now I looked at these things differently. Still in awe of the Liver buildings, but a quieter awe. One that observes but doesn’t stare. I felt the rain against my face, soaking my woolen winter peacoat, but it seemed almost warm to me. I made my way to the gift shop to get a few last minute items and then walked around to the edge of the Dock, where the black, chained fence separates me from the Mersey. It was quiet, and I was alone. Even the water seemed hushed, somber. I stared across the water and tried my best to silence my mind, take mental pictures, be still. I did my best, but I had to keep checking the time to make sure I made my train back in order to get the bus to get to school on time. But I took her in – the liver-colored water, the metal locks of lovers past and present, the cobblestone beneath my feet, the fog hiding the land across. It had not changed, but I had. Seeing as I had a few spare minutes, I quickly reached around my purse for something to donate to the Mersey, a way to tell it to remember me when I come again. I found a two pence and carved a slightly-legible “JC” on one side with my keys. With one last look around, I flipped it in, and it broke the water’s surface with a very unpoetic “bloop”. I smiled slightly, laughing at its lack of sentimentality, and with one last look behind me, I made my way back to Moorfields.

Comparing my first trip to Albert Dock to this one, I noticed how comfortable I was with the city. I navigated without much thought. I recognized buildings and streets. I knew which way to look when crossing the road. I navigated myself through public transport with ease. All of the small things that I take for granted at home, like knowing where I’m going, have been a struggle these past few months. I just didn’t notice how much I actually knew the city until today. It was nice to know that I am capable of something such as this: moving to a completely different country, a new university with new people, and finding a way to get comfortable and make it my home. I knew I could do it, but it takes a lot longer than I originally expected.

Life takes time. But time takes life. It’s an endless loop that we’re all caught in and we’ll never have nearly as much time as we want, or live as fully as we should. You simply have to choose to use the time you have to the best of your ability, and to make each day a new adventure. Whether you’re in a new country or just sitting at home, I would encourage everyone to do something different every day. There is so much that we don’t notice, so many people that we don’t reach out to, that could change your life if you’d just try to look beyond what is the daily routine. I don’t think that I ever really got into a routine in the past three months, and I’m glad for that. It made every day unexpected. The prospects of possibility drives hope and the desire for something better, and without that drive, we will all fall into a lifeless existence.

This is what I’ve come to see here, among so many other life lessons. But I am not finished. This is an end, yes, but there is so much possibility that awaits me because of this. I now know people from all over the world, and I plan to visit them all someday. I’ve become more independent, more willing to go do what I feel like for the day without worrying. Life and friendship and love knows no borders, and sometimes we must go far to see what was right in front of us. Perspective – something I strive to continue to grow – is so important. We limit ourselves to what is easy rather than what we are actually capable of, and that is our downfall. We are stronger than we think, hardier than we feel, and more adaptable than we give ourselves credit for. This I have come to know as truth. This, as well as two very full and probably overweight pieces of luggage, is what I will bring home from England. And I can’t wait to share it.

For now, ta & cheers. x

 

 

 

2, 4, 6…States!

So, if I’m counting correctly:

6 – days of classes to attend (well, technically seven if you include my recital, but…that doesn’t work in the title of this post, so I won’t)

4 – major essays to write (and too many words to count)

and finally…

2 – weeks exactly until I will be back in the United States!

I cannot believe how fast this has all gone. I’m pretty sure that when I get home, after that first night of rest, I’ll wake up and think that this whole experience was a long, intense dream. The combination of living in a constant state of confusion, motion, and change has created a sense of the unreal. It’s all too fantastical for me to realize that I’ve been living in a different country for three months.

I think it will hit me randomly one day back home. I’ll be somewhere, a Panera or Starbucks, maybe talking with an old friend over the holiday break, and I’ll be able to say, “When I lived in Liverpool…” I mean, how incredible is that? I’ve talked to people who have lived abroad, and I’ve always thought that they were somehow set apart, so much more worldly and cultured because they can say, “I’ve been there. I’ve done that.” Now I’ll be one of those people. What.

It’s also hit me how little time I have left, and how fast these next two weeks will go. A person can only see so much in three months. There are still places in the city that I haven’t explored. Major sites I haven’t seen. Streets I haven’t wandered and cafes I haven’t sat in. But I’m not disheartened by this. If anything, it compels me to come back, to explore the city again on my own terms sometime in the near future. And, next time, I’ll know what I want to do and see and experience, and how. I can return to Liverpool not as a tourist, but as an old friend. And catching up with her will be all the more grand.

Home, America, calls to me. I can feel it in my stomach; unsatisfied cravings and stops to Subway. My mind is wandering from classrooms here to my campus back in the Midwest. And my heart, my soul; it yearns for those who are thousands of miles away but feel closer to than ever.

I’ve been through my fair share of ups and downs since arriving in Liverpool that sunny September day, but I think I’ve finally found what I’ve been searching for this whole time: contentment. I’ve come to cherish the highs and accept the lows. I do not regret anything that I did or did not do. I’m happy with where I have arrived in this journey, and I look forward to what lies ahead.

Cheers. x

 

Here are a few pictures of Liverpool just for fun.

 

Happiness only real when shared

This trip has been full of unexpected life lessons.

I didn’t come here with that many expectations, at least I didn’t think I did. But, as fun as it’s been here, it hasn’t been what I was expecting. I thought I could escape to England, fly across the pond and leave all my worries and troubles behind me. I thought that I could start fresh here, leave all my baggage in exchange for a few suitcases. I thought that all of my troubles were based on my soil, where I was rooted. I didn’t even think to consider that my true roots were in the other flowers around me. That it’s the people, not necessarily the places, in life that make it worth living.

I watched the film Into the Wild tonight, and it just hit me. The whole thing. Every quote and his entire experience I could just relate to. Not that I’m physically in the wild right now, but culturally, it’s a jungle here. Every little nuance, from bus routes to ordering food to communicating with scousers – it all adds up to create one foreign land that I find myself residing in without the comfort of a familiar embrace to ground me and tell me that everything will be okay, that I’m understood and cared for.

It’s not that I’m homesick. I don’t desire to be back in the States with the debt crisis and all that. I don’t want to leave this brilliantly interesting city that I’ve come to love. But if home is truly where the heart is, then I’m homesick for each of my family members and friends that my heart has taken residence in over the many years.

I’ve always valued people. More than anything, I want to spend my life meeting new people and positively impacting as many lives as possible simply by reaching out to someone who hasn’t been reached, befriending the lonely, hugging someone who has forgotten the sensation of human contact.

So how did I underestimate the value of having friends and family close? Why was I so obsessed with the journey that I left people behind?

But I mustn’t kick myself. This adventure was designed to help me grow, to make me stronger so that I could return as a better version of myself, ready and willing to encourage anyone who comes into my life. Able to remind them that struggle and uncertainty are good. And that you sometimes have to be uprooted in order to firmly plant yourself.

I’ll be glad to go back home. But, for now, the goal must remain: I will continue to make the most of this experience while I am so blessed to have it. I will learn as much as I can in these next few weeks so I can return feeling satisfied. At least for now.

Cheers. x

 

Halfway Home

I cannot believe that I’ve already been in Liverpool for almost two months. Time is simply irrelevant here; I go about mostly at my own pace and don’t really bother with a schedule. It’s like I’m on a long holiday from responsibility, and that anything is possible and everything is a new adventure. Being here is quite a strange phenomenon.

But what happens when you start to get tired of vacation? Of the uncertainty and lack of stability?

I wouldn’t say that I’m necessarily homesick (no offense, I just don’t tend to get that way), but it’s more like the feeling that you get when you’ve slept the day away and are just laying around for too long and feel restlessly exhausted from your own lack of movement. It’s the sensation that you need to wake up, that there is some responsibility waiting for you that you’ve been trying to forget about and veil with phantasms and pipe dreams.

I think I feel this way the most when it comes to school. So far I haven’t had to do a lick of work (aside from watching A Hard Day’s Night for my film class, which I honestly can’t count as work). And although there’s nothing really to do, the daunting thought of my essays that will need to be written is starting to creep up on me. I’m also coming to the realization that my research has not progressed nearly as much as I had hoped, and that there’s not much I can do to fix that. Overall, I think the lack of work, although nice and much needed, has just made me realize how different higher education is in the U.S. versus the U.K.

For example, I was checking my home university’s email account today after realizing that I hadn’t looked at it in about two weeks, and I had about 30 to 40 unread emails. Comparing that to my email account for Liverpool, I think I’ve gotten only around 50 emails in total since I came here. There is an expected bombardment of busyness in America that doesn’t exist here. At first, I found that quite charming and a bit of relief. But now, I hate to admit it, I kind of miss it. Maybe it’s just because I’m so used to feeling overwhelmed that the lack thereof here makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. I have this crazy thought that I’m going to somehow accidentally fail all my courses here simply because there is something that I should have been doing that I missed. I know I should be reading something, but I’m just not sure what that something is! Everything in school is a bit vague here; I’m used to comfort of strict perimeters and over-emphasized deadlines.

Anywho, I am about halfway through my time in Liverpool and I haven’t posted nearly as much as I would have hoped, so I’m sorry about that. I’ll do my best to post more frequently, although I can’t make any promises about that.

Thanks for listening to my silly rants, and have a good night.

Cheers. x

Cityscapes and Countrysides

Sorry for the lack of posting. I’ve been quite busy traveling lately and haven’t had a chance to sit down and actual document everything until now. So here’s a sort of two-for-one post to make up for my absence.

A [Surprisingly Sunny] Day in London Town

Last weekend, I went on a trip to London with some of my friends and wow, what a city! It’s amazing to see the old and new come together: huge brick towers from centuries ago next to newly renovated all-glass buildings. We saw all of the classic London sites: the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, the Parliament Building, Hyde Park, the British Library, and Buckingham Palace – all so much more glorious than in pictures. It’s just amazing to think how old the city is compared to places like Chicago or New York.

Aside from the historical monuments, I managed to make it to probably my favorite site in all of London: the Harry Potter Studio Tour. Needless to say, the awkwardly-excited twelve year old Muggle in me almost died when the huge doors into the Great Hall opened and I walked into something straight out of my imagination. Seeing all of the actual costumes and artifacts was amazing, but the most magical moment was toward the end of the tour. One of the last rooms held the life size model of Hogwarts and all of its grounds. As the score from the movie played and the lights changed from day to night, illuminating each detail with small lights through the windows, I cried with joy. Literally. Ask my friend, Frank. He saw. But I don’t care, because it was pure magic to me. I couldn’t have imagined a better day sipping Butterbeer and nerding out to all of my childhood dreams.

Overall, London was a really interesting place to visit, but I would never live there. It was all a bit too big and hard to navigate for me (as well as much too expensive). But you’ve got to go once, at least, if you’re in England. You really can’t say that you’ve experienced British culture without taking a trip to London.

Now I Know Why They Paint the English Countryside

After coming down from a crazy, fast-paced weekend in the big city, I decided to join another group of friends for a day trip to the beautiful English countryside. We hopped on a bus at around seven in the morning and spent three hours drifting in and out of sleep as the sun rose over all of the beautiful landscapes we passed. We finally made it to the town of Chesterfield at around noon, and jumped on another bus to get to our final destination: the Chatsworth Manor. This magnificent stately home is where Pride and Prejudice was filmed, and where many Dukes and Duchesses have lived (and still currently own). The house is grand and filled with all kinds of antiques, sculptures, and paintings. On the ceilings and walls are brightly colored murals depicting religious scenes made specifically for the prior inhabitants of the house. The display of wealth and royalty was all so much to take in.

And the garden? If you think the house is spectacular, you’ll melt when you step outside and see acres and acres of landscape. From foreign flowers to a real hedge maze, it is nothing less than heavenly beauty. I’ve never seen anything like it. I could have spent the whole day just exploring the garden, and probably still would not have seen everything that’s there. It was stunning.

I used to wonder how these royal women could spend all their time secluded, only seeing their close friends and family, always staying on their grounds. Now I understand the appeal. I could live quietly in a manor like that, writing poetry and painting, hosting the occasional dinner party or ball, watching the sun set while sipping tea in my garden paradise. What a life they must have had.

Going from the busy to the quiet so quickly made me think a lot about place and the lives we can live. I’ve always thought that living in a city would be the ultimate goal, where life is always happening whether you want it to or not. But being in the city made me yearn for the quiet cottage home, or at least the middle ground of Liverpool. My bus ride to Chesterfield took this thought further, as I watched the different towns pass before me. I saw Manchester, an even bigger version of Liverpool. I could see myself there into my mid-twenties, exploring the nooks and crannies of the city. Then Sheffield, a seemingly suburban type place. A place to settle down, start a family. And then, Chesterfield. The countryside. Spending my latter years laughing over a cup of tea with an old friend, walking with my husband on a tree-lined path, discussing how the grandkids are doing, whether Johnny will ever marry that girl he’s been going with…

It’s amazing how place can shape how you live. How it can make possibilities limited, or endless. And how uprooting your life can completely change the way you see your world.

Cheers. x

The Pool of Life

Liverpool is known as “the Pool of Life” and I definitely see why. People here know how to live, and I mean actually live. It’s not like the high-strung, over-caffinated, do-everything-now sad excuse for life back in the States. In Liverpool, shops aren’t open everyday. There’s not a twenty-four hour place to get your mocha-frappa-cappa whatever or your double-quarter-triple pounder with cheese. It takes time for the food to get to your table, and you’re welcome to sit and enjoy your meal as long as you like.

I took a walk the other day down the main street, just to take in the scenery and get out of my room for a bit. I decided I was hungry, so I stopped in a little coffee shop that I passed to get some grub. It was mostly empty, aside from another young woman studying and a cute older couple drinking coffee and doing crossword puzzles out of the local newspaper. The cafe was small and decorated sort of like a tchotchke bin from an old woman’s basement. Cute faded pastels lined the walls and tablecloths, and little lamps lit the small room. There was one woman working, my guess was that she owned the shop, and she offered me a newspaper while I sat waiting for my traditional English breakfast. While I poured myself a cup of tea (with milk and sugar, of course) and read through the British headlines, I couldn’t help but realize that this would never be something that I would do in America. To start, quaint little coffee shops have all become extinct in the U.S. thanks to the Starbucks corporation. And, at home, I would never have the time or mental ability to sit and relax, without constantly starring at my cell phone or thinking about the list of ten million things that need to be done by tomorrow. In England, you are allowed to have time to yourself, away from work and stress, in order to just sit and be. For the first time I could read through a newspaper and eat at my own leisure. I could stare out the front window into the rainy afternoon and let my mind wander and take everything in. I have time here. I can live here.

Cheers. xoxo

On a side note: for all my family members who are dying to see pictures, here are a couple. I figure I should put something more than just my babbling on here to keep you updated.

You okay?

In America, when someone approaches you and asks, “are you okay?” it usually means that it seems like something is wrong. Not in England. Here, it is simply a statement of greeting, such as, “how are you?” This is only one of many things that I have discovered about other cultures since arriving in Liverpool last Saturday.

I’ve been here less than a week, and I already feel like so much has happened! That’s why I am just starting this blog now. My goal was to start it before leaving the U.S., but alas, it is 2:30am and I am only now getting around to it. I guess procrastination knows no borders.

Although I have already met many wonderful, wonderful people all from different places, I have yet to really get to know any British students! It turns out that the halls that I’m living in are more for international students, which means that I now have a variety of new countries to visit sometime in the future. From Finland to New York, my horizons have already begun to expand. And I love every minute of it.

It amazes me how much people have in common. Even though many of my new friends do not speak English as their first language, that barrier is not nearly as large as I expected. It usually makes for many jokes and good discussions about life, love, and even the occasional youtube sensation. I think, as an American, I always thought that people from other countries would live very different, maybe even more barbaric, lifestyles than myself. In reality, we are all still a bunch of young adults trying to figure things out for ourselves and hoping to find others who are doing the same.

It really struck me tonight. I was sitting with a bunch of my new girlfriends talking about friendships and guys and drama and the other silly things that we women talk about. As I was sharing some of my own stories, I looked around at the group: a boisterous Minnesotan, a wonderful Wisconsinite, a lovely Finn, and two fantastic girls from Madrid. What I saw wasn’t a bunch of countries and states, but simply people. People who understood me even though they may not have been able to catch every English word or phrase. They understood my heart.

 

But this is only the beginning. The first post of many. I can only imagine what is yet to come.

 

Cheers. xoxo