the middle

Since I’ve been AWOL for the better part of October and now feel as if I’ve left my poor blog like a baby in a hot car, I’ll sum up the past three weeks with two words: life happens.  These past few weeks have kept me as busy as Grand Central Station at Christmas.  Also midterms.  Those happen, too.  Which is probably why writing and processing my own thoughts and happenings after so many hours spent writing and processing fancy academic things was just so not in the cards for me for awhile.  The aftermath left my mind reduced to goo.  Fortunately, my good friends Jess, Nick, Winston, and Schmidt from the hit television comedy series New Girl have recently brought me back from the dead with their incomparable wit and comic genius.  After a few hours spent in front of my computer with those great people, I suppose it is time to communicate with the rest of you real people.

One of the best things that happened this month was that one of my oldest and best friends on God’s green earth got to join me in London for a week.  How many people get to say that??  To put my excitement for Maddy’s arrival in perspective, I confess that I burst into tears the moment she walked through the gate at Heathrow.  And these were not pretty tears that would make Brooke Davis proud.  They were tears of the gaspy, snorty, quick-blow-your-nose variety.  (In my defense, I had just witnessed some sweet teenage boy’s reunion with his mother, and it was very moving, let me tell you.)  Long story short, that same week just so happened to be the week that everyone’s family planned a visit.  Since my parents won’t be making the trek this semester, having Maddy here during unofficial parents’ week truly could not have been better timing.  I mean she was listed as my mother on Facebook for a while in the tenth grade, back when it was cool and clever to list all your friends as your family members on Facebook.  That definitely counts for something.

Quickly sensing our week of fun was about to fly right by, Maddy and I set out to take advantage of each day and crammed in as much activity as we could manage.  We made the absolutely necessary first stop in Westminster to visit Big Ben, the London Eye, Westminster Abbey, the House of Parliament, and a series of red telephone booths.  Confession: this was my first time actually going to Big Ben since being here.  Shameful, I know.  We also didn’t realize we were standing literally right beneath it for a good five minutes until the bells started ringing.  (I think it’s time to come to grips with the fact that I am more “book smart” than “street smart.”)  Needless to say, this spot, surrounded by a few of the most well recognized landmarks in all of London, is also, in my humble opinion, one of the most captivating views in the city.

Westminster Bridge.

What’s funny is that probably 80% of the things Maddy and I did when she visited were new experiences for both of us.  We saluted the Queen’s men at the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.  We taste-tested our way through the Borough Market, one of the many delightful markets that dot the map of the city (and one of my personal favorites at that).  We wandered aimlessly through the department store of all department stores, Harrods, absolutely awestruck and trying our best to keep our eyeballs inside our heads at all times.  We even made friends with the night manager at a local convenience store who gave us free candy.  I remain unsure as to whether I should be proud or ashamed that we made candy runs so often that week that he knows each of us by name.

The Queen's Guards.  Doin' their thang.

One day while I was in class, I gave my guest her own homework.  I had her dig through my super cute and nifty London guidebook from Anthropologie (which I regret to say I had barely been using to its full potential) and pick a neighborhood for us to go explore.  And so, we hopped on the tube and ventured to an area called Shoreditch (which is pronounced more like shortage and less like shore-ditch… because in England pronouncing a word the way it’s actually spelled would be too easy).  Our intention was to find some hole-in-the-wall vintage shop we saw in the book, but instead we stumbled upon a million other things that made us want to jump up and down with glee.  Things like darling shops with window displays decorated to perfection (and a blessed sign on the door declaring, “SALE”), an indoor/outdoor marketplace, and a series of cheap and healthy restaurants that were making us drool.  We perused the shops, found a couple gems to take home, and eventually settled on a lunch place called Leon.  The food was so tasty and the atmosphere so charming that we simply had to return for Round Two just three days later.

Welcome to Shoreditch.

Nothing says "cutest dang shops" like exposed brick

All smiles for the gluten-free goodness.

In between the new things, I did get the chance to show Maddy a few of my favorite routine things, namely Hillsong Church, my regular Starbucks on High Street, and a cozy pub down the road from my dorm.  It’s like they always say: sometimes the simple things are the absolute best things.  Things like thousands of voices belting out praises to God or a warm cup of coffee on a chilly afternoon or late night pub chats over strawberry ice cream.  Nothing beats a longtime friend with whom you can simply sit and talk and be.  When you find a friend like that, hold them as tight as you can.  Remember when you were little and you got to hold your brand spankin’ new baby sister in the hospital and your mom said, “Be gentle, sweetie, don’t squeeze,” but all you really wanted to do to that sweet little baby was squeeze her tight?  Well in this case, all bets are off.  This is your permission to squeeze.  These are those rare people who have seen you at your worst and wouldn’t dare hold that against you.  They have also seen you at your best and will remind you who you are and what you are capable of when you need it most.  They are not afraid to deliver a little bit of tough love or a healthy dose of reality when needed.  These are the friendships that keep us sane.  So squeeze ‘em tight.

Sadly, the day came when I had to send Maddy on her way back to the land of the free and the home of the brave, and this left me feeling just a teensy bit homesick.  This was, after all, the exact halfway point on my big, exciting, sometimes scary semester away.  Halfway.  A bit more than halfway now, actually.  Even as I type that I think it must be a typo.  Sometimes I look at the next seven weeks and think, That’s it??  That’s all the time I have left here?  Then on other days, when I am a bit less enchanted by the glamorousness of being “abroad” and a bit more enticed by the comfortableness of being, say, in my own bed at home, I scroll through my iCal aghast, and think, That’s it??  I’m only halfway through?  Then I put down my phone and eat my own words.  “Be here now.”  Right-o, mate.  I’ll get right on that.

It’s almost as if those words transcended upon us all at the same time.  And by us I mean my group of friends here and I.  (Shameless plug that I do, indeed, have friends here besides fictional television characters.)  After all of our friends and family left and each of us had our own sad, sulky, Celine Dion “All By Myself” moment, we looked at each other with conviction and said, “It’s go time.”  (Those were actually the words spoken, yes.)  Enough with the funny business.  It is time to take advantage of time before time takes advantage of us.  After an inspiring conversation with a woman in Starbucks, who is harnessing her inner Julia Roberts and going all Eat, Pray, Love on Europe, and her London-native friend, we made a London Bucket List.  It’s a list we’ve been promising ourselves we would make for awhile.  Now that it’s actually a thing, we have no excuse but to absolutely exhaust every item on it.  That is because it really is go time, and in every sense of the word.  It’s go time with school, because now comes the actual writing papers and taking tests part we’ve all been squeezing our eyes shut to in hopes that it might go away.  It’s go time at the gym, because those gym memberships were not free and our personal trainer friend Adrian is probably hardcore judging us for being seemingly more committed to our Lulu ensembles than to the workouts themselves.  (Adrian, if you’re reading this, I am sorry for missing abs class again, and I promise I will come back.) 

Most importantly, though, it’s go time in London.  Talking to the two women in Starbucks gave us about a million and one ideas of things to do in London.  And with the vast pool of knowledge from the many different guidebooks each of us brought to London, collectively we could probably rule the world.  (Knowledge is power.  I love books.)  Yes, we live in a lovely area that has so much to offer, but there are so many more neighborhoods with so much more to offer all over London.  Way more than you can count on all of your fingers and toes.  Wouldn’t it be a pity if we missed out on them?

Fueled by newfound enthusiasm, we packed this last weekend to the gills with Bucket List items and other productive things.  For our Modern Popular Music class, Abby and I went to a blues concert at a bar in Soho called Ain’t Nothing But the Blues on Thursday night.  If you’ve ever met me, you know that “edgy” and “hipster” are not among the most commonly used adjectives to describe my persona.  So yes, we did feel a tad bit out of place.  Also, I think the guy next to me was smoking a joint.  I think.  This did not, however, keep us from having a fantastic time in a very new environment.  The singer reminded me of a Caucasian, slightly edgier female version of Little Richard.  (For those of you who are not currently enrolled in COM5105 Modern Popular Music and/or proficient in your knowledge of R&B artists of the sixties, you may recognize Little Richard as the guy with wild hair who sings the Rubber Ducky song on Sesame Street.)  To say this lady knew her way around an electric keyboard would be an understatement.  Yes, Abs and I were engaging in local culture and tapping our toes with the best of ‘em at the blues bar, sans drugs/tobacco. 

It doesn’t hurt that the weather has been uncharacteristically glorious this week.  The sun shined so bright and the air was so full of fall that it would be a crime not to spend as much time outside as possible.  On Friday, we went back to the Borough Market, because nothing says “October” like an outdoor market and freshly baked apple crisp.  On Saturday, we took the tube to a sweet little suburb called Hampstead and wandered through Hampstead Heath.  Hampstead Heath is a huge nature area that makes you feel like you’re deep in the English countryside when in reality you’re only about forty-five minutes outside of Central London.  The Heath was the most perfect fix for our autumn appetites.  The winding paths take you through hills and valleys, near ponds and trees, and (the best part) to a vast overlooking field that presents the most stunning view of the town, sprinkled with colorful treetops.  Not even a spendy, trendy DSLR camera can do this view justice.  I think I said, “You guys, this is SO beautiful,” approximately eighteen times in the time we were there.

October and London markets make a great pair.

Hampstead Heath.  Doesn't this just scream Pride & Prejudice?

The next morning, we set our alarm clocks early again and took a trip to Vauxhall City Farm for Halloween Opening Day.  We were told this is the closest thing we’ll get to a pumpkin patch experience here in London.  There weren’t really any pumpkins, but there were babies and animals and baby animals, so we were happy.  I got up close and personal with an alpaca, and I also saw a rabbit that rivaled the size of my dog.  Deciding we had made enough farmyard friends for the day, we strolled along the Thames River from Vauxhall toward the London Eye, where we had a nice lunch before heading back to Kensington.  Riding high on a successful weekend and feeling rather ambitious, Abby and I went home and booked a trip to Ireland!  Just another day in the life, huh?  In other news, I had a chocolate chip cookie that changed my life.  I’d chock that up to a successful day. 

Man of the coop.

In another life, this guy would have made a great Emperor Kuzco.

This miniature pony is riding high at the top of my Christmas List.

Oh, London, could I ever be finished with you?  Even if I spent a lifetime here, I doubt I would ever say I did all there was to do, saw all there was to see, and went everywhere there was to go.  Having lived here for weeks now, I’ve become quite accustomed to the city, but it somehow still feels just as new as when we first became acquainted.  I’m still uncovering new places and learning the ropes, and I think I still will be up until the day I leave.  London’s like this.  Right when you think you’ve got her all figured out, she does something to surprise you.  She refuses to be put in a box and she never fails to throw something new at you when you least expect it.  A new restaurant when you thought all the good food was too expensive.  A new view that leaves you speechless just when you thought the city was just tall buildings and busy streets.  A new experience when you so ignorantly thought you’d done it all.  This general understanding that you will never figure London out keeps you on your feet.  And it keeps you hungry for more.

I am over halfway done with my semester abroad.  Eight weeks down, seven more to go.  And you know what I’ve learned these past few weeks?  I have only scratched the surface.  They say when you’re in the middle of something rarely do you truly understand the magnitude of it.  Or, in another sense, rarely do you understand that it is truly a blip on the radar of life.  So here I sit, in the middle, and I think I can finally say I am starting to understand that concept.  There is so much more to be done here.  And if the past three weeks have taught me anything, it is to start now, do it now, and do it all.

be here now

So.  I haven’t really done anything particularly noteworthy in the past week.  Shocker, huh?  With the exception of my beloved Vikings coming to town and gracing us all with a victory (and all the fans in purple and gold slept with smiles across our “Minnesota Nice” faces), this week has been as nonchalant and nondescript as a pair of loafers.  I walked.  I talked.  I ate.  I slept.  Ta-da.

That is not to say, however, that my mind was not the typical buzzing beehive of thoughts that I know it to be.  On the contrary, this in-betweener week of catching my breath after Paris and gearing up for a long weekend in Italy has had my brain working overtime.  So since I don’t have much to report on what’s been going on in the world around me, I’ll give you a peek at what’s been going on in the world within me.

I don’t know about you, but when life slows down for a minute, it’s as if my brain feels the need to pick up the slack.  Not just pick up the slack… more like grab the baton and sprint the final leg of the 4x100m relay.  It’s as if there’s a little person inside my brain who takes a look around, notices there’s not a whole lot going on, then proceeds to throw a house party and fill my brain with a hundred new guests to jump on my couches and break my family heirlooms.  Things to think about, you know?

One of those things would be school.  For those who aren’t aware, the world of academia in England is run far differently than it is in the States.  At home, I am used to a grading system broken down into numerous assessment categories.  Like any normal student, I’ve always seen homework and quizzes as a necessary evil.  You know that phrase, “You never know what you have until it’s gone”?  Well I sure do, and all I can say is never again will I resent that portion of my grade.  I have tasted and seen a course grade that is divided in half.  HALF.  An entire semester rides on one 3000-word paper and one two-hour final exam.  And here’s the catch: they still assign homework.  And they still expect it to be done, lest your grade suffer.  Even though there is not a homework category.  There’s a British word for this theory; it starts with a “B” and rhymes with “frolics.” 

  

So there’s that.  Those 13,000 words and eight hours of testing on goodness knows what.  They hang over my head, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.  Eventually the day will come when I actually must do these things, and that is perhaps the worst part.  Eventually.  Not now, but in the future.  And in the present all I can really manage to do as of late is worry about them.  And about anything else I can come up with.

William Shakespeare (only fitting to quote him while writing from his homeland) once coined a phrase for this phenomenon.  More than that, he wrote an entire comedy on it (the operative word being “comedy”).  Much ado about nothing.  Loosely translated, this saying refers to a whole lot of freaking out over something that really doesn’t matter one bit in the grand scheme of things.  It happens to the best of us, really.  We stare at the present, fail to see a solution, the wheels fall off, and sometimes we burst into tears over not having a plastic folder.  That happened to a friend once.

Here’s what I mean.  All too often throughout this week, I have found myself using silly amounts of mental energy on things other than the present moment.  When I find myself with free time, I am constantly making a mental checklist of all the things I need to accomplish in the next few days.  As I go down the list, the items never fail to trip me up.  I start to freak out about my lack of progress on papers due at the end of the semester (which, yes, is an area of valid concern, but should not be awarded nearly as much apprehension as I’ve been giving it) and then I freak out about not knowing where to even begin.  And after all this emotional energy’s been spent I look down and realize that all I have to show for my efforts is a vacant Word Doc and a blinking cursor. 

When I’m not worrying about school, I’m worrying about money and how much it costs to even breathe in London.  Every time I swipe my card and work out a rough pounds-to-dollars conversion in my head, I cringe.  Then make mental notes as to how on earth I will ever survive at this rate.  (Is pick-pocketing inherently frowned upon as a practice?  Asking for a friend.)  I really am being frugal.  Honest.  Even ask my dad. His eyes are on my bank account like white on rice.  Nonetheless, I face the greatest woe of every study abroad student: money running from my wallet as if it’s the nose of a sick kid with a sinus infection.  Terrible visual, but I think you catch my drift.

I’m not always worrying though.  (Really, I’m quite fun, I promise.)  Sometimes I’m wishing.  Especially when I see things in London that launch me into a spell of nostalgia.  I’ll be strolling through Hyde Park with great friends on a beautiful fall day, and then something about the crisp fall air will have me craving September in Minnesota, sipping coffee with my mom in Adirondack chairs outside by the fire pit.  I’ll pass a Christmas display, and instantly I’m imagining the elation I will feel when I’m reunited with the people I love come December.  (And yes, you heard right.  It is October 1^st and the British have already begun to deck the halls.  Too soon.)  I’ll grab a tray in the caf, frown at the poor excuse for a meal, and quickly find myself wishing for my mom’s cooking.  I’ll chat with friends and family from home and find myself counting down the days until I can talk to them face-to-face.  I’ll be wishing I was elsewhere, completely unconscious of the magical place that surrounds me at present. 

It’s absurd when you consider it.  How do we so easily disregard what is here and now for things past or future or thousands of miles away?  Because we choose to.  No matter how often we tell ourselves we can multitask, the human mind can hold only one thought at a time.  Just one.  It can be about anything in the world, but there can only be one. 

It will work out, the future.  It really will.  It has to.  I’ve been assured by someone who never breaks His promises that it will.  These impending moments, these scary future things that I don’t know how to handle right now, will come along in time.  And at that time, I will have what I need to get through them.  And once they’ve come to pass, I’ll probably smile and look around for a second and think, “Well that wasn’t so bad after all.” 

But that’s the crux of it.  Moments come to pass.  The good, the bad, and the ugly: they do not last forever.  They are gone within the bat of an eye or the snap of a finger.  Sometimes we spend those moments tangled up in our own worries, wishes, and wonderings, and we miss out on the present that’s right here before our very eyes.  I know for a fact that when December rolls around I won’t want to leave this place.  Sure, I’ll be thrilled to return to all that I love about home, but I’ll be just as sad to say goodbye to all that I love about this home-away-from-home.  While right now I feel like I have all the time in the world to enjoy London, the realization that this time will come to a stop is daunting.  I am nearly a third of the way through my time here, and even as I type that I can hardly believe it is true. 

The other day I stumbled across a simple phrase, a mantra, if you will.  And like any intelligent twenty-something girl I decided to make it my mantra.  At least until I find a new one.  This one is for real, though, because I made it my lock screen on my iPhone.  I mean business.  “Be here now,” it reads.  Short.  Simple.  Profound. 

It means, “Your Twitter feed has not changed in the last sixty seconds, but this conversation with these friends around this table in this café will.”

It means, “You’re fine on time, but look up now before you miss the way the sunlight peeks over that lovely brick flat with the red window boxes.”

It means, “I know you want to text your friend at home about this, but save it for later because the sun is shining and we're going on a bike ride in Hyde Park.”

It means, "I know you have a million things to do, but cool your jets.  Now is the time to spare thirty minutes for One Direction music videos, because boy bands are good for the soul."

It means, “Yes, your tweet was oh so witty and we’re all loling, really, but the cute waiter would like to know what you’d like for lunch now, please.”

It means, “While your mother is a wise and gracious listener, perhaps you might grab your Bible and your journal instead.”

It means, “Don’t blink.  You may never know what magical thing is in store for you right in this very moment.”