Nine Years Ago

I remembered my tea this time, before I started writing. Green tea today, a rarity for me. I think it’s because I’ve had too many cups of burnt green tea over the years. But I boiled the kettle half way and it turned out alright.

Yesterday I had a memory pop up on the boomer social media platform, reminding me that nine years ago I had stepped into the UK for the first time. I remember my first few hours, immediately walking to Hyde Park from Paddington Station to a cafe to have a coffee and croissant. I was exhausted, unable to sleep one wink during my seven hour flight because I was too excited and nervous. But even nine years later, I have yet to hack sleeping on transatlantic flights. I was surprised at the difference in server attitudes, no friendly smiles or over-accommodating attitudes to earn extra tips here. For lunch I went to a pub a few streets over and had my first legal pint of Guinness and a croque monsieur, otherwise known as a ham and cheese toastie.  

When I arrived in Swansea, I stayed in the spare room of a retired lady in Uplands. She welcomed me to the UK and Wales, and was just as lovely in person (if not lovelier) than she was over messages in the month leading up to my arrival when I asked her lots of questions to help squash some of my anxieties - a true saint among us. The next day I had my first full English at Uplands Diner for only £5. I still don’t eat the tomato or black pudding. Two days later I found myself at Cardiff Airport flying to Paris to see another part of the world I’d only ever seen on TV. I stayed in the spare room of another stranger in Paris, a man who taught me to make lemon pepper feta on sourdough as he laughed at my Québécoise pronunciation of the French language. I could clearly see the Eiffel Tower twinkle from the Juliet balcony of the spare room and spent every evening entranced by it. I found myself feeling lonely so I used Meetup to connect with another lonely traveller. I met a doll-like woman from Ukraine in the gardens outside the Louvre where we proceeded to share stories, laugh, share snacks, and eventually climb up Sacré-Cœur where we took a picture together. I haven’t seen her since but we’re still friends on Facebook to this day.

‘How did you end up in Swansea?’, you may ask. It was very simple actually. I walked into my study abroad office at the University at Albany and told them I wanted to study in the UK but I didn’t know where. They pointed to a frame photo hung up on the wall above a filing cabinet. It was of an impossibly long coastal beach with a bright blue sky. They said, ‘How about Swansea, it’s got a beach!’. I asked no further questions and began my application. A few months later I received a letter in the post saying I’d been accepted to study on exchange at Swansea University.

In equal parts of dread and optimism, I boarded my first flight to the UK from JFK. I felt a shift inside and outside of me that day as the plane left the ground. The intangible shift is like the jolt you get when switching from one train track to another. It’s happened to me a few other times throughout my life, and each time my life has been altered in a way which cannot be explained any other way. It’s like my life is a Goosebumps novel and I’ve just flipped 10 pages ahead instead of continuing onto the next page. Neither story is necessarily wrong, just different.

Over the last nine years I’ve moved twelve times, got nine tattoos, visited seven countries, became an aunt for the second time, got engaged, lived alone through a global pandemic, got married, grew my career, spoke at five events, became a widow, ran an ultramarathon, and have built a community of friends that I’d only ever dreamed of before. In many ways, my life had been on an upward trajectory until last year. I’ve had to learn how to sit with stagnant or seemingly backwards movement as it relates to the things that people traditionally value. Your twenties are some of your hardest years and comparison is truly the thief of joy. Be true to yourself and be kind to yourself.