In America I’m that kid that:

-Goes home every weekend ’cause I live 15 minutes 281 North

-Sees her mom (or mum rather) 3-5 times a week

-Gets her laundry done for her (by mum!)

-Eats home cooked meals whenever she wants

-Hangs out with her best mates day in and day out

In the UK this looks different:

-My queen sized bed and I are experiencing the biggest challenge in our relationship: long distance love

-Unless she comes here I won’t get to hang out with my mom…ughh I mean ‘mum’… until I go back home in May

-I still have to FaceTime mommy before I do laundry each time to make sure I’m doing it right

-I know I’m no Rachel Ray, but I also didn’t know there was so much that goes into maintaining and stocking a kitchen

-As far as friends, let’s put it this way…I’m so quiet here, because I don’t know people, that the other day someone mistook me for an introvert. [Cue the unanimous scoff and chuckle from all of my friends back home who know that I am the furthest thing from an introvert at my core.]

Now before you start thinking that I’m one of those Americans that expects the rest of the world to be like America, let me make something clear.  I am not throwing a pity party right now or seeking sympathy.  I knew full well before I left home that I might have to cultivate a lifestyle that’s foreign to me.  And I’m fine with that, I’m happy that the UK is not like the US.  I’m thrilled to experience something other than the only thing I’ve known all my life.  That’s why I’m here.  I fully accept all the terms and conditions of playing on someone else’s turf.

On the same token: am I slightly jealous of my flatmate who is cuddling and watching a film with her mum and sister right now?  Slightly.  Do I want to catch the next plane home right now and run into mum’s arms?  You betcha.  Are some days just simply difficult to navigate my way in this busy and complex city? Unfortunately?  Do I wish I could enjoy the comforts of home like all of the other British kids can? You can bet your bottom dollar. Do I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, where I’m going (physically and metaphorically) and how I’m going to get there?  Everyday that ends in ‘y’.

But will I give up?

Heavens no.

I am not one to toot my own horn, but I need to stop shortchanging myself.  I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never bursted the American bubble before and traveled to a new country.  There’s something to be said for that.  I am doing okay for someone who is completely new to this. I am eating well, I am in good health (thank God), I am wearing well laundered clothing (thank you very much), I am meeting new people everyday and seeing promising relationships forming, and for the first time I can say “I know where that is,” when someone mentions an area of London I’ve been to. Most importantly,  I FaceTime mum everyday and my friends very often. I am surviving and then some.

I get it wrong sometimes.  But I think it’s no coincidence that just moments before sitting down to make this post I read this quote on Instagram, “If you don’t fail now and again, it’s a sign that you’re playing it safe.”  It’s safe (no pun intended) to say that going 4,000 miles away for half a year is well outside of my comfort zone.  I am stronger now than I’ve ever been and it all began on January 1st. The moment I stepped on that jetway, tears streaming down my face, and kept going without looking back I already became a stronger woman.  So what if things aren’t “perfect” (whatever that is) and so what I don’t know what I’m doing.   I am reinventing myself in the context of a new country, a new time, a new society, a new set of customs…a new reality.

Bria: London point ‘O’ will emerge in due time…in due time.