There were moments of dreams I was offered to save...

Thoughts From Oxford Part One

Perhaps this will sound obvious to everyone else but me, but one of the most surprising parts of moving abroad has been the feeling of NOW. I am a person that is constantly caught up in her thoughts. I relive the past, I plan the future, I consider the absurd, and I keep up a silent ongoing rant about the shittiness of everything and everyone. In general, if you ever see me sitting quietly by myself, perhaps writing or just staring off into space as I am wont to do, then I am no doubt doing one of the above.

Since coming to Oxford, however, I have found my wandering thoughts acquiring focus. I have been living in the now and it's a new feeling. I can savor experiences as they happen, basking in the moments as they pass. Every second is pulsing with possibility and I want to uncover it all. For the first time, the "now" is full of enough feeling to hold my focus. And yet...it isn't a perfect change, of course it could never be. I am living in the moment but there is something missing. Sometimes I can go about and ignore the feeling completely, but I can't experience the here and now without acknowledging the existence of few wisps of gray. This "now" feels wonderful and new, but I can't live in the midst of such history without feeling its absence in my life. Oxford is all history. I cannot come to this city and live only in the present. "Now" can never be enough. To believe solely in the present is to be blind.

I've spoken a lot about  the power of leaving. I felt strengthened by the act of it, the self-agency of my choice. But here's what I've realized: As much as leaving is letting go, it is also a loss. I cannot mourn and wallow for too long but it is still a loss. And let's just be honest for a second, it's a loss that I has been haunting me. And now, I am sitting right in the middle of it all. The emptiness surrounds me. My awareness of the now is bittersweet because I cannot live in this moment without feeling the emptiness of this eerie loss.

I know there are people who are suffering from truly enormous loss - death and tragedy. My feeling of emptiness is terribly insignificant in comparison. But it is real to me. My loss is this: I gave up a life I had loved, I gave up the person that I used to be. Yes, I'm moving onto better and brighter things. That old life, that person I used to be - well, it wasn't that great. But I can still feel the loss. It was everything I knew.

It's going to take a while to fill up all the empty space. But already I am starting to gather new things to fill it up. Every day in Oxford I am amid beautiful history and architecture. I cannot even attempt to describe the solemn beauty of this city, it is breathtaking and perfect in its air of casual elegance. Even the air in this city feels as if it holds the great thoughts of those that came before.

I walk into my college (aptly named New College - it was founded in 1379 but to me the name is just right because this is the new phase of my life) and I feel that there is something to be discovered there. I am proud to be a member of New College. It has a distinguished history and maybe my "new" life in this here and now will add just a little bit to its history. I don't think I'll be remembered as one of its famous alumni, but I hope that I will leave something, even just the tiniest shadow of remembrance. The college's stone walls are old and resilient and imbued with its students' memories. I don't need to leave any living trace or tangible artifact of my time here - I feel, oddly enough, as if the college itself (the stones and the vines and the great wooden doors) will remember. Maybe I can let my loss fade into my history as I fade into the lustrous history of this noble city.