A New Adventure

So this is…not what I expected to be writing.

I fully intended for this site to be a place focused on my fiction addiction – books, movies, fandom, and the sort.

I had no intention – and I mean NO intention – for me to share anything about my personal life on here. I value my privacy, and sharing details about my life on the incredibly public forum of the internet is an action directly antithetical to that value. And yet…

And yet, while I’m still reading and watching, my mind isn’t consumed with thoughts of the stories I’m imbibing. My mind is swirling, bubbling, and brimming over with this new adventure I’m starting. When my brain is boiling like a kettle, the way I release steam is writing my mind clear. And I have this blog just sitting here…

So maybe I’ll take this down. Maybe this will be a failed experiment. But for now, I’m going to chronicle my adventures here. I’ll opine about them too, just to stay on brand.

Now that we’ve gotten that ramble of a preamble out of the way, let me begin by telling you what this adventure actually is.

I’m in London for grad school. I landed in Heathrow a little over a week ago but spent some time traveling through Scotland and Wales, so I’ve only been in the city proper for a handful of days. Classes don’t start till next week. This week has consisted of a whirlwind of getting settled and registered and enrolled and all the other stuff you have to do before you can get to the nitty-gritty of sitting in a classroom. It’s exciting and tedious, heady and frustrating. The staff so far have been warm and reassuring in a way that is both condescending and incredibly welcomed.

I’m staying in a residence hall, or at least I think that’s what they call dorms over here. I loathed the idea of going back into a dorm setting, but I have been pleasantly surprised. I have my own bed and desk and sink and view of the skyline. I share a bathroom and shower – excuse me, I mean toilet and water closet – and a kitchen with three other people. So far they have proven themselves to be lovely, kind, considerate, and – most gratefully – QUIET people.

The walk to campus takes maybe seven minutes. I’m in a crazy part of town. Under no other circumstances could I afford to live anywhere near this part of the city. As fancy and touristy and moneyed as this part of town is, it’s already started to feel a bit like home. I’ve found my grocery store and where I can run in for toiletries and several restaurants that likely will become haunts of mine. I can easily navigate two Underground stations and by them I can orient my way around public transit.

The lion’s share of my formative years was spent just outside a major city. I’m not a stranger to cosmopolitan metropolitans. Still, for the last decade, bucolic hamlets have served as the backdrop to my life. My scenery has been that of mountains, not skyscrapers. This would be my first time living inside a city proper, and one of the largest and most renowned cities in the world at that. I have to say I’m shocked at how not intimidating it has been (so far, at least – remember, I’ve only been here a few days). I suppose it shouldn’t be that surprising. Literally millions of people live in cities every day. Yet I couldn’t help but be terrified that I was going to stick out, that I would fail to pick up on some intricacy of city etiquette that would out me as a country bumpkin. And who knows, maybe I have committed some egregious faux pas of urbanity, but if I have, no one has stopped to tell me about it.

I’d heard that it’s easier for introverts to live in cities than in the country. Sure, there are a significant number of people in cities, but none of them give a crap about you, whereas the handful of people in your small country community want to know all of your business. I will admit that it’s odd to be in a situation where I am the gregarious and loud one. I have never had to fill that role before, but the Brits are making it where I have to be the one to initiate social interaction. It’s uncomfortable, but also kind of hilarious? I find the situation humorous enough not to mind the imposition too terribly. Besides, everyone around me is so clearly more uncomfortable than I am, it’s kind of like socializing with bumpers on. The bar these people have for a pleasurable social interaction is so much lower than anything I’ve had to clear in the States that I have no fear of failing. (Do I need to clarify that I’m speaking in sweeping generalities and am in no way speaking for all of British culture and its citizenry? Surely not.)

There are obvious marked differences between here and home. The epic saga it took just to get a freaking pair of flip-flops, for instance. And yet, in a surprising way, coming to London feels right. I remember when I went to Israel, it felt like I’d found my soulmate, like I came alive in a way I never had before and never have since. Coming to the UK was less like finding my soulmate, and more like reconnecting with a beloved family member – comfortable, and easy, and familiar. I imagine it will be the same way to be back in a classroom.

Before I left, my mom asked me what I was most excited about coming to London. “Getting my graduate degree.” Yes, that sounds like a brown-nosey response for a kid to tell their mom, but it’s the hand to God truth. Even as a child I always loved going back to school. So much of life is overwhelming and confusing and inexplicable. But my butt in a desk, taking notes, listening to lecture, processing new knowledge? That is the universe set to rights. That I can do. I long – truly, ache – to mark up notebooks with the blue ink from my reliable Pilot G2s. Highlight articles. Gather quotes down on index cards. It’s just around the corner. I’m almost home.

#personal #journey #lark