With my time abroad, I want to see one new thing every day: a church, a museum, a restaurant, a speaker, a street, something. This ambition feels achievable while ensuring that I make the most of this precious experience. This being here has made me hyper-aware of how I spend my days. I feel the passage of time in novel ways. See it all. Feel it all, but breathe. Reflect. It is one thing to have experiences, but much of the value comes from how you remember them. I must protect these experiences from the effects of time.
I have run about sixty-five miles since arriving in Oxford. Because Oxford is just under eighteen square miles, one might assume that I would have seen quite a lot of the city by now, but you would be mistaken. I would guess that ninety percent of my time running has been spent meandering in circles around the streets outlined above. The first few days, I deviated from this route. I wanted to explore the city. I craved the feeling that I was maximizing my time here, but running through the busy commercial areas jam-packed with tourists and locals alike proved to be severely inconvenient. I became tired of weaving through crowds, never sure whether to pass on the right of the left, so I ventured elsewhere. I began to favor park trails and quieter residential roads.
We talk endlessly about the global perspective and gaining cultural competency. We want to see the world to see every church and palace, but this small chunk of time running each day has rounded out my experience in unexpected ways. In one context, it is my escape. Alternatively, wandering around neighborhoods and parks has been an exercise in immersion. Leaving our FYSA bubble, I can experience a bite of British life. I am surrounded by moms taking their kids to the park, people commuting home from the office, and food delivery workers whizzing by on their bikes. I aspire to have one new experience every day, and recently many of those have been adding a new small section path to my existing repertoire.
There is something special about the ordinary. We all know that looking into the eyes of a dog who does not hunt or do fancy spins and leaps. Maybe to be housebroken and walk politely on a lead is plenty. A dog’s darling face, still but for the slight movement of each breath, as he lies in absolute peace on the sofa is a beautiful sight. It deserves to be remembered. Perhaps, its memory should be more fiercely protected than the likes of any hunting dog: beauty in the mundane
Sometimes you must be on a deliberate lookout for the wonder in the world. This exhibit gave viewers the opportunity to be active participants. You could craft your own experiences in addition to shaping the experience of those you have not met. There is something special about the desire to spread well wishes to those you do not and will not know. This opportunity feels tied to the practice of gratitude. The practice of sharing gratitude for others most obviously benefits the person that is being appreciated, but gratitude positively impacts the happiness of the one doing the recognizing. My day was positively impacted by reading the kind words of strangers, but I can only assume their days were improved by the act of doing a kind thing. If not, why would anyone choose to spend their precious time and energy in this manner?
We often have such limited control over our focus and emotions. You enter an experience expecting events to unfold in a particular manner, but they rarely follow the script you created. Sometimes a pigeon appears, and sometimes he is missing a toe.
The Ashmolean Museum is a sight to behold. I struggle to imagine people being able to craft a building so spectacular. The exterior has more wonderfully artistic details than I could hope to fully appreciate in this lifetime, but it still has pigeons. These small pests remind you that this is not actually a storybook. Just like pigeons everywhere else, these pigeons try to steal food and poop on heads. They are almost universally an annoyance of urban life, but when you see one without a toe, your day momentarily halts. This is the same creature that an hour ago you wished would cease to exist. In a moment, it becomes a poor thing you would not wish to harm in the direst of circumstances. Suddenly, the most wonderful building you have ever laid eyes on disappears into oblivion because of a toeless pigeon.
- Things to expand upon: I want to go back to the museum to take better pictures of the front of the museum to include in my college. I also want to go back and contribute to the notes in the exhibit and add an additional paragraph about going back to add a message of my own. + complete photo credits
The Pizza Express Double American Cheese pizza I had last Friday night transported me to Lexington Virginia.
I got into Georgia Tech on Friday March 27th at 7:00 PM. It was the last school to release their decisions, and I had known for months that if I got in, I would go. This decision was unlike any other because of the circumstances in which I opened it. I was away from friends and family in a hotel room in Lexington Virginia. I was completely alone. I had spent the day attending Washington and Lee accepted students’ day. My mom had work and my dad had gotten out of the hospital only the day before, so I packed up the car and drove myself the six hours to Lexington. Opening my letter was surreal. In an instant my plans for the next four years became crystal clear. It felt almost as if I should run down to the front desk and tell them my news, but I didn’t. Instead, I got myself a peperoni pizza, but like the one I had this past week. Walking back to Mansfield, I was overwhelmed with sentimentality. The warm of the Pizza emanating through the box felt eerily familiar except now I am a full fledge yellow jacket.
“Put your head under”
“No, I’m not ready”
That day, the summer before kindergarten, we splashed about the pool. Regan bravely submerged her head underwater while I refused. Since that day, we have taken on life as a duo. These roles as the daring one willing to put their head under and me a step behind have persisted. Regan is two days older than me. She walked across the graduation stage one person ahead of me. She signed us up for a half marathon and convinced me to start ski racing. This friendship has been the greatest blessing of my life, but leaving for Tech feels like my first truly independent pursuit since kindergarten.
Dinosaurs are Regan’s thing. In my mind, the two are virtually synonymous. Walking into the Natural History Museum, I am taken aback by a feeling of homesickness buried deeply in my stomach. This natural history museum transports me back to Pittsburgh to the Carnegie Natural History Museum. Right to the secret passage between the library and the museum, and to the endless archives Regan had special access to while working in the paleontology lab. This museum has labs and dinosaurs, but no Regan. I miss her deeply, yes, but being in this space evokes more complicated feelings. Fears that I haven’t been a good friend since leaving, a twinge of guilt that I chose to leave, and the grief that comes from leaving one chapter for the next.
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