A couple weeks ago I decided that I really wanted to go home, and that was all I could think about. Of all the places in the world, Oregon seemed the most magical to me. I was romanticizing home the way I had been England before I came here. I think the reason I was starting to want to leave was because as I traveled, the world was becoming less magical. I lived in Oregon fairly content knowing that there was so much of the world out there that I hadn’t seen and might never see, that there are billions of lives that I will never be a part of. And then I came here, and even just moving around within the UK, I started to get a little bit scared. I was living in England, the place I had wanted to go for so long, but now that I’ve gone, what next? I don’t know if I’m explaining this well, but a big part of England’s magic¹ was the unknown. I had never been there, so it possibly might not exist. But now I’m here and can definitely say it’s as much a place in the world as Oregon, only there are more important people somewhere in England, and so it’s more famous.

I know, obviously, that just because I first saw a place in a movie or a book or a picture, doesn’t mean it’s more magical than the places I’ve seen firsthand. I know. I just have a bit of a fiction complex. I romanticize things more than I let on. A little part of me believed that I might see William Wallace and his Scottish army charging across a field or Nellie raise her head above the lake’s surface, leprechauns peeking out from behind a tree or some other magical Irish thing (my fictional beliefs about Ireland are a little more vague), Sherlock and Watson (Cumberbatch and Freeman) walking across Westminster Bridge, etc., etc. Visiting these places, on the one hand, got me closer to the magic than I’d ever been, made me feel like I was actually in these stories. On the other hand, I realized that these places were just as real as Gresham, Oregon, and therefore magic in these places was about as likely.

All that to say, I wanted to go home because I was afraid of de-magicking the UK. However, a couple minutes ago, I had an epiphany, and so now I’m writing. I got a friend request from one of the English guys that had been around the whole time I’ve been here, I just hadn’t really talked to him until a couple days ago. And suddenly I wanted to stay here. I just realized that there are all these people here who I haven’t talked to yet, and who I could have been hanging out with but haven’t, and that once I go I may never see them again. Now that I’ve been to London, I’m not as worried about places I haven’t seen. It’s mostly the people. There’s all these American students I’ve become friends with, and then there’s all these English people, some of whom I’ve become friends with, some of whom I will leave behind without ever having said hi. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but these are my thoughts right now and I thought I’d share. I’ve got about three and a half weeks left, and tonight I don’t know if I’m looking forward to it or not. It’s this whole annoying part of becoming a grown-up that requires me to be moving on all the time.

On the maybe-lighter side, I went to London a couple days ago. London is the city that I couldn’t have left England without seeing, and there aren’t many of those. Anywhere in Ireland and Scotland were the other two places on my must-see list. I was a little worried of ruining London, and maybe I did a little bit, but mostly I just walked around awed that I could always see the Eye. I now associate it with the show, Sherlock, and so I kept expecting to see Sherlock and Watson (whether the characters or the actors, I’m not sure) crossing the road in front of me. Alas, I did not see them, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.

¹When I mention ‘magic’ in this post, I am referring to the sense of mystery/enchantment/adventure I get when I listen to good film soundtracks or watch/read films/books like Braveheart or The Scarlet Pimpernel. Not actual magic. Well maybe a little bit. But mostly not.

Marissa