Finding Myself, January 6, 2011 (Day Twelve) & January 7, 2011 (Day Thirteen)

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Friday, January 7, 2011

Windsor, England

I am actually writing this from “home” in Raleigh, NC back in the States, but that’s okay. I’m so sorry, first of all, for not posting this sooner! I’ve been struggling with this awful, awful cold I picked up in England combined with unrelenting jetlag. Not fun. But that’s no excuse! It seems a bit bad of me for being so diligent about this daily journal, then to be so blasé about it on the very last day. So anyway, here’s what I was up to on my last day in the UK…

We woke up early, and our lovely host at the Thorncliffe Guesthouse made us some tea and toast before we, for the last time, hit the narrow, winding roads of Isle of Man towards the airport. Our flight was a little delayed, but nice and short, so I can’t complain. We landed in Gatwick and picked up yet another rental car for the day. From there we drove to Windsor – home of Windsor castle, another of the Queen’s abodes. We wandered around the town and found a pastry store for lunch and tea. We also walked along the Thames waterfront in Windsor, where there was a veritable SWARM (I know the technical word for birds is “flock”, but…) of swans. I bought a small bag of feed from a nearby café and fed the little critters. All I can say is do not let swans or geese or any bird of that nature get too friendly with your fingers. It hurts. After much mooching around we made our way back to the pay-and-display parking lot and headed towards our hotel for the night, located not too far from Heathrow airport. We had our last dinner at a now seafood restaurant that used to be a pub / restaurant called The Crispin, where my parents actually used to work when they were younger. The next day was spent in travel – a very long and very tiring eight and a half hour plane ride back to the States. Customs, immigration, all that jazz. Home again. Or is it?

Monday, January 10, 2011

Raleigh, NC, U.S.A.

An Englishwoman in England

If there’s anything I’ve learned from this trip, it is that you can never fully understand or appreciate a place until you are actually immersed in it. I have also learned that as important as it is to know where you came from and to be versed in your culture to truly call it your own, it does not define you. As humans, we are so much more complex than a label associated with a location or city. I can say that I am from England, and whoever asked me will smile and say “how cool” that is. But I am so much more than that. I am proud to be British, that is no question, but I should not and refuse to be defined by it.

I will be the first to tell you that I have learned much, much more on this trip to my “home” country than I have ever known about it before. I think age has a huge part to play in that. The last time I was in the UK I was about to go into the sixth grade. So it’s been a while. I think it takes an older and more mature mind to appreciate and absorb what a place has to give. And I learned that the extent of that giving is so beautifully deep and rich with so much more than just enjoyment if you are willing to open yourself completely to the unknown.

I still don’t really know where “home” is for me, and I’m fine with that… But I do know what I will now tell people when they ask me where in England I am from (ask and you’ll get the answer). I do know that I loved the people, history, and culture there. We are severely lacking that kind of past here; to me it seems that all we’re focusing on is the immediate future, so we don’t hesitate to tear down what once was, to replace it with something shiny and new. It’s a shame.

Home is still as elusive to me as ever, and I still think that my home is not a place, per se, but a state of being, shaped by myself and the people I love who are around me. My geographical home has become even more divided. I now find myself torn between more locations that hold a place in my heart. So did I find myself? Yes and no.

I feel a bit more credible when I fall into conversation about England, and I now have very vivid and positive images of those moments, at least for now. I am better versed in the real culture of my country, and I have actually lived in and within those boundaries. Even if it only was for a short time, that was time spent and experiences lived. Every moment was one of learning and gratitude on my part. I am so lucky to have been able to take this trip with my family, and looking back I realize how vital to my health and sanity the whole thing really was. I am also so thankful for having had this time to get to know my family better. We’ve all always been close (another thing I am so insanely lucky to have), but this adventure allowed me to bond even more deeply with them.

The ‘no’ part of not finding myself comes pretty much from that place within me that is still unfamiliar with the term “hometown”. Blank. It’s so easy for most of the people I know to site their current location as their place of origin, or one that isn’t that far away. I have been all over the place (yet again, another factor of my life that I am so so so grateful for), so I don’t quite know how to define my hometown. I’m coming to terms with that. If you ask me where I’m from, make sure you’re ready to actually have a conversation, not a one-word response. Home is wherever I make it. Maybe that’s the problem with us collectively, and it’s a systemic one: We don’t actually take the time to really talk to each other, to learn about each others’ life stories, to ask how we are actually doing.

It’s strange being a tourist in your own country. But it’s also wonderful. It makes the experience a little bit more magical, like you’re discovering something for the first time. I am an Englishwoman, in England.