Though this won’t be my final blog post, it is my first one written while being back in the United States. In recent months, the writer within me—who sits at a desk that is covered in post-it notes, half-empty coffees gone cold, and pages of unfinished thoughts—has only wanted to stare off into the distance. Ironically, that distance has been me. While many variables combined have created the perfect situation for some high-quality introspection, my instinct always has been to document the maelstrom of thoughts that run through my mind in large volumes. At first, this took place as fiction, then I turned to poetry, but as of late nothing else seems quite right to write except for my own life. I do value introspection highly, but never before have I felt inclined to share so much of my life with any other living soul, so count yourself among the lucky few, dear reader. It feels entirely wrong to do so, but at the same time, it seems like such an extraordinary waste to keep it to myself.
It is presumptuous to assume anyone is even reading this, which I think makes it easier to write when my audience is more of an apparition than actuality.
All of that to say, however, that part of my process is writing random bits here and there, and that ultimately these blog posts become Jess's monster, one big body (paragraph) built of many different parts. This will likely be a mixture of things because returning to the United States has, emotionally, been a mixture of things.
Written 12.26.19, in reflection on 11.28.19
I was pondering my trip to London today, particularly the day that Lindsay and I saw Phantom of the Opera. That day has such a glimmering quality in my memory. We were both giddy on anticipation for the theatre, and we were all dressed up as we walked arm in arm, our music split between us in our knockoff AirPods. It was one of those powerful days where nothing could really go wrong if it tried. As we sat in the theatre, drinking overpriced Prosecco and basking in the sophisticated and somehow imposter-ish feeling of being in an ornate theatre in London, I could feel a strange sort of shifting around me, like everything was changing and undoing and becoming all at once. I was realizing, I think, that nothing would ever be quite like this moment again. I would never be in London, with Lindsay, on the cusp of everything ever again.
Between the theatre and the DLR, as we trotted through the city at London speed, the crisp air and bustle of a populace that is always up to something, I kept getting hints of it. Catching my unquenchable joy in the reflections of the windows we passed, my full moon cheeks aglow with my smile. Our reflection showed Lindsay facing what was next resolutely, while I looked into the present and attempted to hold it there in my mind.
On the DLR, as we watched the city shift from old to new and back, black water glittering with nightlife, side by side as the present flew past us, I was filled with some inexplicable settling within my chest. It was a sudden and rapid, heavy but not in an unpleasant way. It was just a falling in love, or a re-falling in love, with my life, and with the present, and the past that had somehow led me right up to the brink of what was to come. Lindsay, on this evening, paid me one of the loveliest compliments I think I've ever received.
"You've taught me to see so much beauty in the world that I never saw before,", she told me as we looked out over the diamond cut cityscape.
Such a simple, perfect day.
I think I was settling into the knowing that the near and inevitable future would not be easy. That I would come home and feel the initial surge of excitement over what my heart had missed for these months, but that a hollow and aimless feeling I am so accustomed to would creep in around the edges. I would feel the siren call of the city in the soles of my feet. Knowing that feeling would come, I still pushed my heart into the hands of those I loved, even though trusting people who have the power to hurt me has gotten me before, and would again. Because others have taught me that there is no point in bottling yourself up and pretending to be someone you’re not. My soul, in all it's wild and whimsy, will always be spilling over, and why not free it.
I feel that my time abroad was a transformative experience, I just don't quite know how to sum up what changed. I feel different, not in the way that I expected. London, sleek, elegant, historic, magical London left its mark on me in a new way. I saw so many real aspects of it, the hidden places that aren’t the ‘London’ that we imagine.
It all began with me accepting that my depression was too much for me to carry alone, which didn't magically solve my depression, but when I say that it felt like a fifty-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders, I am not even kidding. Dealing with the scope of my complex and often confusing chemical imbalances and how they manifest in my every day, well that was a whole other beast. I am still on that path, and will always be. Sometimes I don't feel like getting out of bed, sometimes I feel nothing at all, sometimes everything all at once.
I stepped through a looking glass and into Ireland, where I met a cute stranger, and things immediately fell into place and then promptly apart again. In London, I moved in and became very close with two very lovely and wise Norwegian ladies, and I found my feisty personality doppelganger from Iowa, and nothing ever really went according to plan, or exactly as I imagined, but it was right, and it was one of the best semesters I've ever had. The last week was one of the most bittersweet moments of my life. As we wandered around the flat, we all felt a bit lost. I don't think any of us were quite capable of figuring out how to transition to not seeing each other every day. We ate most of our meals together, sometimes in companionable silence, just to be near each other. Lindsay essentially just moved the rest of the way in. On our final evening together, we had the last supper, and then we had our own small Christmas. When all the gifts had been exchanged, and the dinner tidied up, we dragged their beds into my room and had a very large slumber party.
On the way to the airport in the morning, as the four of us struggled to carry two people's worth of luggage from flat to bus to tube, we laughed to push back tears. At the airport, tissues were passed out, goodbyes were attempted, final words were choked on, and then we parted. Just like that, it was over. I felt a bit numb as I moved through the airport, alone. A full heart is a heavy burden to bear. All I could think as I sat on the plane as we taxied was, 'I feel very lucky, to have met such amazing people'.
As every mile between myself and London increased, I took deep, calming breaths, feeling a bit lost and very found, and every glance out of the window reminded me that life is magical and that castles seen from the sky are magical and oceans of clouds are magical, I really couldn't seem to do much else aside from sit in awe of what I had experienced in the past three and a half months.
It sounds like an exaggeration, or too good to be true. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of mistakes, screw-ups, awkward times (did I tell you about how I fell down some castle steps, or completely forgot my ID the one time I tried to get into a club? Not me at my best, but me all the same).
But, those were all the pinches for the moments that often felt like dreams.
I learned a lot about my own mind, which I couldn't have done without the wildly intelligent, kind, and intriguing people that I met along the way. I learned a lot about the world too, and about how I interact with it. I learned a lot about kindness and the Universe. I learned valuable lessons about confrontation, which were stressful, and upsetting, and so very necessary. I learned a lot of Norwegian words, which I was not expecting. What I did not learn a lot about, was creative writing, at least not in the academic sense. Actively writing did teach me endlessly though.
Just a few nights ago, I saw a shooting star in a sea of other celestial bodies. I have gotten to play with my chickens on the farm, and with our baby cow, who is very hungry all the time because he is a growing boy, and with our baby goats, who are absurdly tiny and very vocal. Also, since I arrived at home, our cat, Tabitha, a proper aloof feline in all regards, has decided that she thoroughly enjoys my company, and will often stretch herself out on the floor next to me for rubs. This is a very large win because she is an adorable, fickle creature.
Now, as a new year looms before me, although 'looms' isn't the correct word, because looms sounds scary, and while change is nerve-wracking, I have so much to look forward to, as I keep reminding myself, and so much to look back on. So, as the future dawns before me, I feel apprehension, of course, but also great powerful hope and excitement, because there is so much unexpected goodness stored there. I know that it is not always sunshine and even if it were, that I cast my own shadows. Yet here I am, showing my shadows that if I dance, then so must they.
Until the next time, or perhaps, until next year,
P.S. I’ve decided to grow my bangs out. If getting bangs signifies a mental break, does growing them out mean I’m starting to figure things out?
