abigailblog

August 31, 2026

Final Draft — Project 2 — Zuihitsu

A bit of Everything by Abigail Mullin

Instructions

One 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.

Exploration

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 down High Street 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 or the left, so I ventured elsewhere. I began to favor the University Park trails and quieter residential roads.

At FYSA, 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.

Woof Woof

A Dog lying on a Ledge by an unknown Genoese artist; the work is housed in the Ashmolean Museum

There is something special about the ordinary. I know this truth most deeply when 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 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

My extremely average dog Puddle. My mom sent this to me while at Oxford.

Messages

This photo is taken at the Ashmolean Museum, part of their Roman cooking display. Visitors were invited to leave recipes inspired by the exhibit, and many people chose to just leave kind messages to strangers.

You must be on a deliberate lookout for the wonder in the world. This exhibit allowed viewers 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. Sharing gratitude for others most obviously benefits the person being appreciated, but it also positively impacts the happiness of the one doing the recognizing. My day was positively impacted by the silly depiction of Remy from Ratatouille and the note from the prior Georgia Tech summer cohort wishing me “a fabulous day”. I can only assume their days were improved by doing a kind thing. If not, why would anyone choose to spend their precious time and energy in this manner?

Toes

This pigeon was seen on the front steps of the Ashmolean Museum.

I struggle to accept that I have limited control over my 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 intricate stone carvings than I could fully appreciate in this lifetime, but it still has pigeons. These small pests remind me that this is not actually a storybook. Just like pigeons everywhere else, these pigeons steal food and poop on heads. They are a virtually ubiquitous annoyance of urban life, but when I see one without a toe, my day momentarily halts. An hour ago, I wished its species would cease to exist. In a moment, it becomes a poor thing that I could never wish to harm, even in the direst of circumstances. Suddenly, the most wonderful building I have ever laid eyes on disappears into oblivion because of a toeless pigeon.

Slice of Memory

The Pizza Express Double American Cheese pizza I devoured last Friday night transported me to Lexington, Virginia.

I got into Georgia Tech on Friday, March 27^th at 7:00 PM. It was the last school of my schools to release decisions. I had known for months that if I got in, I would go. When I saw the virtual confetti, I was hundreds of miles 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 six hours to Lexington. My parents are Washington and Lee alumni. I know I could have been happy and successful at Washington and Lee, but it felt like the safe option. I craved my own path.

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 pepperoni pizza, earily similarly one I had this past week. Walking back to Mansfield, I was overwhelmed with sentimentality. The warmth of the Pizza emanating through the box felt eerily familiar, except now I am a RAT.

Swimming

“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.

Best Intentions

Distance is hard. Not Delivered.

Dino

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.

Regan(on the left) and I(on the right) before senior prom.

Butterfly Effect

These are the photos I brought from home to hang up in Mansfield. Up to this point, our lives have been utterly interwoven.

Sean

It had been weeks since I had talked to my mom. Arriving at Oxford and properly starting college classes had swept me away. I had not been deliberately dodging her calls; they were genuinely coming at inconvenient moments during class or in the very middle of community dinner. I began to feel more guilty as each missed call accumulated. Counterproductively, with each day I did not reach out, doing so felt infinitely more difficult.

It was rapidly becoming quite late. I still had not read half the textbook readings for my HTS midterm exam the next day. My phone rang. It is my mom. I realized that for the first time in my life, she had no idea that I have a rapidly approaching midterm. In that moment, my urge to procrastinate overcame my guilt and embarrassment and I picked up the call.

Hey, what do I owe this pleasure?

I’m just in the car with your brother; we were just wondering how you were doing

I’m good. I’d be better if I didn’t have a midterm tomorrow

If you need to study, we can call later

No, I’d like a break anyhow

I’m sure you would, if you insist

As we began to talk, it felt easy and normal. I couldn’t believe that I had been avoiding this.

What’s new at home?

Sean started high school this week. I’m taking him home from school basketball practice now, actually.

I froze. I was flabbergasted. I had forgotten my little brother’s first day of high school. I realized that without the family dinners and driving him to sports practices, I had fallen out of the loop. I had no idea what friends were in his classes or even which teacher he had. This is the first year we haven’t taken our first day of school picture together.

For much of our lives, four years felt like an eternity apart. We struggled to relate to one another, but this spring marked a notable shift in our relationship. Every year during spring break, our family took a trip together, but last spring my dad became quite ill. He spent several weeks in the hospital, and most of that time, my mom stayed with him. Sean and I were living in our own sort of universe. Our relationship was not only smooth sailing during this time. Stress was high, and we had some diabolical fights, but this was the most time we had ever spent together. When the time for our family vacation rolled around, we asked if just the two of us could go. My parents agreed. Walking into the airport next to Sean, there was a noticeable change in our relationship.

¹ Mullin, Brooke. Personal Interview. Conducted by Abigail Mullin, 28 August 2026

Punts

Watching the punting groups is quite entertaining. As I peer over from the garden, I observe two boats that have run into each other and are now creating a traffic jam for a third punt. Two weeks ago, I don’t believe that I would have taken any interest in the success (or failure) of punting groups of strangers, but now I am absolutely enthralled in the struggles and eventual triumph. Having attempted to punt, I am curious to see others do it. Does their experience look similar to mine? This punt collision occurred at the exact same spot that I accidentally made my boat do a 360 degree spin a few weeks prior. There must be something in the water at that point. I began to smile as I watched the three groups get their punts untangled. Its is almost as if I in the boat again.

Still Moment

The wind gently bends the flowers on the lily pads. The flowers eventually return to their original position. I find lily pads beautiful because they represent a certain balance. They float on the water and grow in delightfully organic patterns. There is nothing about a lily pad that appears rigid. I am keenly aware of this last fact as I sit in the botanical gardens preoccupied by thoughts of my rapidly approaching history midterm. The anxiety makes me feel rigid and jittery. I am perfectly juxtaposed with the lily pads in this way. I was disappointed that my visit to the garden was happening before my assessment. I wanted to properly enjoy the experience, but perhaps it was a hidden blessing. I knew I was nervous about the essay, but sitting in the garden forced me to reconcile how the experience made my body feel. Being surrounded by beauty and serenity drew my attention to the way I sat like a pretzel with my feet shaking. I recalled how that morning I had a suspicious lack of appetite.

Lilly pads at the Oxford Botanical Gardens

Bus Ride

The countryside flashes by. The rolling hills that should be green are toast brown from lack of water. Despite the drought conditions of the past months, it has been raining today. This fact would often be a source of annoyance for me, but I know how the land and its people have been yearning for this rain. I am grateful. The scenery changes as we approach London. The fields are beginning to be replaced by offices and apartments, but it is raining here too. The increase of traffic around the metropolitan area slows down our pace. This place is so foreign. I have not quite fully adjusted to watching cars race down the left side of roads. Simultaneously, I observe many familiar sights. The Krispy Kreme, Urban Outfitters, Chipotle, and Whole Foods look just like the ones I see out my car window in Pennsylvania. Being on this bus is a reminder of what is to come. It amazes me that three of our six weeks in Oxford have ended. Six weeks sounded like an eternity, but I am quickly learning that it is only a sliver of time. I am excited for what is to come, but now I am left wondering if I will feel ready to depart Oxford when the day comes.
August 28, 2026

Draft 5 — Zuihitsu
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

My extremely average dog Puddle. My mom sent this to me while at Oxford.

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 27^th 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.

These are the photos I brought from home to hang up in Mansfield. Up to this point, our lives have been utterly interwoven.

It had been weeks since I had talked to my mom. Arriving at Oxford and properly starting college classes had swept me away. I had not been deliberately dodging her calls; they were genuinely coming at inconvenient moments during class or in the very middle of community dinner. I began to feel more guilty as each missed call accumulated. Counterproductively, with each day I did not reach out, doing so felt infinitely more difficult.

It was rapidly becoming quite late. I still had not read half the textbook readings for my HTS midterm exam the next day. My phone rang. It is my mom. I realized that for the first time in my life, she had no idea that I have a rapidly approaching midterm. In that moment, my urge to procrastinate overcame my guilt and embarrassment and I picked up the call.

Hey, what do I owe this pleasure?

I’m just in the car with your brother; we were just wondering how you were doing

I’m good. I’d be better if I didn’t have a midterm tomorrow

If you need to study, we can call later

No, I’d like a break anyhow

I’m sure you would, if you insist

As we began to talk, it felt easy and normal. I couldn’t believe that I had been avoiding this.

What’s new at home?

Sean started high school this week. I’m taking him home from school basketball practice now, actually.

I froze. I was flabbergasted. I had forgotten my little brother’s first day of high school. I realized that without the family dinners and driving him to sports practices, I had fallen out of the loop. I had no idea what friends were in his classes or even which teacher he had. This is the first year we haven’t taken our first day of school picture together.

For much of our lives, four years felt like an eternity apart. We struggled to relate to one another, but this spring marked a notable shift in our relationship. Every year during spring break, our family took a trip together, but last spring my dad became quite ill. He spent several weeks in the hospital, and most of that time, my mom stayed with him. Sean and I were living in our own sort of universe. Our relationship was not only smooth sailing during this time. Stress was high, and we had some diabolical fights, but this was the most time we had ever spent together. When the time for our family vacation rolled around, we asked if just the two of us could go. My parents agreed. Walking into the airport next to Sean, there was a noticeable change in our relationship.

¹ Mullin, Brooke. Personal Interview. Conducted by Abigail Mullin, 28 August 2026
August 27, 2026

Draft 4 — Zuihitsu
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

My extremely average dog Puddle. My mom sent this to me while at Oxford.

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 27^th 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.

These are the photos I brought from home to hang up in Mansfield. Up to this point, our lives have been utterly interwoven.
August 25, 2026

Draft 3 — Zuihitsu
Instructions

With my time abroad, I want to see one new thing every day. This ambition does not feel too daunting while ensuring that I make the most of this precious experience. This desire to maximize my time makes me reconsider how I have potentially squandered massive amounts of time while at home. Almost equally important, I want to write. It is one thing to have experiences, but much of the value comes from how you remember and the memory. I want to protect these experiences from the effects of time. Lastly, I want to explore as much as possible on my own feet: run and walk.

I have run about sixty-five miles since arriving in Oxford. Because Oxford is only about 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 have to be on a deliberate lookout for the wonder in the world. This exhibit gave viewers the opportunity to be active participants to craft their 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. It 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 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 and steal your food and poop on heads. They are almost universally an annoyance of urban life, but when you see one without a toe your day stops for a minute. The same creature an hour ago you wished would cease to exist becomes a poor thing you would not wish hard to in the direst of circumstances. In a moment, the most wonderful building you have ever laid eyes on disappears into nothing because of a little 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.
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 27^th 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.
August 24, 2026

Draft 2 — Zuihitsu
Instructions

With my time abroad, I want to see one new thing every day. This ambition does not feel too daunting while ensuring that I make the most of this precious experience. This desire to maximize my time makes me reconsider how I have potentially squandered massive amounts of time while at home. Almost equally important, I want to write. It is one thing to have experiences, but much of the value comes from how you remember and the memory. I want to protect these experiences from the effects of time. Lastly, I want to explore as much as possible on my own feet: run and walk.

I have run about sixty-five miles since arriving in Oxford. Because Oxford is only about 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 house broken and walk politely on a lead is plenty. A dog’s darling face, still but for the slight movement of each breadth, as he lays in absolute peace on the sofa is a beautiful site. 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 have to be on a deliberate lookout for the wonder in the world. This exhibit gave viewers the opportunity to be active participants to craft their 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. It 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 emptions. 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 appreciate in this lifetime, but it still has pigeons. These small pests remind you that this is not actually a story book. Just like pigeons everywhere else, these pigeons try and steal your food and poop on heads. They are almost universally an annoyance of urban life, but when you see one without a toe your day stops for a minute. The same creature an hour ago you wished would cease to exist becomes a poor thing you would not wish hard to in the direst of circumstances. In a moment, the most wonderful building you have ever laid eyes on disappears into nothing because of a little 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.
August 24, 2026

Reading Response: Lopate

I found Lopate’s reminder than one’s reader does not have the same context for who you are to be a valuable reminder. It seems obvious that a person you may have never met would not have the necessary context to intuitively know about the intimate or relevant details of your life, but at times I feel so wrapped up in the experience of being me that this truth can be easily forgotten. Furthermore, Lopate emphasized the importance of pushing through the inevitable discomfort that comes with personal writing. You must avoid the tendency to over glamorize yourself but avoiding excessive demonization is equally important. This balance requires honest introspection that deters many from this type of writing. You are required to recognize that you have many flaws and be willing to explore these shortcomings.

I plan to integrate this advice into my own writing by finding ways to include personal details in my writing. Lopate explained that details as trivial where you grew up or what your family situation was like can be important details to cultivate a relationship with readers. It is these types of descriptors that I most frequently exclude because they feel irrelevant or because I plainly forgot someone may not already know them about me.
August 22, 2026

Draft 1 — Zuihitsu

With my time abroad, I want to see one new thing every day. This ambition does not feel too daunting while ensuring that I make the most of this precious experience. This desire to maximize my time makes me reconsider how I have potentially squandered massive amounts of time while at home. Almost equally important, I want to write. It is one thing to have experiences, but much of the value comes from how you remember and the memory. I want to protect these experiences from the effects of time. Lastly, I want to explore as much as possible on my own feet: run and walk.

I have run about sixty-five miles since arriving in Oxford. Because Oxford is only about 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.
August 20, 2026

Draft 2: Instructions

With my time abroad, I want to see one new thing every day. This ambition does not feel too daunting while ensuring that I make the most of this precious experience. This desire to maximize my time makes me reconsider how I have potentially squandered massive amounts of time while at home. Almost equally important, I want to write. It is one thing to have experiences, but much of the value comes from how you remember them. I want to protect these experiences from the effects of time. Lastly, I want to explore as much as possible on my own feet: run and walk.
August 20, 2026

Reading Response: Encountering Zuihitsu

I was most taken with fragments 89, 108, and 127. These three sections varied greatly. 89 is a short story about a man mistaking his dog for a monster, 108 prompts readers to contemplate how one should live life, and 127 is a short piece of wisdom. When taken together, these three sections encapsulate much of what I enjoyed about the Zuihitsu form. These small works vary in length, tone, and themes, but they feel cohesive in the context of “Essays in Idleness.” Together, they feel like a series of messages guiding audiences on how to live an excellent life. I appreciated how the juxtaposition between sections made the work feel perpetually fresh. Across the work, there were certainly repeating themes and motifs, but these more similar works were interspersed among the pieces. This choice also had the effect of making the work feel unified. Reading one section would make you recall a section many pages prior.

Zuihitsu feels like a natural method of capturing the study abroad experience. Being here, we are facing a massive number of unfamiliar elements including people, destinations, classes, and customs. This form is well suited to record this stage of life because it allows the author to focus on many stories and lessons simultaneously. Unlike many forms that incorporate competing trains of thought within a single work, which would create a disjointed and confused feeling, Zuihitsu is designed for this very task. Furthermore, a Zuihitsu can be built up over many days, so the final work is a holistic reflection rather than a moment.
August 18, 2026

Reading Response: Haircut

Reading Nicholas Lima’s “That Good Haircut Feeling,” I was most intrigued by the sections that compared Michael’s barber shop to the one Nicholas frequents in Deer Park, Ohio. I enjoyed the juxtaposition between the mundane practice of getting a haircut and the profound culture-bridging interaction with Michael. One technique the author used to capture audiences was to incorporate dialogue. This choice provided an intimate view of the experience and makes readers invested in the experiences of characters. Integrating dialog between Michael and Nicholas during the haircut grabbed my focus and made me more receptive to the last third of the work, which explored how this one simple haircut forced the protagonist to audit his motivations, desires, and outlook. Writing this piece was an act of self-discovery for the author. Nicholas uncovered the importance of having a strong sense of purpose to underpin one’s ambitions. This meaning is what enables a person to be resilient in the face of hardship. Reading this essay, I discovered the power of seemingly minute moments. It is a lovely reminder to remain open to what each moment has to offer.

While this piece recounted a darling moment and genuine life lessons, I found the work a bit clunky. It read more as a diary entry than a finished work. At times, an unpolished and imperfect tone can cultivate a sense of vulnerability between writer and reader, but in this case the writing took me out of the piece and dumped me back into the real world.