Turning Point

After a five year journey of transition, integration, and ultimately settlement into UK life, I find I'm reaching a natural turning point.

I embarked upon this expat journey at 40, and the adjustment and changes have taken up so much of my energy and focus these past years, that I simply hadn't looked too far ahead.

Now I am here, in "mid" life, happily settled, and firmly "midstream". I may always exist somewhat in the "middle", embracing two cultures, two continents, arguably two languages (still having the occasional "lost in translation" moment). 

Where do I go from here? Hopefully headlong into life and making the most of my as yet undefined steps. I enjoy connecting with other expats and bloggers, and perhaps my experience so far can help another in some small way. 

As I move forward, I will continue to grow into my "midstream" mid-Atlantic life, and, fittingly, am renaming this blog to grow with me.

No longer "Home Off The Range", I am simply home.

A Return To My Blogging Roots

After a fun-filled foray into the world of the self-hosted blog, I have decided it's time to return to my original blogging roots. I harbour no regrets, as I learned a great deal and enjoyed the challenge. I am, however, seeking to simplify many areas of my life, and that includes my expat blog.

As with many expats, I have found that as I've firmly settled into life in my "new" country of residence, I am blogging less, though I'm still around.

I've packed away my other blog home, dusted off my blogger shelves, and am making myself comfortable right here, where it all started (five!) years ago.  

I look forward to reacquainting myself ... 

Officially Midstream

It’s official. After more than four years and more piles of paperwork than I care to remember…

…at long last my immigration journey has reached a happy conclusion and I am honoured to count myself…

 a (newly naturalised) British citizen!

It is hard to explain to someone who hasn’t moved country just how unsettling it can feel to be, well, unsettled. As one who long took for granted the rights and privileges of secure citizenship in the free country that I was born in, I couldn’t have imagined, understood, or appreciated my eventual life as an immigrant. Nevertheless, as challenging as this chapter has been for me, I’m sure it doesn’t compare to the many and varied immigrant stories of others, involving situations undoubtedly more complex and harrowing than mine.

As I chose to “up stakes” and cross the Atlantic to build a life with my British husband in the UK, I resolved to integrate fully and truly into the culture of my new country of residence. Of course, I also retain my culture of origin. In fact, I’m a dual national. I didn’t sacrifice an identity through the immigration process. Rather, I enhanced the one that I have. As a result, becoming a British citizen has provided me with a special sense of acceptance and belonging, and I consider it a privilege to call the UK my home.

While there is alot of practical advice I could offer to others embarking on this path, my best advice is to maintain a healthy perspective along the way. Moving somewhere new is exciting, but there are times when it is hard to adjust or difficult to cope with the absence of loved ones or the familiar. Additionally, immigration isn’t easy by design and for good reason. Patience, research, and a bit of personal organization can help.

For Americans settling in the UK, time may bring about that Mid-Atlantic feeling. Upon reflection, I now think it is better not to think of it as losing a part of yourself so much as enriching your life experience, your language, your culture, and your worldview.

I’m no longer feeling metaphorically adrift in the Mid-Atlantic, caught between two cultures. I see myself as living fully “midstream”, where things are moving — in a positive direction.

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.

In the (Royal) spirit

Suddenly, the shops are full of bunting and British flags.  Lately, it seems that most conversations in all towns and villages include the world ‘jubilee’ and reference everything from local festivities to the procession of one thousand boats up the Thames, the concert at Buckingham Palace, the Royal Garden party, and numerous other Royal events.  People are also getting excited at the prospect of a four day weekend.  Though the British seem to have perfected the art of reserve and understatement, Britain nonetheless seems to be working itself into a frenzy over a lovely, regal, 86 year old grandmother.   This is understandable when one takes in that this ‘grandmother’ is not like your grandmother or mine.  She is Queen Elizabeth II, now the second longest-reigning monarch in British history, with real prospects of soon becoming the longest ever to reign. 

Coming from America, where Presidents change every four or eight years, it is sobering to realize that the Queen has reigned through twelve Prime Ministers (beginning with Winston Churchill), six Popes, six Archbishops of Canterbury, thirty or more pet corgis, and during the time of twelve American Presidents.  While America doesn't hold many politicians in overly high esteem, recent British opinion polls are giving Her Majesty an eighty percent approval rating on average, and I have a feeling the true figure is actually much, much higher.  One can almost feel the British’ sense of pride and anticipation growing day by day. 

In these austere times, it is refreshing to have reason to celebrate.  Last year there was the Royal Wedding, this year the Queen’s Diamond jubilee, and to follow this, the Olympics. 

It has been said that the Queen instructed jubilee planners to minimize the use of any public monies in the planning of events, and to not force people to celebrate.   I don’t see evidence that much of anything surrounding this occasion is ‘forced’.  In fact, in the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen so many union jacks appearing in shops, houses, in the streets, and really everywhere.   

In short, it’s a wonderful time to be in Britain.  As an American settling into life in the UK and integrating, I cannot find anything more quintessential to British culture than this historic and once in a lifetime event.  I am honored and privileged to bear witness to this most positive piece of history. 

May we yet see her become the longest reigning monarch in British history.  

A Northern Light

Dusk.  As we usher in the Cumbrian summer, I am finding this a wondrous and beautiful time. When summer days are long, the last vestiges of daylight stubbornly clinging, no wonder poets and writers through the ages were so inspired.  Wordsworth’s ‘To A Butterfly’, and ‘I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud' (Daffodils).  Coleridge, Southey, Tennyson, Sir Walter Scott, Beatrix Potter, and so many others who referenced or made their homes in the Lake District.  I am seeing their works brought to life and it’s more magnificent to behold than in my most earnest imaginings. 

Cumbria is resplendent in all seasons and circumstances, be it rain, mist, fog, ice, gray, green, wind, or calm.  Although the sun seems a less frequent visitor, there is nothing quite like the unveiled splendor of this region once bathed in its radiance. 

Now that it stays light well past the hour in which the sun sets in my homeland state, and now that the sun rises at hours earlier than I was previously acquainted with, I am by happenstance realizing the full effect of this northern climate, much to my delight.  If summer days could last forever, I’d surely become more than a merely seasonal or obligatory morning person.  There was a time when this Kansas gal thought the midnight sun the stuff of legends.  In the fullness of summer, Cumbria isn’t far from it. 

I look forward to more magnificent sunsets over the sea followed by a long and lovely dusk. 

The vast and solemn company of clouds
Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined,
Cool into ashy wan; as Night enshrouds
The level pasture, creeping up behind
Through voiceless vales, o'er lawn and purpled hill
And hazéd mead, her mystery to fulfil.
Cows low from far-off farms; the loitering wind
Sighs in the hedge, you hear it if you will,--
Tho' all the wood, alive atop with wings
Lifting and sinking through the leafy nooks,
Seethes with the clamour of a thousand rooks.
Now every sound at length is hush'd away.
These few are sacred moments. One more Day
Drops in the shadowy gulf of bygone things.

- After Sunset, by William Allingham