Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

[Fun fact: Most of this was handwritten during a London to Norwich train journey. Which is looking finer than ever!]

This post is about making life choices during your twenties, respecting other people's choices, and the culture that surrounds the idea of "choice" in the first place. Normally I write about country-to-country culture, but as a twenty-something who is soon to leave education/academia for employment, and single life for marriage, I felt that this was an interesting time to reflect on the expectations of potentially the most transient stage of life. My intention is not to sound dogmatic or arrogant about my own particular path, but I am going to draw upon my own experience and how it relates to people's cultural expectations and responses.

So much has been made of Wander Onwards's "23 Things To Do Instead of Getting Engaged Before You're 23" that I'm hesitant to respond to it at all. But it struck a nerve with me, both because I am only 24 myself and because I recently got engaged. In all honesty, I don't care for this post. It's not particularly because she is criticizing a choice I've actually made; I even think she has some valid points for waiting to get married and knowing yourself well first. But overall, I find her approach anti-feminist. Putting aside the jab that married women become "fat" (from pregnancy?), this author subscribes to the idea that women are either exciting single women with an abundance of adventures ahead of them, or they are boring, man-dependent wives. Neither this author nor the women gleefully re-posting it are convincing me that their life choices are superior to mine. Frankly, I'm confused about why they would want to.

Friends, family and acquaintances have responded to my engagement much more forcefully than any other life choice (and let's remember I moved from almost-London to Mississippi, hardly most people's idea of a reasonable decision). Perhaps there is something stiflingly universal about engagement, expected and elusive at the same time. It's as if the fact that I am engaged sends a message that I think all women should be engaged now too. I guess that means I think more people should be scholars of the South, too? Well... Anyway, the vast majority are congratulatory and sincere, but some - usually my age, usually female - look down at my ring and have an immediate impulse to express and/or defend their own life choices. I've heard variations of, "Well, I'm still single" followed by a chuckle or wince, "I don't think I'll ever get married" with a contented smile or sidelong glance, or, a little more biting, "But you've only been together 2 years?" and, "That's young to get married." With a headshake. I am not someone who wants to show off the ring all the time and tell everyone I meet - wedding planning is so beyond terrifying that I am happy to talk about the weather instead - so I can only imagine the replies to a more gregarious bride.

These responses imply that we think our choices are the result of nothing except our own desires, immune to timing and circumstance; indeed, it suggests we think that we can choose when and how life events take place. I don't believe in such complete control. Right now I'm at home in England and I've had the pleasure of catching up with old friends. Some are in long-term relationships and living together, some are engaged, some are single with various feelings about it. What are my single friends doing "wrong"? I'm inclined to say nothing. (For one, there is no problem at all with enjoying being alone, can we all try to remember this pleeease?) At university I didn't chase after relationships, I turned down what I wasn't sure of, I would not accept blind dates. My mind was focused on becoming a writer, traveler and academic. I got comments about my lack of "experience", unwillingness to "try" and even a suggestion that I might not be heterosexual. And yet one day I met my future husband, and I was only 21. Of course I committed to this relationship in particular, but no, there was nothing I "did" to "achieve" a proposal. I didn't sacrifice my love of travel and academia, either. It was really a combination of choices and circumstances.

When thinking about this post I was reminded of my favorite TED Talk, Meg Jay's "Why 30 is Not the New 20." Jay's argument is that we should not trivialize twenty-somethings and instead encourage thoughtful personal development. Vanessa of Wander Onwards obviously has her sense of fun down, and I admire someone who wants to travel by themselves, but I don't accept her conclusion that she has, "already experienced more of the world in the last 22 years than [her] married peers will ever experience in their life." If you can and want to, I also encourage travel - but let's be clear that it's not the only way to soul-search and develop as an individual. I believe that you can get to know yourself through travel or staying at home, in a relationship or single, in education or at work, as a parent or childless. I believe that conscious choices - made assertively, not due to fear - that are made wherever possible will take you on the path to happiness. It won't be perfect, and we all have things that hold us back, but that is at least a more honest way to live than following someone else's notion of what life should be, whether that means getting married before you are ready or going abroad because you think you should.

We are obsessed, even now, with whether women (and men) can "have it all." I think what "all" means is entirely up to you.

Now let us drink the stars, it's time to steal away. Let's go get lost right here in the USA.

I hope my lack of blog entries can be a testament to how busy my first year at Ole Miss was. Luckily, I’ve been keeping notes, so while I still have a few study-free days left, I’m going to write several entries. I hope you enjoy them!

[Written September 2, 2012] Hello, finally, from Oxford, where it truly is a dark and stormy night. Outside it is a cacophony of rain fall, thunderclaps, wind and rustling branches. Inside, I’ve had several cups of tea to calm myself down as the dog roams around barking (the kitten is completely unafraid and smug). I have five (!) books still to finish in time for this week’s classes. I have an essay about a truck contest to write. But I have been in America almost a month and, apart from a few scribbled notes, have not had a chance to write about it yet. I figure I will never be any less busy, so now is as good a time as any.

Of course I want to write about Oxford. I’ve been dreaming of the Faulknerland since I was nineteen; it’s amazing that I’m actually living here. It is a wonderful place for so many reasons, but best of all it already feels like home. The thing is, I have the next two years to bore you all with Oxford-related gushing. And it just so happens that I have other stories to bore you with first. I flew to San Francisco on August 8, and drove* for five days to get to Mississippi. So first of all I want to take you through some musings related to that. Please, no hatred from any Brits about putting the month before the date, I need to get in the habit!

*And when I say “drove”, I mean sitting in the passenger seat eating Rainbow cookies, worrying aloud about Ole Miss and taking pictures of billboards and cornfields whilst my boyfriend sat behind the wheel the whole time.

08/08: London, UK to San Francisco, CA

During my ten hour flight, I came to a conclusion: airplanes bring out the worst in people. Cramped, tired and always enduring the screams of children, airline passengers must be the worst customers ever. Everyone is so demanding and unfriendly in a way that I feel sure they would not be in any other setting. Fellow passengers were especially demanding and unfriendly due to a malfunction with the entertainment sets, which meant no TV or music for the first two hours of the flight. I, of course, came prepared. I sat reading Bill Bryson and tried not to laugh out loud. I’m sure I must have been quite a sight, grinning widely in a crowd of frowns and pursed lips. If I am ever even a fraction as good as Bill Bryson I will die happy. Also, I’m not entirely convinced he and my dad are separate people.

I was more cheerful on this flight than usual – as it happens I’m afraid of flying. A lot of my positivity has to do with Virgin Atlantic. They truly are the best airline I’ve ever experienced; the staff is helpful, the entertainment selection is usually great (when working!) and I actually really like the food. And they were very nice to me that time I fainted in the middle of the aisle back in January [2012]. Now, if they would pay me for endorsing them publicly I would like them even better. Graduate school is expensive!

My cheeriness was waning by the end of the flight, however. Someone had rapped on the bathroom door in a most demanding and unfriendly manner as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I am as courteous as possible on a plane, and this, I felt, gave me the right to take the tiniest bit longer in the bathroom. But apparently not. I harrumphed back to my seat and was then slumped on by the people next to me for the remainder of the flight. It is very odd to constantly have a child’s feet or head in your lap when you do not know them. I vowed to never let my own future children loll about like that on a plane, and squirmed Britishly for the last hour.

After queuing for another hour and a half, I somehow still had the adrenaline to ignore my coccyx injury and haul my own at-the-weight-limit suitcases off the conveyor belt. I was thankfully still awake enough to recognize my boyfriend at the gate rather than absentmindedly trying to board a plane to Canada or something (“Must. Be. In. Commonwealth.”). We got in the car, drove through San Francisco, and for some reason covered the topics of drugs, drunk driving and guns within the first hour. I shifted in my seat and fought the urge to run, on foot, back to the airport to go home. I stayed awake through the evening, which I spent with Chip, his roommate Marie, and Tar Heel friends Katie, David and Amanda. We ordered Chinese, which was a huge amount of food for a small amount of money. Ah yes, I’m back in the USA.

08/09: San Francisco, CA to Elko, NV

Chip and I set out in the car the next morning, circling back five minutes later to collect the coolbox. (But not, as it turns out, my Topshop sandals, which still reside on his bedroom floor.) Then, since we had delayed ourselves already, we decided to go grocery shopping. I was very pleased about this, as my greatest hang up about doing a road trip (or being in America generally!) is not having adequate access to fruit. Since we were running late already I didn’t get a chance to dance around the grocery store exclaiming over every item. Don’t worry, that blog entry will come.

I was sad to leave San Francisco so soon. It’s one of my favorite cities where I have made such great memories, and I still dream of living there one day. However, we drove over the Bay Bridge, northeast to Sacramento, Lake Tahoe and Reno. We listened to only a little bit of Rush Limbaugh. And what can I tell you about Nevada? We left the greenery and rivers of California for dusty, open space. We drove for hours without seeing much of anything. We had no radio or cell phone coverage. We passed gas stations, each one looking the same, except sometimes with the addition of a casino. I was surprised by how many bits of tyres (or tires!) there were on the road. Then, just as I was starting to get bored, actual tumbleweeds rolled in front of us on the highway.

We reached Elko in the evening, passing a small roadside community on the way in. The little part of Elko we saw had chain restaurants, an RV park and some surprisingly high-priced hotels. Interestingly, Elko has a “boom and bust” economy based on the price of gold; a large amount of Nevada’s gold is mined there and the town has many abandoned mining camps. As Hunter S. Thompson wrote in his short story, Fear and Loathing in Elko, “The federal government owns 90% of this land, and most of it is useless for anything except weapons testing and poison-gas experiments.” But clearly there is more to it than this. Elko hosts the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering every January, and has done for almost 30 years. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a good time to me.

The hotel we stayed in was much the same as many I’ve experienced in the US. I always wonder how they came to decide on the exact same breakfast:  a waffle iron with batter next to it, cold hard-boiled eggs, cheap muffins/donuts, white bread with peanut butter or jam in plastic pots, yoghurt, questionable-looking fruit, cereal in dispensers and some juice, tea and coffee. I’ve seen the same selection as far-flung as Georgia, Texas and Colorado. You could see the same America in any given hotel. I don’t know whether that’s comforting or creepy.

08/10: Elko, NV to Laramie, WY

Back on the road, Nevada continued to be flat, dry and empty. We were cheered up, however, by a lady waving at us from a neighboring car; we understood as they passed us and we saw their South Carolina license plate. Southerners unite! We eventually crossed into the mountains of Utah, and I became engrossed in the selection of billboards at the side of the road. The billboards gave me a number to call if I was in debt, informed me that evolution was an evil myth, praised the immigrant population and encouraged me to “hail to the beef” at a local restaurant.

But what you really want to know about is Salt Lake City. We drove around it for a bit out of curiosity. It is a big place: spacious, beautiful, and more than a little bit freaky. It’s impossible to be in Salt Lake City without constantly thinking, “Is that person over there a Mormon? Do they know that I’m not a Mormon?! Oh, there’s the North Carolina license plate. They probably do know I’m not a Mormon. Maybe they don’t mind. Are they looking at me?” I’m not really speaking to Mormonism or Mormon people. It is not something I’m particularly educated about, unless you count Angels in America and Mitt Romney. But sometimes the reputation of something gets under your skin all the same, and that’s how I felt there. Not a mature or informed approach of course, but a truthful one if nothing else.

We exchanged the close-range mountains of Utah for the endlessly wide feel of Wyoming. The spaciousness and high altitude made me nervous. You absolutely cannot get that same feeling in the UK, that you are in the middle of nowhere. It was like being on another planet. I was relieved when we finally arrived at our hotel in Laramie, with lots of buildings and people surrounding us. I know that plenty of people were shocked that I chose to move voluntarily to a place as different as Mississippi, but I will take humidity and DFE (Deep Fried Everything) over high altitude, headaches and nosebleeds any day. No offense, Wyoming – you’re just out of my league and I know it.

Laramie is home to the University of Wyoming, the only university in the state. It is also home to Kirsty Callaghan, fellow UEA American Studies graduate and the recipient of the BAAS award in 2011. Since we knew we would be passing through Wyoming anyway, Kirsty and I arranged to meet at a microbrewery called, fittingly, Altitude. We talked cowboys, attitudes to land and the upcoming election. Kirsty had been volunteering for the local Democrats (apparently a caller once complained about her English accent and the fact that they were clearly outsourcing) despite the fact that Wyoming is typically a Republican state. I’ll get into this another time, but the Republicanism in Wyoming seems to be based more on living far from Washington DC and wanting freedom to do what they wish in their huuuuuge open spaces, compared to those in the South who think much more about social hierarchy and staying true to tradition. It is interesting to think of how in a country of this size, political parties have to appeal to people of so many different cultures.

08/11: Laramie, WY to Kansas City, MO

We left Laramie in the morning, looking out for the golden Abraham Lincoln head that Kirsty had told us about. Despite its size, I wasn't able to get a picture of it in time, so here is a link if you're curious (and I know that you are).

[Continued Jan 17, 2013] After this, there really didn’t seem like anything better to do so I fell asleep and when I woke up we were in Nebraska. Go back to sleep, right? Absolutely not! You see, one of my favorite books is Willa Cather’s My Antonia. I even have an audio book in which the narrator sounds suspiciously like Reverend Lovejoy.

[Continued Aug 5, 2013] Okay, so admittedly I don’t have much more to say than that. We drove through Lincoln, which is the capital city of Nebraska and the second most populous after Omaha. I know that not everyone understands these whims, but I absolutely want to return to Nebraska and learn more. I am intrigued by its small population amongst the plains and prairies, and its historical and current race relations between Native Americans, African American migrants and European immigrants. It is also the home of both Warren Buffett and Kool-Aid, so there you go.

I have always been curious about these places that people turn away from, or tell me, “There’s no point in going there – there’s nothing to see.” It is said about many, many US states. If I feel strongly enough about a place, I will ignore the warnings and go anyway. Often I have been rewarded with some amazing discoveries of landscapes, buildings and people. I think you can tell how much I took Michael Palin’s work to heart, especially his view that there is more that brings us together than divides us. I still believe in looking for stories in unlikely places.

We went through Lincoln without pulling over at all. As we waited for a light to change on the outskirts of the city, I rolled down my window, closed my eyes, and listened to the hum of locusts in the grass.

08/12: Kansas City, MO to West Memphis, AK

Two important things to mention about Missouri:

One. I damaged my camera in a town called St Joseph. I was busy puzzling over a billboard (yes, again) about a blood drive boasting about its “FREE AIR CONDITIONING.” I’ll let that one sit with you.

Two. Half of Kansas City is actually in Missouri, half is in Kansas.

Okay, so I know that second one wasn’t really a surprise to most people but I totally didn’t know. I also didn’t know much about Kansas City other than a refrain from a Stray Cats song, but I am always curious and Chip is a barbecue fanatic so we took some time to explore.

I’m going to take a moment to teach some BBQ 101. Settle down, settle down, I know there are disagreements about this. In England, “barbecue” has several definitions. It is first of all an event, reserved for any day that there is the slightest hint of sunshine (“Darling, the Manfredjinsinjins at number 43 are having a barbecue, do we have any Pimm’s?”), a piece of outdoor cooking equipment that you swear at when it refuses to light properly, and an action describing how you cook your beef burgers, sausages, chicken, salmon, corn-on-the-cob or bananas.

In America, barbecue is the food itself, and the culture that surrounds it. Americans do not have a neighborhood barbecue, they have a cook out. They also do not barbecue their food – they grill it. What we call grilling is called broiling here. Stay with me! Anyway, more interesting is the discrepancies between different regions of the US. (I apologize if I butcher several of the details in this explanation.) In North Carolina, barbecue is pork, and the sauce changes by location: vinegar in the east, tomato in the west, a blend in the middle. The pork is shredded (or pulled as we might say) and often served in a bun topped with coleslaw. In Texas, barbecue is beef, and there are many regional differences of technique and sauce within the state. In Kansas City, barbecue can be pork, beef or chicken. That’s about as much as I can condense the topic of southern barbecue without doing a full essay, so please try it if you visit the South or its fringe states. I have sometimes considered becoming a vegetarian, but the thought of barbecue prevents me.

Despite these differences, there is one thing that Americans and Britons have in common when it comes to barbecue: both insist that their definition is the correct one.

08/13: West Memphis, AK to Oxford, MS

We should have learned from Missouri/Kansas that just because a city seems like it’s probably in a certain state doesn’t necessarily mean that it is. We wanted a cheap hotel in Memphis, to check out the closest city to Oxford and have some time to relax before moving me in to my new place, so we didn’t book one right in the center. We booked one in West Memphis, and then became thoroughly confused that our GPS (British: SatNav) couldn’t find it at all. Well, that is because West Memphis is not in Tennessee, like Memphis is. It’s in Arkansas. Go figure.

A question I get asked a lot at home is, “Why is it pronounced Arkansaw?” You lazy people, don’t you know how to use Google? It’s okay, I did it for you. The root of the name is Native American, a Quapaw/Sioux word akakaze meaning “land of downriver people” or “people of the south wind” respectively. The pronunciation is French. Apparently, the pronunciation was a matter of such debate that it was made official in state legislation in 1881. But unfortunately that did not solve all of the problems in Arkansas. It took until 2007 for the state to pass a resolution that the possessive form of the name should be Arkansas’s. Scandal! Scandal!

I didn’t have a chance to see much of Arkansas, but as a neighboring state to Mississippi I hope to do so in the future. When I think of Arkansas, my mind goes to Bill Clinton, the violent desegregation of Little Rock Central High School in 1957, an amazing MFA program at the University of Arkansas, the arming of teachers at Clarksville High School and the headquarters of Walmart. On our drive through Arkansas, we stopped at the most antiquated gas station we had encountered so far. We also drove behind two horse-drawn buggies. I had never connected Amish culture to Arkansas, but later research revealed that there is in fact one community in Sturkie, which we must have been near.

But back to the journey. We left Arkansas, and West Memphis, for Memphis Proper in Tennessee. I always think that southern cities are somewhat of an oxymoron, which was made apparent as we waited f-o-r-e-v-e-r for pedestrians to cross the street. No one is in a hurry (unless they’re on a highway). Chip, a native of North Carolina who had been in California for a year, sighed and said, “I have missed the South so much.” Our last meal of the roadtrip was in IHOP (International House of Pancakes, which I always want to stylize as iHOP) where we were served over and over again with more coffee and more Dr Pepper. IHOP is one of those restaurants that is pleasantly unprofessional, with consistent food and harried-looking waiting staff. I still have ambitions to visit IHOP on Cox in North Carolina, where, I am told, they receive more prank phone calls than legitimate ones.

I was extremely anxious on the drive from Memphis to Oxford, feeling my stomach flip as we passed the Welcome to Mississippi sign. Now, I have passed that sign and done the 85-mile drive several times. I have many stories of my first year of Oxford, but for now, as pretentious as it is to quote myself, I will leave you with a Tweet from the first day that I arrived:

My hair is huge, my skin is bitten, my belly is full of fried catfish and hushpuppies. It feels so good to be back in the South. #olemiss

 

And this is a whole 'nother story.

I was born, lucky me, in a land that I love

I've been looking over my first ever post, Where are you going, where have you been? and am struck by the fact that my feelings from then and now are so similar. (And that I didn't actually know what "liberal arts" means, but I pledged not to edit anything retrospectively.) You would think that with everything that's happened to me over the last two years, I would be a different person entirely. Or at the very least, that I would view my old words as naive - but I don't. Back in 2010, I was sad to say goodbye and worrying about how to handle depression abroad, but I was also very excited. It's pretty much how I feel now. The only big difference is that I have a greater understanding of my own weaknesses, and how these can be challenged in such a situation.

If ever I talk to people who haven't studied/lived abroad about the difficulties I experienced, a common reaction is that my expectations must have been too high, or that I made the wrong choices. By contrast, when I talk to those who have been abroad, even if their experience was 100x better than mine, they usually nod their heads and say, "That's how it goes sometimes." Don't get me wrong, there is a lot that I could have done better. This time around, I do want to be more assertive, more forgiving, more aware of how I'm feeling and what I can do about it. I understand my strengths a lot more now, too. But I also know that for any year in your life, regardless of setting, you can't be expected to control every single thing. Quite simply: shit happens. It might be that it takes me awhile to make friends, or to get into the swing of classes, or to adjust to the new climate. It might be that something goes horribly wrong. But no amount of preparation and/or panic is going to change that possibility, so I might as well focus on the excitement. My enthusiasm for my year abroad was certainly not what made it difficult; if anything, it was the reason I was able to keep going.

Obviously, the major difference between then and now is the fact that I'm leaving for two years, not one. It's also a more transient time than when I left before. The lives of my friends and family are going to change so much between now and May 2014. They'll be pursuing careers, moving houses, travelling the world, getting engaged. It would be an entirely different world for me to come back to. I've had to say a more permanent goodbye to the life that I knew, both in Norwich and St Albans. Strangely enough, that is easier. I don't have the burden of coming home and trying to fit back in again a year later, pushing aside these experiences that no one else witnessed. It's easier to believe I can make Oxford my new home in a way that I couldn't with Chapel Hill. I expect I will still feel lost at first. When you move elsewhere, sometimes you have to accept certain sacrifices. For me, it's some of my hobbies, such as fashion and cooking. In Mississippi, I can't live with one eye on the high street at all times, collecting limited edition clothing*, nor can I comfortably peruse Sainsbury's to make my usual dishes. I will have to adapt, and accept I can't always get hold of Quorn or creme fraiche. These are little things, but I'm sure they will sometimes make me sigh. I'm not sure it's possible to ever feel as comfortable in a foreign country as the place where you grew up.

*I'm a proud owner of a Queen's Guard crop top, a Jubilee-themed Topshop item. It's a real wonder that I actually resisted the Corgi-patterned bags.

When my visa-approved passport was returned to me last week, my nana was surprised to see that I don't have an Irish passport. It would never occur to me to get one, since I have never lived in Ireland and my dad's side is predominantly English. She asked, "But do you feel Irish?" I thought about this for a moment before replying, "I do on St. Patrick's Day." It does go a little deeper than that. I love visiting Ireland, and knowing that people I love grew up there, saw these places every day. I have a lot of childhood memories that tie me to the country, even little things like the food I begged for and the music I heard there. I wear a Claddagh ring, a gift from my nana. I thought seriously about applying to Trinity College. Yet to be honest, my relationship with Ireland is almost no different to my relationship with the South. I love Southern food, Southern literature, Southern music. I feel like I have an understanding of the culture without being truly part of it. It's somewhere I would be excited to live. There's no rhyme or reason to me attaching myself to it in such a way, it just happened.

What does it means to "come from" a country or town - is it your heritage, where you lived as a child, where you move to as an adult? I've been meditating on this a lot recently, perhaps due to the number of patriotic events this year. Some people are dismissive of the idea that one can be proud to be from somewhere, as it's really only an accident of birth. Other people hold tightly to their nationality, whether it's somewhere they can barely remember or where they grew up all along. The other day I met up with Tash, who was the first friend I made at UEA. Whilst I grew up only a short train ride from London, Tash grew up 5 hours away, in Devon. We walked along the Thames, thronged by Olympics tourists, and both felt that in some way, this capital was truly ours and something to be proud of. I'm not going all Colonialist on you - I offer no intelligent comments on Britain's history, and I don't view my birthplace as an achievement of some kind. But I am grateful for the way my country shaped me. As the Olympics opening ceremony demonstrated, Britain is a country that values art, humour and compassion. Who I am now, as a person and as a writer, is largely the result of that.

For instance, I would probably not have encountered the same television and writing. Many people know how much I admire Michael Palin. I'm a huge fan of Monty Python, and he was always my favourite. I used to rewind the Biggus Dickus scene of Life of Brian. I love his travel shows and his books. Now, everyone and their parrot just likes to discuss how Palin is so "nice", which is actually not why I am drawn to his work. Obviously, he is a talented writer and actor, and his journeys fuelled my own interest in travel. But mainly it is the fact that he appears to be someone who is comfortable with the fact that life does not have hard and fast answers. He doesn't aim to conclude, and he lives his life with empathy. (I shudder when I say "empathy" now, thanks to my dissertation!) When I read his work or his interviews, I feel a sense of peace, even if my life is currently all over the place. Last week, I read an interview with him in the Independent. He made a comment about John Cleese which resonated with me:

"I think he set himself a very high standard of achievement and possibly feels he never quite attained it. He's always moving: first to New York, then to California, now Monaco. Where next? I always wanted to say to him: 'John, you're so talented. You have a lovely wife and kids; just relax.' But there was always something more that he wanted, to a point that was almost destructive."

"Just relax" is my new mantra. I worry so much. Every day I wake up asking myself if I'm good enough, in my relationships and in my pursuits. If I may say so, I have inherited the British tradition of apologising for everything, which means it's hard to congratulate yourself. Being awarded a scholarship is one of the biggest things that's ever happened to me. You would think that I spent every day since January being overjoyed, proud of myself, successful. But I've been taught modesty all my life, and sometimes that drifts accidentally into self-consciousness. In some ways it's easier to process failure than it is to know what to do with success. I think it's how most people would feel, actually. My inclination to deconstruct and understand is in many ways a good quality, but sometimes it does need to be ignored and replaced swiftly with a "just relax."

I was caught on camera the other day as I was considering all of this. I have no idea what it was for, but I was amused that the footage, shot so randomly, would be rather poignant to me. I had taken the familiar train journey from St Albans to Kings Cross-St Pancras, and sat down outside the station. I was dressed in Topshop and Miss Selfridge, my iPod in and playing the Kinks. As I waited for Tash's train to arrive from Norwich, I continued reading Faulkner's The Wild Palms. At some point I paused, thinking about the upcoming move, my tendency to agonise, and how I should "just relax". I glanced up, squinting into the sunlight, and noticed the camera pointed right at me. The person holding it couldn't possibly have known, but what they recorded was a moment which connected me to all the places I've lived, the person I've been in all of them, and the place and person I'm now going towards.

I also like to express myself with cake.

"Is he in therapy?" "Nah, he's got me."

I wasn’t planning to write again until next month, when I am once again going to San Francisco followed by the BAAS conference/banquet in Manchester. However, I recently attended a meeting for outgoing year abroad students which inspired me to write this entry. Dr Rachael McLennan asked me to come so that I could talk about my year abroad experiences and how they informed my dissertation and led to my scholarship. As I sat there, it suddenly dawned on me that all the advice being given was still relevant to me, since… I am going abroad this summer too! I know – I should really try to remember that. Anyway, I wanted to write about what I wish I had known whilst I was abroad in case it is useful for anyone else. I also think it will be useful for me.

I had so many intentions before I left for Carolina, but once I got there my motivation dwindled and I mostly stewed in my homesickness and frustration. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I’d like to think that it will all just be easier this time and shrug it off, but if I have learnt anything from my year abroad, it’s that self-awareness is your best friend. I can’t know or prepare for everything that’s to come, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. Oxford is the next adventure for me, and my excitement far exceeds my anxiety. Part of taking a big risk like that is accepting that you’re going to be in freefall. Even so, I hope that my previous experiences will be beneficial (to anyone else, too, if you are reading!).

As you will glean from the structure of my points, I don’t believe in hard and fast rules, but about trying to create a healthy balance. Here are some of my best lessons…

Be Proactive and Assertive

I think at UEA we are lucky to have so many open societies which actively look for more members. I found that UNC was more of a puzzle, and I didn’t have much luck joining anything or finding out about events. Despite the early disappointments, I really wish I had kept trying. I wish I had seen more plays, attended more campus events, explored new places – even if I had to go by myself. I was so used to being part of a group at UEA that I never learned just to go and enjoy something on my own. It’s an important skill and it will stop you from missing out. Out of my comfort zone, I also became more reserved. I stood in my own way when it came to making friends and wasn’t assertive enough; consequently it took me a long time to make them. Don’t allow yourself to stop trying if it doesn’t go your way at first. Keep going. Push yourself.

BUT Take Care of Yourself

Sometimes it’s okay to just watch One Tree Hill in your bed (especially if you’re in North Carolina, then it’s practically research). Really. Don’t feel like you have to do everything if you don’t feel like it. I routinely tortured myself about everything I was missing out on, and it was pointless to put so much pressure on myself. When I look back, I realise that I do have a lot of good memories, even if they were just hanging out with my friends and not doing anything “significant”. Not every day is going to be exciting or even pleasant at all, and that’s okay. Being somewhere new is incredibly stimulating, but it’s also overwhelming. I wish I had been easier on myself, and done more to feel good. I would definitely recommend taking advantage of the free gyms, different sports/exercise opportunities etc. I really regret not taking up running in Chapel Hill, since it’s a beautiful area and it would have kept me healthier. (Better late than never, though – and Norwich is beautiful to run around too!) Also, reign yourself in when it comes to the food. I’m not just talking about weight gain (though that was a definite part of my year abroad), but about the fact that there can be a lot of additives etc which your body is not used to, and it can make you unwell. Also, be careful with alcohol. It’s all very well to have a good time, but you’re much more vulnerable in a new place with new people.

Communicate with Others

It’s great meeting new people, but sometimes you will just want to hear a familiar voice. I was a Skype and Facebook addict the entire year, and for the most part I loved hearing what was going on at home. I wanted to stay connected to my life in Norwich. It’s important to have encouragement from the people who know you best. It’s also important to be open with the people around you. Ask your new friends, your professors, etc, to help you out if you are struggling. I was often far too stubborn for my own good, and did not want to admit how much I needed other people to help me, or to make a change in my situation. I could probably have avoided a lot of pain and drama if I had spoken up earlier about what was going on with me, or accepted the olive branches being offered. It’s also really important to talk to people who have been through the same, whether that’s people at your university who have studied abroad, other international students, or friends from home who have done American Studies or similar. (Here I feel I should say a big thank you to Ailsa Bristow!)

BUT Listen to Yourself

I’ve just admitted that I’m stubborn, but conversely I was a victim of listening to other people too much. When I was having trouble at UNC, I found that a lot of people were (unintentionally, I’m sure) dismissive about how hard it was. When you have never lived abroad, it is completely impossible to truly comprehend how isolating and lonely it can be. Some of my isolation was most definitely my own doing, but a lot of it was out of my control. When you are struggling, it only makes it worse to have someone tell you that it’s not a big deal or that you’re just not trying hard enough. What is even worse than that is to believe it yourself. Be honest with yourself, and try hard, but don’t blame yourself if everything isn’t perfect. The other point I want to make here is how important it is to pay attention to your own needs. I think if I had had the courage to make decisions just for myself, and not worried about what other people would say about it, I would have been much happier. Sometimes it is not selfish or arrogant to decide that you know best, it’s just the truth.

Document Your Experiences

Takes photos, keep a journal, keep a blog (hi), make a box of keepsakes. It’s a good idea to carry your camera around with you, even just to take pictures as you walk around campus. I loved writing this blog. It forced me to have a sense of humour even when all I wanted to do was cry and book a flight home. I’ve written a journal most of my life (regularly for 10 years now), and I think it’s an excellent way to appreciate the little things in life, and to hold yourself accountable to mistakes. When I read back on my personal journal, it’s a little painful to see how much I struggled sometimes, but it also tells the most outrageous stories. The most dramatic of those were from my month of travelling around with Jess and Faye. I have many photos from our trip that I cherish and look over every time I need a laugh. Though it may not feel like it at the beginning, the year goes by very fast, and it’s important to preserve the memories as best you can. As was mentioned in the meeting, something like a blog may come in handy later when you’re applying for jobs. The biggest benefit to me was being able to write something that a lot of people were interested in reading – it actually put me back in touch with old school friends who had followed the links on Facebook. I’m intending to be a more regular blogger when I go to Mississippi.

BUT Remember Your Life is Not a Movie

I said already that I was a Facebook addict. I know it is a double-edged sword. Photos, communication, information, humour = good. Stalking, jealousy, wallowing, grammar atrocities = bad. I was so worried about what people thought of me at home, falling from my social/academic grace abroad, that I became obsessed with how I appeared on Facebook. I haven’t changed my profile picture in two months – are people talking about how I must not have any friends? Was that last status funny, or a little too whiny? WHY IS THAT PERSON HAVING SO MUCH MORE FUN THAN ME? Try to remember that Facebook is not a true reflection of reality. Also, whilst I mentioned that photos/journals are important, the best moments I experienced abroad were not photographed, blogged about, or shared on Facebook. University is an incredibly social experience, and I was so bound up in that at UEA. At Carolina, I truly learned to be comfortable by myself. My most vivid memories are of private moments in which I got closer to a friend, finally felt like I could do Zumba, or finished a particularly challenging project. I didn’t need to stop and take a photo in order to remember it.

Congratulate Yourself

This is probably one of the hardest things you will ever do. Well done for considering it, well done for taking the plunge, well done for staying where you are, well done for making the most of it, well done for coming home a better person. Applaud yourself every day!

BUT Say Thank You

I have to admit, I was not always as grateful as I should have been. I was so consumed in my own unhappiness at points that I did not take enough time to say thank you. I hope that by the end of my time I was a lot better at expressing my gratitude to all the wonderful people that supported me. Part of the reason why I chose to write my dissertation on empathy is because I realised just how important it is. It is because of the people that took the time to listen and to understand that I was able to keep going, to make sense of the difficulties, and to trust that things would get better.

And now for the most important tip of all…

For God’s sake, apply insect repellent.

Good luck to everyone going abroad this summer!

There's not a lot of reason to this other than the fact that I love Obama. And he has great facial expressions.

ETA: So I just discovered that you can look up stats to see how many people are reading. I have had far more people stumble across this blog than I expected! I know that some probably got here by mistake or clicked back immediately (especially if all you saw was the pic of my bug bites - sorry!) but if you do read this blog, please leave a comment to let me know! Sometimes people email me or comment on my Facebook but it would be great to get comments here, too, just to know what your thoughts are, if you've had similar experiences, etc. Once I'm back in the States I would really love suggestions for what to write about. :) /end vanity.

It’s a dream, but there’s a real world waiting

Skype me!

Poor blog. I did sort of abandon you (again). In my defence, I also keep a regular journal and travel journal, then there’s my short stories to think about. And Facebook and Twitter and texting and emails… It’s easy to get distracted. I think back to when I used to write as a kid and it seems so much easier without all the technology. Don’t get me wrong, I still typed everything out (though thankfully my early stories, which read as something like a Last of the Mohicans-Friends hybrid – I know, hard to think how that would work, most likely because it didn’t – have long since disappeared into the ether) but I tended to just write for hours and nothing else. So I am blaming the internet for distracting me from my internet journal.

Since my last entry, I descended into finals madness, complete with dreadlocking hair, terrible outfits and the inability to eat and sleep regularly. It was NOT pretty. The effort that students put in at Carolina is inspiring, but honestly, I’m so happy to slump back to UEA and know I only have to go in two days a week. I like the independence of UK education. Fewer contact hours does feel like we’re getting cheated in some ways, but I much prefer getting to structure my own days, choosing what books I’m going to read, what topics I’m going to write about, when my deadlines are going to be. Sometimes at UEA it can feel like I’m drifting into empty space, nothing obstructing me but nothing guiding me. Carolina just felt like a circus. However, I jumped through the last set of hoops and packed up my things, then got on a plane headed to New Orleans.

Where shit gets really crazy. I recommend taking up yoga before you go, so that you can practise your cleansing breath for the moment(s) you think you're about to die.

 I would LOVE to bore you with every single great story from my travels, but I know that this is never fun for anyone else so I will restrain. Instead, have a list of everywhere that I went: New Orleans, LA; Austin, TX; Denver, CO; Park City, UT; San Francisco, CA; Los Angeles, CA; Laguna Niguel, CA; Washington D.C; New York City, NY; Nashville, TN; Memphis, TN; Oxford, MS; Wilmington, NC. If you plan to travel the US or are heading towards any of these places any time soon please feel free to get in touch. If you want to know where to go I’m going to give a big thumbs up to Austin and San Francisco in particular, but on a previous trip I fell in love with Boston, too. If you have lots of money you need to get rid of please take me with you. You would think that after three holidays, a month of travel on Amtrak, and a year of studying and travelling in the US I would never want to see it again, or at least want to go somewhere else. But what can I say? Despite all its craziness, America is a wonderful place to be. Actually, that’s probably BECAUSE of its craziness. (“If U do not pray God will B angry and U will go 2 Hell where U will burn”, for example. What an inviting sign to have outside a church. Snaps for Wilmington!)

It’s funny, during my year abroad I would constantly worry about how I could possibly respond to people’s questions once I returned home. I learned so much, had great experiences, made lifelong friends and was forced to truly stand on my own two mosquito-bitten feet. But it never felt as perfect or as easy as I thought it would. I don’t in any way regret my decisions, but to say that it was the best year of my life would be disingenuous. It was many things – eye-opening, inspiring, life-changing – but it was never easy, not for a single day. How do you explain all that when someone asks, “How was it?”? The truth is, I’ve not needed to. Other returning year abroad students have found the same; once you are home, people are really not massively interested in what you did whilst away from them. On the one hand it’s great, because I don’t need to attempt to explain things that others couldn’t possibly understand. (I don’t say this to be offensive, I just know that prior to my year abroad I could never have appreciated what these situations would be like.)

On the other hand, it is so difficult to be part of group conversations. I don’t want to bore people with year abroad stories, but how do you talk about yourself without ever mentioning the past YEAR of your life? If I talked purely about my life since returning home, it would be restricted purely to my new job at the Iron House restaurant, the millions of cupcakes I baked, and the fact that I’m nearly finished with Couch to 5k. This sounds like a lot, but… It’s not. If I want to mention being back at UEA, it feels a little strange right now because I’ve been on a year abroad. I’m working on my dissertation which I started on my year abroad. My friends Jess and Faye visited Norwich last weekend – I met them on my year abroad. Also, now you mention it, I got a new job because I left Starbucks to go on my year abroad, I started baking cupcakes because I tried so many on my year abroad, and Couch to 5k became highly necessarily after I ate everything in sight on my year abroad. So you see my predicament.

Aside from this, home is very good. The first couple of months were hard, as I tried to adjust to being back but with nothing being the same. Most of my UEA friends have graduated or left Norwich entirely, I live in a different house, and not to mention I am a fourth year. That sounds unbelievably old! But the positives do outweigh the negatives. After such an intensely difficult year at Carolina, I feel relieved to be somewhere familiar. And overall, I would say that I just feel… relaxed. When I left for Carolina about 13 months ago, I was a perfectionist to the end. I worried about everything, from my grades to my weight to other people’s opinions. Once you have failed a module, ceased to fit into your jeans and had everyone around you treat you like crap, a few slots down from perfect does not seem so bad. So long as I’m learning lots, am generally in good health and have a group of people around to eat my cupcakes I know I can and will be happy. Self-actualisation, all for the price of a plane ticket to America!

All that remains for me to say now is… What shall I do with this blog? I’m home now, after all, no longer in the Land of the Free. But I do have a few things still to come, I think. I am, of course, still an American Studies student, and writing a dissertation about the South. I also feel as though my dealings with America are far from over. At this point, I have no idea whether I will pursue American Studies in a postgraduate context or not. I don’t know if I will be able to work or study out there again. I do know that I will keep in touch with the incredible Americans who made me a welcome guest in their country. I will continue to think fondly of my experiences travelling. And take many more trips there again and again. 

The Living is (not so) Easy

It may surprise you to know that, rather than just having forgotten about this blog due to having Super Happy Fun times at UNC, this is the fourth time that I've started an entry since I last posted. There are many topics I want to post about, but getting started has been an issue. I like to write entries that are at least somewhat cohesive and have a clear line of thought. In fact, that's how I like my life to be too. But America has been nothing if not baffling, so I suppose that's why whenever I sat down to write I ended up with a jumble of emotion and poor syntax.

I had a wonderful Winter Break, beginning in Washington DC in which I visited museums, procured new clothes and caught up with old friends. Then I went to Charlotte, NC to spend Christmas with a friend's family, then back to Chapel Hill for the remaining time with a stint in the mountains too. It was relaxing. Several moments brought me back to who I used to be, whether that was in a hostel in the capital, during long conversations about politics or whilst drinking cup after cup of tea. It's strange how I feel so far apart from who I was back in England. It's strange how it all happened. I have a stronger belief in the human capacity for change than most people – that is, I don't think our personalities are as static as most people seem to – and yet I was unprepared for the course my life took out here. I expected America to be fun, and any potential difficulties I simply glossed over in my mind as being things that would “make me stronger”, whatever that means.

It says a lot about our perception of America, I think. If I was going to study abroad somewhere that isn't a Western country, say Japan, or Kenya, everyone would be in agreement that there would be a big culture shock and that it would take some getting used to. Even in the case of another European country, especially if there was a language barrier it would seem like a tough move. America doesn't have those connotations. For all the criticisms Europeans seem to have of the states, we also take it for granted that it would be easy to fit in here, that cultural adjustment would be minor, and that every day would be filled with something outrageously fun. At least, that's what I picked up from my own expectations, and the expectations others have had of me.

I've been in contact with a lot of people from home whilst out here. What's struck me as interesting is that people are surprised when I say I've found it difficult. Logically, it makes sense. I came to a foreign country by myself, with absolutely no one I'd ever met previously in the near vicinity. The majority of people I come into contact with are already established here, not necessarily looking to make new friends. There are similarities in our cultures, of course, but to say it's not different would be just plain wrong. I have interests which can transcend whatever country I happen to be in – books, music, etc – but I have no idea about TV shows we don't get in England, the local sports teams, or anyone they went to high school with. America is so much about what is current, whereas – let's be honest – I am usually a step behind.

I have a theory that if we were to draw up a list of year abroad placements, America would be considered the “easiest” option. (Maybe Australia, too, but it is further away!) In some ways, that makes it much harder. If I was crying over culture shock/homesickness whilst on placement in Jordan, I doubt anyone would question my feelings. That's not to say that America is a more difficult option, because having only lived abroad here, I have no point of comparison. It is to say that it's hard to answer, “What's so hard about it?”

There is such a huge pressure to be loving the lifestyle abroad, but, like a year at home, unhappy times are inevitable. Some weeks I did nothing but study, only instead of feeling satisfied as I do at UEA, I would wish I could have spent the time travelling. I was also easily frustrated with the work I was doing, which doesn't count towards my degree and is completely different to everything I've learnt all my life. Having such a limited amount of time here played right into my tendency to consider (okay, obsess over) “the road not taken”. I thought a lot about what I should have done last semester to make more friends, exactly when and how I should have asked for more help, even right down to whether I should never have tried to do this in the first place. America was supposed to be the time and place in which I made a million new friends, went to a million great parties, aced all of my assignments to reaffirm my own cleverness, worked out all the time because the gyms are free, travelled to all these wonderful places, and in between all that developed the Zen that was lacking from my life at home.

Well... No. But, I will say this: the positive elements appeared much later, and in unexpected forms. I have some excruciating memories from being out here, unhappy and alone and feeling like a social leper. I've definitely had some of the worst experiences of my life. I mentioned earlier the idea that all of this would “make me stronger”; I certainly didn't believe it at first. I went from being someone who was motivated, friendly, creative and positive to the complete opposite: withdrawn, sad and socially uneasy. It wasn't that I thought I would never recover, but I was incredibly ashamed of how, in my eyes, I had failed to achieve anything out here. I couldn't even pat myself on the back that it would all make me a better person some day, because it didn't feel like that at all. It felt like I was ten times weaker.

Now, I wish I could “do a 180” and tell you that it's all changed dramatically since last semester, that I suddenly fit in here, love every day, never feel homesick. This isn't the case. But, it certainly isn't torture to be here any more, and the mystical “make me stronger” idea is actually true. It didn't happen in the way I expected, and it probably isn't outwardly obvious. Being here, against so many things I didn't enjoy, gave me many things in return. It gave me greater compassion towards others; after so much indifference, I know how important kindness is. It gave me the ability to laugh at things I would normally have worried about, because they're inconsequential now. It gave me perspective on my home country and my regular life. It gave me an appreciation for comfort and familiarity. It gave me patience. There are things that it took away from me, too – I definitely am more cautious about doing new things than I ever was before – but I feel sure I will get these back in time, too.

I don't believe bad things automatically make us stronger, but I do believe they change us. We can choose how, though, and I think when the experience has been difficult it can often shape us in a more lasting way. I guess it's the difference between improving your appearance by getting a haircut vs. having a nose job... Okay, bad analogy. But you see what I mean. It's taken me six months to get to this point, but no part of me worries that I shouldn't have done it. I'm more addicted than ever to Southern culture, and I'm sure I will return here again and again. I've had so many experiences I would never have had otherwise, and, whether bad or good at the time, they all make excellent stories. The story of my year abroad as a whole is far from over, so check back soon for the next chapter.

One very beautiful reason to be grateful for this experience. Also surreal, since I spent my youth imagining these mountains in 'Last of the Mohicans' and 'Rip Van Winkle'.