Some of you may
remember that September 1st, 2005 was the date I scheduled to start panicking about England. I also said that you could check back with me on August 1st, 2006, when I will start panicking about the End of England.
Well. Here we are. Only the thing is, I'm not panicking. I
should be, of course. The sane and normal thing to do would be to crawl under my desk and never come out, because let's look at the facts:
I have about 6 weeks to write, bind, and turn in a master's thesis, visit Prague, pack, get rid of the stuff I'm not taking home, say goodbye to everyone, tie up loose ends, and get on a plane. And then I will need to look nice for the wedding pictures, even though I will probaby resemble some insane wild-eyed thing dredged up from the bottom of a swamp by then. Then I will recover at my parents' house in butt-freezing Alaska while I send out job applications until I can find a library job in Utah or wherever is hiring.
So yes. I should be a whimpering, jelly-like mass rocking in the corner cackling softly to myself. Only I think possibly Heavenly Father has been teaching me some good lessons about worrying and why we shouldn't do it. First off, it's pointless. Secondly, we don't actually know what we're talking about. We only see so much, and the things we dread might not even be issues anymore by the time we get there. This has definitely been true for me in the last few months. At this point, even though I am anxious about the dissertation and the sleepless nights that I'm letting myself in for by procrastinating, I actually have a pretty good feeling of peace and well-being. Things will work out.
Just for fun, I thought I would tackle the list of worries I had about coming to England and see how close to the mark I was. Ready?
The Being There Fears
My classes will be too hard. They weren't.
Everyone will hate me. They didn't. I've made some fabulous friends, and random people in the street show me their boobs as if I'm some kind of mammogram technician, that's how popular I am.
My new ward will make me be the Primary chorister, and those kids will eat me alive. Close--they called me to nursery instead, and the kids are actually quite sweet. Also, have loved my ward here. I'm going to miss it alot.
My skin and hair will freak out and turn me into some sort of zit-faced Medusa. The reverse has been true. At this precise moment in time, my skin and hair have never been better. It's all going to go to crap though once I start changing climates. I know and begrudgingly accept this.
My landlord will be an axe murderer who comes into my room and sits in a chair by my bed and watches me with glowing red eyes while I sleep. I never caught her at this. Lady J and I have gotten on really well together, I think. She's been helpful and friendly without ever being intrusive or pushy. She is great about suggesting places for me to visit and even taking me to see some of them. Also she cooks traditional English foods and shares them with me. Of course, it could be that I've been driving her insane all year long, but if so then she hasn't said anything.
I will wither away and die from cell phone withdrawal. Hah! Foiled that one by getting a mobile after about a week. Also was introduced to Skype. And Gtalk. Have never felt so alive.
I’ll spend all my time blogging and will therefore fail all my classes. Well . . . I had a point there. Also I'm not out of the woods yet. But I can't give up the blogging!
I will never get an idea for a thesis, and the department will tell me to just go home, because they clearly made a mistake. Finally did get an idea, and it kicks trash.
I will turn out to hate library science and libraries. And books. Maybe I'll hate them too, all of a sudden. Nope. Still love books, and discovered to my shock and surprise that even things like cataloging and classification turn me on a little bit.
I will get crushingly homesick and will cry every night into my pillow. Never happened. I will probably end up crying for England and its chocolate and baby lambs before long, though.
I won’t get homesick, and won’t stay in touch with friends or family, so that when I come home they will all spit on the ground when they see me coming and will refuse to speak to me. Um, we're okay there, right? Right??? PLEASE TELL ME WE'RE OKAY!!!
I won’t meet, fall in love with, and marry a handsome Brit, which means there's a life-long dream shot to pieces. Two out of three, people. Not too shabby!
I will meet, fall in love with, and marry a handsome Brit, which will be a very stressful thing to deal with and plan. I mean, clearly it’s cheapest to do the thing in the US, but think of the pictures you could get in the UK! I don't even know what I'll do about that. And there you have the additional bonus of the two-out-of-three scenario. I totally avoided the whole quandary, which is what I mean about the options you think you will have not necessarily being true.
