“8pm? How did that happen?” I ask myself this question everyday when the time pops up on my computer screen.
Out of Nowhere
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Tag Archives: musings
Silver Platter
Sometimes it’s finally when you come to terms with something that everything begins to change. Its when you stop wanting it so badly it hurts that the universe throws you a bone.
I thought it only had to do with finding a man. Like, the second you realize that you no longer need a man in order to function is the second that you find that perfect man. But, I’m realizing that it actually has a lot to do with life as well.
Many of you have already learnt this, and I am way behind in my life lessons…and, perhaps I have learned this in the past, and will learn it again in five years time. But, for now, I’m learning it again. All over.
All I’m saying is that life is best for me when I let go. When I let go of expectations. Of judgments. Of pre-conceived notions. Of thoughts of grandeur and success.
Life hands me those things on a silver platter when I dare to say “I don’t care.”
You hear me, universe? I’m happy. Throw me what you got! And if you don’t, well, I don’t care because I’m going to continue being happy anyway. And, there’s not a god damn thing you can do about it.
In the meantime, I’m off to Norfolk Broads to go on a boat called a barge? Or is it a barge that we’re floating on? Not sure…all I know is that we’ll be on water for approximately four days with his family, celebrating his brother’s 21st!
The Great British Lie
It’s strange to be in a country that seems so proud to be British, and yet is chasing the same American dream that – well – Americans chase. We get blamed for a lot, but are copied more.
I’m going to just come out and say it – The Mother country of England wants desperately to be the rebellious teen that is America. (My British friends reading this will probably scream at my audacity, and I understand why. I won’t apologize (or even apologise), but I will say I did not want to come to this conclusion. I was in denial for a long time. And – obviously – it’s nothing personal.)
I’ve never said anything because it wasn’t completely evident at first – at least not to me. I mean, why would it be? When I move to another country, I assume that it will be me doing the assimilating, changing my patterns to fit in with them. I will be the outcast, and yearning to one day be able to soften my vowels. I have assimilated. There are huge differences in our two cultures.
It’s just, England always seemed so sure of itself. So goddamn – well, older and more wise.
I didn’t say anything even when I first began to notice because I was watching, waiting to be sure I wasn’t just seeing things. I’ll admit it: I thought the UK was bigger and badder than it actually is. I was deceived like so many others.
I utterly believed that Simon Cowell and his country knew everything there was to know about life. I mean, if they had a country full of Simon Cowell’s, why on earth would they need us? That’s the irony of it all – they need us. Simon Cowell needs us probably more than we need him.
And, we buy into it. In America, we’re bred to believe the the British are, in some ways, irrevocably more cultured and well-bred than we are. We watch in awe as actors take over our television screens, putting on better American accents than most of us as Americans can do. We are obsessed with the royal family. We giggle when we meet a man or woman with an accent, throwing our hair to one side. We automatically assume they are more intelligent than we are.
Most people think we are full of ourselves. In reality, I think many Americans are insecure about being American. We’ve been hated for so long. It might even be an epidemic.
But, let me let those Americans in on a little secret I’ve found out for myself…many British – not all and maybe not even the majority, but a big enough chunk for me to take notice – they actually wish they were American. (Or, they certainly wish they could live and work there.) Shhhhhhh. Don’t tell them I told you. They will deny it to their graves, and they will curse me to the heavens. But, below are a few things that have led me to this conclusion.
Sure, they complain about us. Sure, they curse us for polluting the Earth just as much as China. Sure, they hate most of our policies. But also, secretly, they love it. Jack Kerouac’s vision of a road trip is still blossoming in the British minds like a prepubescent boy’s first porno mag. Our ability to bear arms is disgusting to them and, at the same time, mesmerizing.
Some examples -
Their election process. It is taking place right now, and is eerily echoing many campaigns I have seen in my own country – more specifically the debates. I am told its because the Lib Dems demanded to have more of a voice against the shadow of the Labour Party and the Conservatives, and for the first time in the UK’s history, they are having staged debates. Actually, it appears that it was the Prime Minister’s idea (and more importantly, Peter Mandelson). The PM realized he needed to jump ahead in the opinion’s poll and therefore realized that a bit of “show biz” might do well for his image. That makes sense. (Ultimately, the UK is even more of a democracy than we are – they have had Question Time and the Prime Minister’s Questions every week since 1979 in which citizens can ask the PM and the people in charge straight forward questions about topics they want answers to. We have nothing of the sort. The most you can hope to question the top decision makers in the US is by writing them a letter, staging a protest (which will get shut down before it starts) or getting petitions signed. I really wish we had a Question Time.)
Normally, the UK’s election process is very different to America’s. (Read more about the differences at the blog, Pond Parleys, here.) However, this year, due to the Lib Dems, they are having American-style interviews and debates in which charisma matters! Its supposed to be all about the policies and yet the candidates and the news programs analyzing the candidates succumb to the pressure of discussing mainly: the candidate’s appearance, their gesticulations and how they eat ice cream with the grannies. (I seem to remember a certain Obama who did that same thing.) It is becoming more about the person, and less about the policies. Just like in good ole USA.
Celebrating the 21st birthday – We are celebrating a 21st birthday coming up, and I’m confused. I am told there are two big birthdays for a British person – their 18th and 21st. OK, I get the 18th one – they become an adult and can legally drink, vote and drive (although not in that order). But, the 21st? I have yet to have someone explain to me why the 21st birthday is a big deal. There was a vague explanation that it marks a British person’s adulthood, but how? What can they do when they turn 21 that is any different from when they were 20? In America, we can drink legally for the first time in our lives. I can only come to one conclusion – and that is, they are celebrating the ability to drink in America.
Celebrities – no matter what anyone says, it is the goal of every British celebrity to “crack America.” I hear it all over the news, in the newspapers and in interviews – “Oh, if only I could crack America.” In terms of profit, I get it, it’s a bigger market and many record labels and agents want their acts to rake in the most amount of money. But, Hollywood still has the same sexy allure it did back when Marilyn Monroe was alive, and Elvis Presley was topping the charts. America is the ultimate end-all for show business to this day.
Proms – I didn’t realize this, but apparently proms are becoming bigger and bigger over here. Mike from Postcards from Across the Pond makes a good point about these. You can read it here.
Halloween – Trick or treating? The appeal is traversing the pond. Dressing up and having big “fancy dress” parties – same. (Watch Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry’s take on this phenomenon sent to me by HBLX: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZITno-8HP9o)
I won’t even go into the effect that McDonald’s, chain stores, clothing stores, etc. has had over here. That happened a while ago, and everyone knows the impact of mass consumerism.
There are many more examples, but I’ll leave it at that.
Perhaps it’s just a mutual respect we have in this “special relationship”. After all, how many Americans wish they could live and work here in the UK? I know Smitten by Britain does for sure 
. I also realize that a big part of my opinion comes from what I see in the media, and the fact that my ears prick up whenever I hear my country being mentioned so perhaps that’s already a biased opinion. I just can’t stop thinking that people feel they are on the wrong side of the pond – on both sides of the pond.
Feel free to shower me with your comments – agreements? Disagreements?
Passionate Debates
Last week Lindsey was in town. For those of you know Courtney, Lindsey is her older sister (therefore my oldest sister by default).
She was in the UK because she was the leader of a high school field trip from Connecticut. We snuck away where we could. First time was Saturday night in London.
Drinks along the waterfront of Canary Wharf. Chilly breezes, cold wheat beers, two years of catch up to do. Twenty two years of knowing each other makes the catch ups much shorter.
Cut straight to the business and we’re able to move on from our daily activities quite quickly to debating our views on politics, life lessons, feminist values, social constructs, astrological signs and our sisters. That’s generally the genres that we discuss, but the order is up for grabs. On average, we are able to dissect the world and all its problems in under three hours – the same was true on Saturday.
After a good twenty minutes of passionately debating the state of marriage today and its place in our society (more specifically the fact that there isn’t a conversation happening regarding women losing their identity in changing their name to the man’s), I felt refreshed. Frankly, we disagreed on many points – that’s not true. We didn’t disagree, but we challenged the other in their own viewpoints. Let’s be honest, Lindsey is firm in her views, and she challenged me. Nevertheless, it got heated at times, and to the average onlooker, it may have appeared that we were fighting. No, to the English, it would have appeared that we were full-on arguing.
But then, Lindsey had to go to the bathroom. She got up, left for a couple of minutes, came back, and sat down. We looked at each other and started cracking up. We laughed, and then moved on to something else, I don’t remember what- perhaps fashion in London.
It got me thinking about the last time I really was able to openly debate something. I learned quite quickly in my own relationship with Jock that he didn’t view disagreeing, debating or challenging someone on their views in the same way that I did. It happened one day when he said, “God, I can’t believe how often we argue. I’ve never argued with anyone else in my life.” I looked at him perplexed, and said “What are you talking about? I don’t think we argue much at all!”
It was as if we were having two separate relationships. You see, I get a kick out of those spirited disputes and always have done. I find I learn something about myself from them, about the world and usually just like the banter and sense of theatricality. He views it as a personal attack on him and sees it as muddying the waters for no reason. Now that I’ve lived in England for over a year, I get why he does. It’s not kosher to vehemently disagree with someone to their face – even if you just want to hear their reasons for it.
And, of course there are ways to go about it this debate. I like to think I’m not obnoxious in my approach.
Lindsey and I were able to look at each other and laugh because we both knew it wasn’t personal, that it wasn’t attacking the other. It simply felt good to get it off our chests. It was a sense of achievement when we finished the conversation with no outcome.
Perhaps as Americans we clear our minds through these debates? It helps us to figure out what we really think on the topic and by hearing it out loud, it sheds light on our true feelings? Or is it a woman thing? Or am I simplifying it completely and it varies on the person?
I know in the South of the USA, politically correctness and politeness is more the norm, but I’ve never met a Southern woman who didn’t stand up for what she believed in.
Either way, I miss those fiery tête-à-têtes. And, I don’t get why we can’t talk about religion, politics, etc – doesn’t that just make for a more interesting conversation?
I’ve learned to temper them, but be warned – when I come back to America – it’s on!
Time Does That Thing, Ya Know?
10 days with no posting. This must be a record.
Time is something that I’ve always kept close tabs on – from watching the clock’s second hand tick in social studies class, waiting for the day to end so I could get home before the sun set and ride my bike down Piccadilly Road before dinner to panicking when I turned eighteen years old because I felt all my dreams were lost since I hadn’t yet achieved what I had set out to do, and surely everything past 18 years was a lost cause!
I tried to control time. I kept a journal so that I could jot down memories – desperately yearning to get a permanent imprint of the day’s activities in solid ink – just in case. In case of what? I’m still not sure.
I would sneak downstairs at night and hang out on the banister on the stairs by myself, listening to my mom’s conversations – still not wanting to be left out.
From a young age, I was annoyingly aware of my own mortality. I still to this day walk down the street and say to myself – “If this were your last moment on earth, would you be happy with your life?” Probably a clarifying and earnest thought for some, but after 25 years of this same thought circling your mind, you would get aggravated at it just like I do and just want to move on, live life and let it be. That little voice becomes a nuisance so loud that it makes happiness vital, but somewhat fruitless at the same time.
As I got older, I found time was getting faster – as anyone who has lived past the age of 25 will tell you, so I tried to pack as much into every day as I could – spinning my wheels so fast that I ended up doing the opposite of what I set out to do when I was young – I ultimately was forgetting more than I was remembering – not relishing anything, and ultimately relinquishing what is sacred about time – and that is, I think, living on my own terms. I guess I was, and probably still am, figuring out what those terms were.
Now, time just does what it likes. I have learned to try to maintain a bit of control, but ultimately have released that firm grasp of the tempo that my tiny hands so strongly and feverishly wanted to hold onto. Time, momentum, beats, and life’s pulse – they are all going to do what they like no matter how much I hold my breath, write it down or try to enjoy myself.
Walking around Wales yesterday, and in particular, the Carreg Cannen castle in the Brecon Beacons was one of those moments when time simply was what it was. It enveloped me, allowed me to get out of my head, enjoy the time with Charlie and Eileen and listen to the loud baa’s of the sheep down below. Every sound was crystal clear, every scene on the meadows distinct, and each step I took meant something. Perhaps it was the fact that it was their last day here in the UK (C&E’s, not the sheep’s) and the last day of having visitors for some time. Perhaps it was the brightness of the sun that so rarely shows it’s face, or perhaps it was the beauty surrounding me. Being in nature does that.
Each time I look ahead and think to myself “God damn, that will never be here,” I look behind me. Or, I introduce myself to a teenager and realize that wasn’t so long ago. As much as I can not wait for our traveling to begin, I know that it will be over before I know it, and that as soon as it begins, we are already on our way to the end of the trip. Therefore, I am here. I am writing on Sunday, 18 April 2010 at 5:33PM, and Portsmouth is tied with Aston Villa.
