June in the Lakes

When I was a young, I used to read a lot of poetry, stories, and nursery rhymes, as children do.  A lot of those happened to be English, though I then had no concept of England.  I often imagined that the beautiful land described was some magical, enchanted place of old.  (Indeed, I wasn’t far wrong).  I used to think, if only I could transport myself there … perhaps in my untroubled dreams.  Little did I conceive of the ancient and timeless beauty of this great land, and particularly the Lake District, or that one day when I was very old (to that child’s mind) I would find myself here.

Thus the inspiration behind my little poem …

~

June in the Lakes

The land of Wordsworth’s Daffodils
enchant the landlocked child within
once a girlish dream of time
and worlds unknown
much to her chagrin
A poem read, a gentle sigh, then bed
she never knew what lay ahead
Some forty years, the nightly nod
before delight, her feet did trod
And now in wonder and in awe
her eyes, her soul, did dare to draw
The rains have paused, the sunbathed lakes, 
her heart’s desire
the mountains catch the evening light as if by fire

Mastery

I recently heard someone speaking about not letting the past become your master, but rather, your servant.  In other words, allowing your past to serve you and not permitting it to rule you.

One should not underestimate the impact that a major life change such as moving country can have.  Personally, I went through a great deal of transition as I was entering my fourth decade.  I was newly married, giving up my career and house, relocating overseas, starting over in a new place, learning to drive a different way, seeking to integrate, make new friends, and much more.

As I kept in regular touch with folks back ‘home’ through Skype, social media, and even my expat blog, I found myself focusing on the positive in my communications with others, and remaining upbeat as I regaled them with tales of my new adventures.  I believe this was in part to reassure loved ones about my choice to uproot.

While I truly have no regrets, and am generally happy and mostly settled in my new country of residence, there have been times I was tempted to dwell in the past.  No matter how good or right a life changing decision can be, there are times when closing one chapter can lead to the pitfall of self-doubt.  For example, I had previously enjoyed a long career marked with successes and promise.  I owned my own home, had a decent income, and was independent and filled with the confidence that comes naturally to those that feel at home and sure of their place.  When I met and later married the right life-partner for me, I embarked on a very new adventure, which left me less sure of my place in the world.  In crept feelings of failure after my career was over.  It took me a long time to realize that I was still defining myself by my old life, and of course I wouldn’t measure up in those terms.

I believe that one of the most empowering things an expat can do is to come up with new terms in which to define one’s self and one’s happiness.  Let go of what once was, and stop letting it haunt you or hold you back.  Don’t make apologies for where you are now.  Embrace your present, and see what you can make of it, even if it in no way resembles your past life.

Don’t be a servant to your past.  Master it, and see how it can serve you, and perhaps even others.

Wishing I Was ... Gardening (well, almost)

Spring into Summer in the Lake District is an inspired canvas of lovely yellow daffodils and buttercups, interspersed with daisies, bluebells, and all manner of flora on the trees and in fields and fells alike.  Nature’s Garden is like none other, and glorious to behold.  I’ve enjoyed many walks in the fresh country air, enlivening my senses and infusing me with joy and wonder at this beautiful corner of the world.  

Such extraordinary backdrops of beauty have no doubt inspired many a gardener, whether amateur or seasoned, to create their own masterpieces right at home.  Of course gardening can be far more than cultivating pretty arrangements of flowers and plants.  Gardens serve many potential purposes beyond landscaping such as growing fruits and vegetables, sustainable living, attracting bees (great for some, but no thank you!), natural pest repellents, herbs for food or medicine, education, and more.  For some, gardening is even said to instill peace of mind and body.  

I’ve always admired gardeners of all types, and longed for the natural knack and love of hands-in-earth.  I recall my stepmother, who is most gifted, putting me to work in her flower garden, hoping to teach and inspire.  Sadly, it didn’t take.  

I did try my hand a little with my first house.  My first tree removal (born out of necessity due to proximal hazard, I assure you) resulted in an upset beehive and indoor exile until a beekeeper could be found to remove it.  Weeding turned into flower killing, and hedge trimming turned into butchery.  Even my indoor plants suffered, save my philodendron, which I suspect is immortal.  Fast forward many years, and I’m still hiring gardeners to help.  Nothing posh, mind you, just the basics.  In my case, my lack of gardenesse goes beyond a missing ‘green thumb’.  A fear of all things creeping, crawling, biting, flying, and stinging doesn’t help.  I suppose I also didn’t help my prospects any by leaving food out for the family of rabbits that took up residence in my shrubs!  

I’ve concluded that horticulture is not for the faint hearted.  I will thus live vicariously through those who have mastered it, and continue to delight in Nature’s own garden.

Of Time and Expat Blogging

No excuses.  No apologies.  No promises.  I have simply been living my new life and have neglected my writing.   Not that said living has been the cause of said neglect.  Rather, I just haven’t bothered to write as much as I used to, and life goes on. 

Like many, I write when inspiration to do so strikes.  For some, that is more often than others, and for me it is at times sporadic. 

Now that my ‘new’ expat adventure is becoming less new, and now that I am edging closer to becoming truly settled in the UK, I even caught myself pondering:

Does an expat blog die a natural death? 

I am not going to answer this question for others, for myself, or even today.  There is no ‘one size fits all’ answer.  I suspect that if I challenge myself to write more regularly, I will still have much to say, and I have much yet to explore of expat life, as two and a half years is hardly old hat.

I write for me, for love of writing, for catharsis, for family, friends, or for anyone who wants to know.  Though I write for no specific audience, I am always happy if anything I share can make the smallest difference to another, even if by nothing more than an occasional laugh or glimmer of recognition.

And so it goes …

and so I write … 

today.  

 

That 'Mid-Atlantic' Feeling

When does an American expat living in the UK begin feeling the dissonance of being away just long enough from the mainland States to feel hopelessly out of touch with the minutiae of American life, sentiment, and in some cases friends or family, but not so deeply entrenched into British culture as to forget one is in fact and will always be an American? 

For me there was no definitive point in time, but rather a realization that has tiptoed slowly and quietly into my periphery.  Having adapted and incorporated much of the British language and culture as part of my integration into UK life, but feeling inexorably connected at heart to my Kansas roots, I wonder if given enough years abroad, I will no longer feel fully equipped to relate entirely to one or the other?

I imagine this is that ‘Mid-Atlantic’ feeling that I have heard other expats referring to. 

I am certainly not there yet, but my raft is undoubtedly starting to drift away from shore.  For the folks at ‘home’, there is no need to worry.  I don’t believe an American of my age can ever become so immersed British culture as to be mistaken for entirely British.  Ever.  After all, I’m not changing my accent (though my husband insists some of my intonations are evolving), my upbringing, my memory, or the first forty years of my life as I knew it.  I’m still me, and people who knew me before will still know and recognize me. 

What has changed are some little things.  My vocabulary is rife with British expressions and words, though I believe I revert back to Americanisms when communicating with Americans.  I use British spellings and date format (except when writing to Americans, though I’m admittedly wavering in the context of this blog which is sometimes read by people on both side of the pond).  I’m possibly a better driver than I was before, given the new challenges I faced in adapting to new roads and rules.  I queue even more automatically and politely than before.  I sometimes eat in a hybrid fashion, using my knife to coax food onto my fork as the British do, but stubbornly continuing to use my fork as a scoop of sorts rather than an (upside down from my perspective) lifting implement.  I am finding I have a broader understanding of worldwide perspectives on things.  I am increasingly having to research news out of the U.S. involving names or issues I don’t find immediately familiar.  I am better traveled than I once was.  I am used to less space and can do more with less (not a unique function of living in the UK, but unique to a Kansas gal who was used to wide open spaces).  My priorities are probably changing, but then they will anyway in this decade of my life. 

Hopefully, any changes will just make me a more well-rounded person.  I love both my roots and my new country of residence.  After two and a half years, I still have no regrets about my choice, and look forward to hopefully many more years of navigating this Mid-Atlantic feeling.