Settling back in

I feel awful that I haven't been posting much on here lately.

Part of the reason is because I've had difficulty settling back into life in England since arriving here for Year 2 in mid-September (after a month in the States). I've found myself homesick in a way that I didn't experience the first year, and it didn't help that I was in a nasty accident while riding my bike just a day after my return. I ended up with a few painful but relatively mild injuries and am OK now, but five weeks later the accident seems an unnecessarily graphic metaphor for being knocked off course: I arrive in foreign country for another year of service, having made all sorts of tough but worthwhile decisions about leaving my home behind again and settling back into a new home, and within 36 hours of starting the England Adventure, Part II, I am knocked off my bike by a car and in pain, wondering if I made the right decision.

Was it worth it to leave all that's familiar behind and start anew over here, I asked myself? Sure, I had many wonderful friends and opportunities in the UK to return to following my first year in England, but after spending a month in America, I was second-guessing my choice to come back. At home, I have deep, satisfying family and community connections. At home, my dollar is worth its full value. At home I don't stand out because of my accent. At home I'm not endlessly queried about the American political system (although, to be honest, I rather like that question) nor grilled heavily about the constitutional right to bear arms (an American concept that I have learned is something Brits simply cannot understand, to the point where they will argue continually with me about it, even if I tell them I advocate severe gun control).

And so I asked myself these questions as I settled into a new round of volunteer responsibilities at the church and paid for bus tickets during the time I wasn't healed up enough to get back on my bicycle. All the while I was missing my blue-eyed, golden-curled toddler nephew and thinking again of how wonderful it was to be home. Then I would think about this blog and wonder what on earth I could post that would be fun, light and convey the joie de vivre that's supposed to come with living abroad. I found a few things, but not many, and it was a struggle to come up with blog posts in the midst of an emotional funk whilst also being extremely busy with my church positions.

Yet about a week ago I realized that yes, it was worth it. As a Christian, I look to God for direction and I can unequivocally say that I feel God has assured me I am in the right place and at the right time. But even if I left God out of the occasion and just looked to my own desires and emotions, I believe I'd come to the same conclusion. This adventure is still an adventure, even if it now ...every once in awhile ... feels like a familiar drudgery. I choose this place and these wonderful people. As I cycled home from church last night near midnight (yes, I'm back to my trusty, though now slightly more dented bicycle), I suddenly felt the urge to pinch myself.

"Stephanie, you are in England!" I told myself. "Look about you at the Tudor-style terrace houses, the pubs emanating warm light and laughter, the cobble-stoned streets leading off the main road."

Just now I was chatting with a Chicago journalism source for a story I'm working on, and when she heard I live and volunteer in England while simultaneously working as a long-distance reporter and editor, she exclaimed, "What an exciting life you must lead!"

"You'd think that, but exciting lives have a way of just turning into ordinary lives," I replied. Now, 10 minutes later, I know that I am right, but I also know that she was right. It is an exciting life.

After all I'm planning trips to Cornwall, Cambridge, London and Istanbul in the next few months. Not to mention the visit to Newstead Abbey, Byron's home, that's coming up, or planned hikes in Derbyshire. And even just being out and about in Nottingham, working hard and simply living, is exciting. Even right now, as two hungry black cats purr incessantly for their tea and the crackling fire warms up the damp gloom of an English autumn and I glance outside at the apples ripening on the tree outside, I am glad to be here. Very glad, indeed.