Fighting Insecurity and Finding Home - London
I should be more excited…
That was one of the many thoughts running through my head when I stepped onto the plane at Heathrow Airport. My family was waiting in Rhode Island, my best friend was picking me up from the airport in Boston, and my boyfriend was going to be coming home with me to visit America for the first time.
But, to quote my favorite playwright, there’s the rub.
America didn’t quite feel like home anymore.
I was happy to go back. Absolutely. Undeniably. But Boston no longer held exclusive rights to being called “home.”
Home was Boston, but Home was also London. I was leaving one home to go back to another.
I felt confused and, oddly enough, a little angry. Home was supposed to be where my family was, where my heart was, where my future was.
So why did it feel like I was leaving a piece of myself behind?
The raw beauty of this city is completely unparalleled. Check out my Playing Favorites article to find out why this is my favorite photo
The Insecurities
I didn’t always feel like this, especially at the start. In fact, I had no idea how I was going to adjust to London long-term. Before I left Boston, I was already fighting insecurity. To call me a nervous wreck would be pretty accurate. I was excited, yes - couldn’t stop telling everyone I met what I was doing and where I was going.
But the insecurities were still there.
I had no idea how I was going to make London feel like home. Yes, I had been there once before, but it was only for five weeks and I spent the majority of that time in classes. On top of that, I was with other Northeastern students. We did everything together, from eating out to taking day trips.
This time, only my best friend, Rose, was coming with me. We would still be taking day trips and going on weekend tours together, but our classes were completely different.
I had no clue what to expect. The only representation of English school I had seen was House of Anubis on Nickelodeon and, somehow, I didn’t think this was going to be quite the same experience. I did, however, think everyone was going to be way smarter than me. And more put together. And more eloquent. And drink tea out of fancy teacups while discussing Shakespeare.
(That last one actually did happen.
But we drank it out of thermoses.
In our pajamas.
Because the class was at 9am and the English really can’t be bothered to function normally at that time of day.)
The insecurities continued: what if I didn’t make any friends? What if I got lost on the Tube and ended up in Iceland or something (it could totally happen...in my head)? What if I came off as too American and scared everyone away?
That last one was actually my biggest fear. I could write a whole other post about how I tried to keep my American-isms in check while also holding on to them for all they were worth.
Maybe I will.
The Reality
I didn’t scare everyone away. I did make friends. I wasn’t the dumbest person in the room just because I had a different accent.
In fact, a lot of times people would ask me to speak just to hear my voice.
Americans were a hot commodity in the drama programme.
I still stayed in touch with my family, but I was essentially on my own. There was no mom to bring me food every few weekends; I had to go to the shop and get my groceries and cook them. There was no dad to fix things for me if they ever broke; I had to go to the shop and get duct tape (because duct tape fixing everything is a universal fact). There was no doctor to automatically go see when my back started to inevitably hurt; I had to go on the Internet and make phone calls and find someone myself.
I had to be an adult. In a foreign country. With virtually nothing to fall back on.
I grew up more in three months than I had in twenty years.
My flatmates slowly became my friends, and one became a lifelong best friend to me. Rose made her own friends and, between them, we were hardly ever alone. We had people to go see shows, and parks, and exhibitions with.
I went out with my classmates, and we all got to know each other over pints at the student bar or the Spoons down the road. And I learned that there’s no stronger bond than the one that forms between two people during a horrible group project where the third member is virtually non-existent (Fran, I still love you for getting me through that).
We all spent nights at each other’s houses, and meals in each other’s kitchens, and breakdowns in each other’s rooms.
You know, uni stuff.
