Day 50: I Propose A New Movement

So I suppose this isn't particularly related to being in England, except that I'm starting to realize that the problem is more evident here than it is in, say, America. It's been going on for some time now--the previous generation, our entire generation, and the next generation have been pushed, and have pushed back, becoming (especially in our and the next generation) increasingly obsessed with image.

It's not the same kind of image I used to imagine, though--it's more than just a health craze and a desire to maintain a certain look. Instead, we've begun to completely reject any image, and have started to take on whatever image comes our way. All three generations have lost what being an individual really means, and have instead created yet another mass-produced individuality, where it's more important to hate everyone who isn't like you than it is to become someone you want to be. And so it's not exactly that we've learned to love ourselves, but rather that we've learned to hate everyone else more than we hate ourselves.

So I propose a new movement. In this movement, we promote modesty, our natural selves, and focus on how we treat other people. In this movement, we promote silence, Especially silence. Why? Because if we are silent, our actions have time to speak.

I guess I'm just tired of all these people who are so narrowly focused on such petty things--there's an entire world of people who could be doing amazing things--and instead, we're all talking and hating and treating each other like we're better even when we know we're not, and at some point, if we thought about it, I think we'd notice that nothing in this world is getting done, nothing is changing, and we're all heading in a downward spiral toward a great big pile of meaningless.

So I propose we forget about ourselves and fitting in, and instead, silently (I repeat, SILENTLY) start treating others with humility, modesty, and respect--even when you don't think they deserve it. I think if even a few of us tried to start living this way, we'd figure out that maybe life is more than being self-absorbed all of the time.

I'm tired of wasting my time worrying about what I'll lose by doing what I believe. I'd much rather perform well knowing I'll lose than win knowing I never tried being the best human being I'm capable of being.

Day 48: Trousers, Cheers, Are You Going Out Tonight?

If I am pushed I will push back, that is the way I am. I am very British. We don't like to be pushed around. When the chips are down we might have to step into grey areas. (Damon Hill)


Americans glorify the British. Am I right? Hollywood makes them seem mysterious and interesting, almost always intelligent AND sexy. Ninety percent of the time, they are also attractive, because, well, it's the movies, and even if they aren't attractive, we somehow find them attractive because of their accents. Thank goodness, the accent lost its allure years ago, and instead, I was incredibly attracted to the idea of the British school system, and how much more intelligent and engaging they must be in comparison. I had in mind green countrysides, quaint little villages and shops, a homey community, and friendly Brits always willing to have a conversation about something relevant. Most of my favorite authors came from England, and I was determined to meet the next C. S. Lewis. 


What I was imagining, however, was an image of the few and far between, and from at least a decade ago. The world I was thrown into was a mess of British youth, who have been pushed by ancient generations to be precisely what I had hoped they would be, and so became precisely the opposite. Thus far nearly every person I have met I met in a bar or a club, and almost all of them were too drunk to remember who I was the next time I saw them. Girls wear tights and short skirts or shorts with tall heels, dye or bleach their hair unnatural shades of red, pink, blue, purple, and blonde, either wear no makeup or so much makeup that they look plastic, and drink until they can't see straight, and guys wear a mishmash of clothing, talk of absolutely nothing relevant, and also drink until they can't see straight. And so, instead of the stimulating conversationalists concerned with thought and meaning I expected, I received four months of "please get me out of here."

That's just the people, though. Thankfully, they're not ALL of England.

The history and quaintness have been maintained, and I love it. Were I confident enough to travel alone (i.e. were it safe enough, and were I not female), I think I would like to simply travel the countryside, sitting and staring at sheep, or walls, or sitting in tea shops contemplating how the wildly different American nation came from this weird little island. I would sit and write in my journal day after day, telling of my exploits and wondering what adventure would come next. 


Things have been rough, to say the least. Living here is expensive and lonely, and to be honest, I'm not entirely impressed with it. After almost four weeks (a month, already?), my morale has gone up and down so much that it's getting hard to manage.

Only three more months of this. Then I can come home. 96 more days.

Let the countdown begin.