off the charts

Before I came to England, I was supposed to read this "study abroad handbook," meant to prepare me for the months ahead. The crown jewel of this over-sized manual that I had to download offline (and obediently printed and inserted into my obnoxious hot pink study abroad binder) was definitely the trusty "culture shock chart": basically a line graph that was supposed to tell me when I would love life and when I would be crying and want to go home while in England.

I am currently supposed to have reached phase 3: feeling homesick, depressed, and helpless.

Right. I read lots of silly things like that. I spent countless hours trying to fathom how to pack six months worth of clothes into one suitcase. I found other Americans who had been to Chester before and emailed back and forth with them about what it would be like. I remember sprinting across campus at 4:55 one Friday afternoon for some reason that had to do with getting my visa. I Googled Chester, braced myself for the weather, and sat at my airport gate making phone calls to say goodbye to all my friends.

Back on January 2, six months in England seemed like the trip of a lifetime. I had my list of goals (which I still check up on every now and then to be quite honest) and I was, albeit terrified, ready to go. I was ready for a six month adventure.

So I arrived, bought my voltage converter so I could plug in my American laptop, began taking lots of pictures, took a historic tour of Chester, wrote letters home, skyped, and made my little temporary home of a room homey-er with pictures and letters on the walls.

And it's been some adventure. That is certainly the truth.

I'm not really sure where or when or how, though, but sometime between January 2 and April 17, it stopped being the adventure of a lifetime and just became...my life. In a really good way. I mean, I live in Chester, England. I have friends here, a church here, I know my way around here. I love it here.

I was missing home today. I was missing my best friend, and the way people talk like me, iced tea, dogwood trees, bluebonnets, the pecan court....

And then it occurred to me that in three months time I'm going to be missing hot tea...people who don't talk like me...daffodils...the city centre...the weird library where no one even bothers trying to be quiet...my daily tuna sandwich in the Rigg canteen...all the little English things that make England, England.

It's not that this isn't a fantastic adventure, it's just that at some point it stopped being a trip and just became normal life. Pounds instead of dollars, walking instead of cars, colour instead of color, sundresses with tights and tennis shoes and a jacket rather than just sundresses, it's all normal to me now. I live in England. I like my tea with milk and one small spoonful of sugar, but I can drink it black, too. Have I told you how we drink tea in America? Yes, cold. Or when hot, we leave the bag in. I know, it's weird. Don't tell, but I like it yall's way better.

:)