A Better First Post

Alright, so that last post was a bit of a fluke because I wasn't intending to start blogging yesterday, so now I'll start at the beginning. First of all, here's what I'm doing: I am a visiting student of Oxford University and a member of Wycliffe Hall for one term. I will be studying Victorian Literature and Shakespeare, as well as taking a English Seminar and a course called the British Landscape, which gives an overview of British history, culture, etc. I am living with 23 other American students in the program, and there are 48 others at a different house.

Oxford University is composed of 39 colleges and 6 private halls. It is a stunning university with some of the best instructors and libraries in the world. I feel very fortunate to be here. I was inspired to apply to this program for many reasons--having an Oxford professor give a lecture at my college was one--and I became set on going after traveling to Australia for band tour last May. The Oxford professor made me curious about what life is like in a serious research university environment, and the Australia trip hooked me on the idea of living in a different country. A large attraction for me was the tutorial system of education in the UK. Essentially, I will be learning independently. I will spend one hour every week or fortnight with my tutors for Victorian Literature and Shakespeare after spending around twenty hours on my own researching and writing for those sessions (that's 20 for each). This system is a nice fit for me. I was home schooled and, as my Mother would tell you, I enjoy doing my own thing.

As I was preparing to leave, it was not the academics that intimidating me: it was flying by myself. I can get quite spacey and lost. While my parents were driving me to the airport, I had this clenched feeling in my stomach that I haven't felt since dangling over the slender wire tracks of a rollercoaster about to drop. I was gripping my passport holder, convinced I'd lose it even if I set it on the seat next to me. My Mom watched me walk through security, where I had two strikes--One: I didn't take my laptop out of it's case. A rather tired and otherwise disgruntle airline worker informed me that this is required. Two: I had my hair up with enough pins to set off the metal detector. An nice airline worker with more sense of humor had to use a wand to make sure I wasn't hiding anything.

Then, my boarding pass had the wrong gate on it. A few other people figured that one out, and I just followed them. At the gate, I joined the other travelers, who all had the same absent way of looking around at the gate's blue chairs and carpet; our minds were already present to a hundred different destinations, each a plane ride away. There was a woman and small boy with English accents; in nine hours, I would be the one with the accent, while they'd be traveling home.

Flying is flying. It's just what it is. Tight seats, dry air, new movies, and the allure of sleep--a state you never quite reach. I flew overnight into the perpetual dawn (which was blocked by friendly shades). On the other side, everything went smoother than I ever would have imagined. The customs line was short and quick, my bag made it through (a tiny bit damaged), and my wonderful English friends were waiting for me right outside the terminal. Steve and Jo drove all the way from Yorkshire to pick me up and take me to Oxford. My family met them during the nine months they lived in Minnesota. I was a bit bleary after the flight, but they took care of me. They even left me with a few food items once we reached my housing. I am so, so grateful to them.

TBC