A part of myself certainly feels as though it has come home: with all the reading I did while growing up, part of my spirit has come to identify with this land where literature and life are seemingly actualized in a distinct and idyllic light. It is heartwarming, an awe-inciting country worthy of each and every accolade; but despite the grandeur of it all, England is grounded in reality--a reality defined to a great degree by fallen human interaction. While it has been easy to get caught up in all the hype, embracing the joy I envisioned so often before coming here, I was, through an abrupt series of events in the new Olympic Park, brought to the realization that London, England is not separate and distinct from the world, but, rather, stands as a monument for all of humanity's accomplishments and failures.
First off, a brief apology: as some may have noticed, I have been off the grid for the past week or so and this is due to a backpacking trip of sorts through southern England, of which I was a involved. In light of this trip, I wasn't able to conclude my notes on the city of London and keep everyone posted on my travels. I am currently at Oxford--St. Anne's College in particular--beginning my studies, but I hope to--immediately--complete the London addition of this blog series, and in subsequent days also write on my southern excursion as well as my arrival in Oxford. Thanks for bearing with me. And just like that, the first week draws to a close. Since my plane touched down a week ago, there has been no stopping; from site to site, I have quantitatively seen, heard, and felt more than I ever have before. To relay all my experiences and the accompanying sensations would be a vain pursuit, but, all the same, I assure you that my travel has thus far been amazing.
A part of myself certainly feels as though it has come home: with all the reading I did while growing up, part of my spirit has come to identify with this land where literature and life are seemingly actualized in a distinct and idyllic light. It is heartwarming, an awe-inciting country worthy of each and every accolade; but despite the grandeur of it all, England is grounded in reality--a reality defined to a great degree by fallen human interaction. While it has been easy to get caught up in all the hype, embracing the joy I envisioned so often before coming here, I was, through an abrupt series of events in the new Olympic Park, brought to the realization that London, England is not separate and distinct from the world, but, rather, stands as a monument for all of humanity's accomplishments and failures.
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It's been nearly been a week since I left the States, and also nearly as long since I last blogged. In the time between then and now, life has continued to fly by; with each new day, I am exposed to yet more of the England's dynamic culture, experiencing life from a different vantage and milieu moment after moment.
For the most part, my time has been spent in London. our hotel is located in the Bloomsbury District and--due to the tube passes our group has been provided with and a pair of ready feet--I have access to the entire city. Over the past week, I have been to historic sites and museums, toured cathedrals, and have attempted to blend in with the culture as best I can. Put succinctly, England has been amazing thus far; but even as I'm now attempting to describe it, I know that there is no way to adequately surmise or convey all that has happened and all that I have thought during my time in the city. I made it: after long hours of study, packing, and anticipation, I am finally walking the streets of London, basking in the history and beauty of a new milieu. As I stepped off the plane this morning (11:30 a.m. by London's time), I couldn't help but grin: for the first time, I was out of North America, experiencing something entirely new and different--and I knew that that was just the beginning.
After going through customs and reclaiming our luggage, our group was able to head promptly to our hotel, which is located right in the heart of London. Needless to say, we were all pretty tired. For some (including myself), the past thirty hours had been spent awake, anxiously preparing and failing to get some "shut eye" on the plane flight across the atlantic. Fortunately spirits were high upon arrival and we were able to keep our sleep deprivation at bay. Twenty-four hours from now I will airborne, being whisked east in route to London's Heathrow International Airport. After weeks of concentrated study and escalating anticipation, I finally stand upon the threshold of a monumental life experience; but even as my expectancy grows all the closer to actuality, so also do certain anxieties mount. As I experienced a few weeks ago when preparing for the program, the pressures of packing and pulling everything together loom oppressive between myself and the moment when I am able to rest, assuredly flying over states and waters on my way England.
There is much to be taken care of between now and tomorrow evening. Between laundry, packing, and paperwork--checking through all three multiple times to soothe every concern--I have given myself little time to actually sit down and just reflect upon my upcoming travels. Instead of basking in the excitement of the moment, I have allowed stress to take hold as I attempt to prepare myself for travel. Despite such worries, however, brief moments have granted time in which to consider England and the travels I will have therein. I have thought of all the places that I will go and all the things that I will see, but much of it still remains a mystery. I'm unsure of how things will turn out, whee I will go and who I will meet this summer; but I have continued to anticipate, becoming more cognizant of my desires and intentions for the summer. Through all my reflection and preparation, I have been confronted by one distinct question that I continue to ask myself: What am I expecting? With great urgency morning's herald proclaims the day, cutting right through the synthetic world my mind has attempted to create night after night for the past twenty years. Torn between reality and the confines of my mind, I roll over, groggily turning to see the first beams of light breaking through the slats of my apartment window. With no restraint, I throw my hand down on my cellphone--silencing the unwelcome herald though his task has already been accomplished.
As my eyes adjust to the light, the screen comes into view: 6:30 a.m. It has been a week-and-a-half since I returned back to the campus of Wheaton College and already I have slipped back into the college routine, walking the tightrope between productivity and sleep deprivation. That said, however, I have nothing to complain about. My studies and the fellowship I've had with students and professors alike have been indeed worthwhile; and as I near my time of departure for England, I don't think I could feel any more alive. Wheaton in England is officially off the ground! With a host of students and textbooks, I am now swimming in a veritable sea of intellectual invigoration. Every morning starts with waking up early for two hours of devotions and breakfast/study, which are then promptly followed by chapel and convocation--a time in which every student in the program convenes for group fellowship and edification. From that point on, it's off to hours of lectures and study. Though for most this doesn't sound like the best use of a summer break, I am flourishing. The atmosphere is concentrated, full of charged interaction amongst people and text alike.
Our group is currently on the campus of Wheaton College--my academic home--which has also proved to be interesting as our stay has coincided with a church/theology convention. Several hundred pastors and deacons from across the country have come together to meet on our campus for a time of learning and instruction, taking free time to interact in their own fellowship as well. As we have been sharing the same dining hall as them, I have had a small degree of interaction with a few of the conference-attendees here-and-there, but for the most part we have kept to ourselves. Despite some reservations, I have been able to strike-up a few short conversations, one of which caught me off guard and left me grappling with a familiar question. As I stood in line, waiting to grab some lunch between class sessions, I entered into a brief conversation with one of the individuals behind me in line, asking how she/he was enjoying the conference. After responding, the individual, discerning that I was a college student, asked me what I was doing on campus. Excitedly, I answered her/him, explaining how I was currently doing preparatory study in Romantic and Medieval Literature for a trip out to England and Oxford. It was at this point that I detected a distinct tonal change in the conversation. With a quick glance, as we both reached for different sandwich ingredients, the individual further asked, "Well, it sounds fun, but what are you gonna to do with that?" Today marks the first official day of the Wheaton in England Program. After yesterday's travels and a wonderful evening spent with my running coach and his family, I am, more than ever, ready to go. As the other twenty-nine students arrive today, we will be checking in--acquiring access to our housing assignments--and then convening later this evening for dinner and some initial remarks and notes on the program.
The past day or so has found me pouring through some of the required literature for the program--studying the medieval worldview and rereading Great Expectations, a Dickens classic. These windows into past life have left me intrigued, wondering what it would have been like for the author to have lived in the same context as there books, in the midst of the industrial revolution or dark ages. Many writers create in this fashion, taking their surroundings to documentation in a new and interesting way; but others choose to transcend time and space, moving outside their immediate context to a world beyond there own. This morning, I awoke to the news that one such writer has, as of last night, passed into that world beyond. After a long day of travel (including an eight hour bus ride and a one hour train ride), I am now safely back in my academic home: Wheaton College. It's odd to be back on campus at this point in the summer: many of the facilities are closed down and I seldom see anyone walking about campus; an eery experience for anyone used to the hustle and bustle of Wheaton campus life. Despite everything being slightly out of the norm, it still feels good to be back, typing on my computer at Sam's as I do during the academic school year.
Though I didn't have much interaction with people today (the Megabus can be the transportation equivalent of Walmart at times, if you know what I mean), I certainly had time and space to think and partake in some reasonable people-watching. Whether it was aboard the bus or while I was walking through the streets of Chicago--to catch the 3:40 train to Wheaton--I enjoyed observing the myriad of nameless faces, each with her/his own motives and objectives taking each hither and yonder to God knows where. It was during this time, as I thought about the passersby, attempting to create a sufficient backstory for each, that I began to remember and think about a book I read a few years ago. In the fictitious account of the Vietnam War The Things They Carried (Houghton Mifflin, 1990), the author, Tim O'brien, details a set of characters and--as the title blatantly alludes to--what each of them took with into the jungles of Vietnam. In doing so--correlating each character with a specific object (e.g. a photograph or knife)--O'brien was able to portray his character's emotions, dispositions, and beliefs in a way that simple dialogue and narrative couldn't. As I thought about the book, I also began to consider how, in reality, each person's humanity is constantly on display, sometimes through even the smallest or most trivial of objects. When it comes to traveling, preparation tends to be the worst part. Whether it's sorting through paperwork and financial matters or gathering every essential and delivering it into a welcoming suitcase, the pre-departure process will often times call into question whether or not the trip is proper compensation for one's efforts. Even as things begin to come together, one's mind typically runs through a gauntlet of doubts and worries, attempting to ensure that nothing is forgotten: 'Where is my passport?' 'What is the weather going to be like?' 'Did I need to get any vaccinations?' Where is my passport?' 'What is the weight restriction for luggage?' 'Will my toiletries make it through security?' 'Where in world is my passport?!' Over the past few days, I have found myself (more-or-less) asking many of the same questions and also in a similar state of apprehension--the cumulative stress being heightened by the fact that I will be away for two months.
For those of you that are unaware, I will be spending my summer in the idyllic countrysides and iconic cities of England, touring and studying with a group of twenty-nine students other students. It goes without saying that this is an opportunity of a lifetime. Not only will I be on site in a historic year--with the diamond jubilee of Queen Elizabeth and the London Olympic Games bookending my travels--but I am also being given the opportunity to study in the proverbial Mecca on english literature. After a couple weeks of preparatory work, I will be heading off to London, which will then be followed by time spent studying Romantic and Medieval Literature at Oxford--the pinnacle of academia. With all this in mind, the longevity and gravity of my forthcoming travels, I, naturally, want to make sure that I nail my preparation; I want to have everything in order, perfectly prepared for the perfect journey. To say that I've been stressed would be a gross understatement. However, Somewhere in the course of my running about, taking care of errands and closet scrounging, I found an odd form of peace. As I packed, I came to the realization that I have been prepared for this trip for a long time; and this preparation came long before I even knew that I would have this opportunity. |
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