I have
never tried to hide the fact that I fell head over heels in love with England
while I studied there for a year. I went in with every expectation of
geographical romance and was not disappointed. Sure, we had disagreements over
such small matters as the postal system, the practicality of grounding every
flight in the country for less than three inches of snow, and the lack of Ranch
dressing. No relationship is perfect, after all.
But for
all that, I never wanted to be anywhere else. When I think back to that wistful
first love mentioned in this post from Atoms of
Thought, my thoughts drift toward England. When I close my eyes I can still
picture the streets in Bloomsbury, and remember how cold the water in the River
Wye was that May evening that I kicked off my shoes and waded in. I can smell
the pub where I was introduced to the Eurovision Song Contest, and hear the
tired voice over the intercom in the Tube reminding us to "mind the
gap." All of the soft greens and yellows of countless sunsets in Earlham
Park blend together and I miss it so much. England will always be the place
where I learned what it meant to fall in love, in more ways than one.
When I moved to the Washington, D.C. area
earlier this summer it was with the gnawing feeling that I was settling for a
place – not settling in but settling for. I could be here, I could play
tourist for a while, but I always wished in the back of my mind that I was
somewhere else, somewhere across the Atlantic where I had left a very big part
of myself. If England was the place where I came into my own, where I was
happiest, Alexandria was the site of all my struggles to adjust to life
post-college. In a lot of ways, I think that I was resistant to liking
Alexandria – it was always supposed to be a temporary stop, a place where I
could intern for a few months, figure some things out, and then pack my bags
and head somewhere else where I could really settle down. Somewhere like London
(because it always works out that easily, right?).
Plus, life in Alexandria was hard – I was broke, lonely, and
miserable. What you might call a character-building experience. Why would I
like a place that I associated with so much unhappiness? I tried to enjoy it,
but after the Friday night I fled home to bury myself in a book because I
couldn’t muster the courage to go into a bar by myself for a concert, it just
seemed destined for failure.
Alexandria wasn’t going to be brushed off
so quickly, however. It happened slowly, imperceptibly, but I began to learn my
way around the city so that I didn’t need to rely on the annoyingly clipped
voice of my GPS or stand on the street corner in D.C. wielding a map in front
of my face. I found the Saturday morning farmers market at the Market Square. I
found a favourite (haven’t kicked the British spelling) restaurant, a favourite
coffee shop, and a favourite ice cream shop (possibly the most important of the
three). When friends came to visit I realized that I knew a lot more than I
thought I did, and I saw the city through their eyes – a place chock full of
history and sights to see, a place people
come from all over the world to visit. And I live here. But to me it had become
rent that needed to be paid and groceries that needed to be purchased.
When my internship ended and I started a
new job, I told myself that it was a second start for life here, too. I
declared one week my Try New Things Week and challenged myself to explore and
take as many opportunities as possible – an outdoor Pilates class in D.C.,
volunteering at a playground build in Alexandria, having friends over to try
new recipes, exploring a new bookstore next to a new ice cream shop (divided
loyalties now), discovering Winesday at Whole Foods (best invention ever) – and
it was wonderful. Then the real test came. Friday night again, debating with
myself whether to stay in with my book or go to a poetry slam in Alexandria, on
my own.
I went, and I have never been happier that
I didn’t let myself take the easy route. The raw emotion and energy that came
from the poets was incredible, like every word hung in the spotlight for a moment
and demanded that I listen. I left with a new sense of energy and optimism,
like part of myself that had been taking a nap all summer had finally woken up
and decided to be present. As I left the poetry slam I was admiring the lovely
historic buildings around me, lost in thoughts of how awesome the performances
I had just witnessed were. As I made my way towards the lights and sounds on
King Street, I realized that the last time I felt this good, this unbendingly
positive, was in England. It was like the words were the pieces of my life that
had been assembling for weeks, and hearing the poems was hearing the sound of
all of those pieces clicking into place. And it hit me that I actually really
love it here.
Maybe it’s the real gas lamps outside the
row houses in Old Town, or the fact that I hear so many languages while I’m
walking down King Street that I’m surprised when I hear an American accent.
Maybe it’s the view of the National Mall from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial
at night. Perhaps it’s the free Pilates classes, concerts, and art exhibitions
that I’ve been able to enjoy. Maybe it’s that my favourite Irish pub (because I
have one of those, too) is actually owned by an Irishman. It could be the
vitality of living in a city teeming with excited visitors and young people who
flock to the area to begin their professional careers. Or all of the above.
Whatever the reasons, I have fallen in love with Alexandria. Not that I’ll ever
stop loving England, but I’ve realized how important it is to love your
present, and not to take it for granted.
Author's note: The rough draft of this post was the product of both worlds. I scribbled it in the late afternoon sunshine in a park in Alexandria, reveling in a cup of tea and a scone while I waited to catch the metro into D.C. for the evening. Bliss? I think so.
