My six weeks in the U.S. were full of travel. I'd found cheap airfare from London to L.A., so I started with a week there, including visiting Disneyland with a friend who knows all the trivia about it. After a week in Palo Alto, I swung through Seattle to visit my grandma on the way to my brother's family in Boise. That's where I celebrated Christmas, along with my parents. And almost immediately afterward, I was off to Los Angeles again, joining the Stanford Band for a third trip to the Rose Bowl.
In mid-January, I returned to England for the last couple months of the visa I received under the Doctorate Extension Scheme. I have said several times that I was going home, and yet I kept putting it off. The nominal reason was that I'll probably never again have the chance to live here for months at a time, just doing research, singing, and rowing. Why throw that away? But as you might guess, it was also emotionally difficult to pull the plug on this entire other life I've built up. I love my life in California, so returning there is not a punishment by any means. But some part of me is worried that it will be like Cambridge never happened.
It was only this weekend that the emotional part really struck me, though. Until now, when people asked how I felt about leaving, I told them honestly that I was at peace with it because I simply had no choice. I don't have to pick one of my lives; my time here has come to its natural conclusion. But suddenly yesterday I really realized that I will have no place here anymore. Even the idea of taking my books off the shelf and watching my room drain of my personality is depressing, whereas before I was focused on the logistics of how I would do it all.
I know it will all work out, but every now and then we have to give ourselves grieving space. I've just been reminded that I'll be needing that.
In mid-January, I returned to England for the last couple months of the visa I received under the Doctorate Extension Scheme. I have said several times that I was going home, and yet I kept putting it off. The nominal reason was that I'll probably never again have the chance to live here for months at a time, just doing research, singing, and rowing. Why throw that away? But as you might guess, it was also emotionally difficult to pull the plug on this entire other life I've built up. I love my life in California, so returning there is not a punishment by any means. But some part of me is worried that it will be like Cambridge never happened.
It was only this weekend that the emotional part really struck me, though. Until now, when people asked how I felt about leaving, I told them honestly that I was at peace with it because I simply had no choice. I don't have to pick one of my lives; my time here has come to its natural conclusion. But suddenly yesterday I really realized that I will have no place here anymore. Even the idea of taking my books off the shelf and watching my room drain of my personality is depressing, whereas before I was focused on the logistics of how I would do it all.
I know it will all work out, but every now and then we have to give ourselves grieving space. I've just been reminded that I'll be needing that.
