I just got back from spending the weekend in London! Saturday we “saw” the Changing of the Guard (far too many people there to truly see much), walked around, made a stop at St. Paul’s Cathedral, then saw Once at the West End (which was INCREDIBLE; I can’t even with the concept and music and EVERYTHING).
Sunday we toured the Tower of London, walked along the Thames, toured the Globe, and watched the World Cup Final at a pub full of very passionate Argentina fans (while quietly rooting for Germany HECK YEAHHH).
We then caught the bus home and actually made it back with enough time to get a few hours’ sleep before needing to be up to work on homework and go to class Monday morning.
Basically: I am in awe of the fact that I currently live close enough to London to just pop over whenever I feel like it. (I may also be about to spend way too much money going to West End shows every chance I get.) (Like I just dropped over fifty pounds on a ticket to Shakespeare’s Richard III with Martin Freeman and I am not at all sorry.)
It was funny, on the bus ride home, because I fell asleep while we were still in London and when I rubbed my contacts back into focus upon waking, it was as we pulled into Oxford. And even though I’ve only been here a week, I absentmindedly pressed my forehead to the double decker bus’s cool window and smiled as High Street smudged past, because I was home.
I spent my entire childhood in one city, so I never realized how multiple places can feel like home at once. But as I’ve seen more places and spent more time in them, more and more have begun feeling like home as well. So now it’s not just the house I grew up in, in the middle of the Michigan suburbs, but also a vacation rental in Orlando, and a dorm room in Ann Arbor, and the streets of Chicago and New York. It’s walking beside the Thames and writing this blog post in a dorm room with a dove cooing in the fireplace behind me.
It’s playing cards in the Eagle & Child and punting under the Magdalen Bridge. It’s ogling all the gorgeous old buildings and complaining about the wifi. It’s staying up too late because this dorm room is too big and quiet, and rolling my eyes at the tourists even though I was one of them just a year ago. It’s drinking a thousand cups of tea a day and having the first The Hobbit movie open in another window as I write this post (because even though it’s nothing like the book, hopefully it’ll help me a little with the paper I have to write about Middle Earth).
It’s missing my hometown and dog and friends and family every hour of the day, but missing this place every hour I am away from it as well. It is knowing I will have a warm bed and peace and quiet to return to after adventures.
It is being so in love with a city it hurts, because you know you will have to leave but a part of you is already so tied to it, you’ll have to cut that part free to be able to leave at all. It is belonging to so many cities and people it seems impossible you will ever be whole again, but also comforting to know you will always have a place in another one when you need somewhere else to go. And you can always come back.
It’s dreaming of coming back before you’ve left.
My hometown. A vacation rental in Orlando. A dorm room in Ann Arbor. The streets of Chicago and New York.
Oxford. Oxford. Everything about Oxford.
This is home.