Looks like I'm in London

Well. So. Um. Hmm.... What am I supposed to say?

Hi again, blog. I've missed you. (Actually, that's a lie. I've been mostly too busy to remember that I even have a blog.)

Anyway, this is the obligatory "I'm in London!" post. To put it succinctly, it's great here. If I were good at this blogging thing, I would give a thoroughly entertaining, blow-by-blow account of the important things that have happened since my arrival. The thing is, everything has been too much of a blur for me to really remember exactly what I've been doing.

I can, however, say a few things:

1. There has been quite a lot of wandering around, and I can now say that I am pretty well acquainted with at least a small portion of central/southeast London. What this means is that I know the names of at least nine streets, and I could give a detailed account of which coffee shops have a decent wifi connection. Which brings me to my next point...

2. I love my flat, despite the fact that I have no internet yet and - for the time being - no flatmates. This mostly doesn't matter, but the nights do tend to get a bit boring and lonely. I keep telling myself that a slightly disorienting adjustment time accompanies every move, and I just happen to be experiencing the one associated with this move. Soon, though, I will have friends and internet and (hopefully) purpose.

3. But wait. I will actually make friends, right? I ask myself this question at about 8 o'clock every night, and the answer is always the same: Probably, as long as people can see past the fact that their first 2-3 conversations with me will be pretty awkward. 

4. I haven't felt this uncertain about what tomorrow will look like in quite a long time, and that is a good thing. In the past, I thought that I was terrified of uncertainty, but I realize now that I actually seek it out. When I'm feeling unsure of things, you see, I always have a project to work on. I love a good project.

Thoughts Before Leaving

I apologize in advance for a relatively disjointed post, but I suppose I am leaving for London. Would you really expect anything else?

This is what the morning of departure looks like: apprehensive, with just a hint of the crazy eyes. 

The main thought as I begin the final few days before leaving for London is that I'm not sure they've arrived yet. The thoughts, I mean. I'm supposed to be having thoughts of the London variety, but actually I hardly ever think about London at all.

Or maybe that isn't necessarily true.

Maybe I do think about it, but not in the way that I used to. The phase of speculating about how my life will be seems to be over, as does the phase of idealizing the way things will be. I'm done imagining scenarios in which I get off the plane and first person I meet ends up being my future best friend or something. I no longer fantasize about meeting my favorite British celebrities. I also now understand that my academic life won't actually consist of a movie-esque "studying" montage, ending with me receiving an award for Year's Most Brilliant Master's Thesis. No, these thoughts don't really turn up much anymore.

Now when I think about London, it takes the form of thoughts like: what bank should I choose? Are these shoes actually worth packing? Can I afford this? (No.) Do I have any idea how to get to my flat? (Again, no.) Is this a good idea? (I certainly hope so.)

Another common thought: I would like to be a college freshman again. Then I remind myself that - apart from being older and having better hair and immediate plans to move to another country - I'm in essentially the same position as I was four years ago. I'm starting over, just as I was then, and everything that now brings forth these feeling of nostalgia was, at that point, a total unknown. All the people I was about to meet, all the things I was about to do - I couldn't even conceive of them as we drove the hour and a half from my hometown to Ann Arbor, and I cried the whole time.

So far I haven't cried once about the impending London trip, and I'm not even feeling particularly nervous. If there's going to be fear, it generally sets in late at night and is always accompanied by these images of me wandering lost around London with more luggage than I can handle. Then I force myself to think about something else.

UPDATE (on the morning of departure): Well, I cried, but then I got through the part where I had to say goodbye to my family and remembered that I still have a working knowledge of how to be a self-sufficient grown-up. I mean, sort of. There is still a 50/50 chance that I will have a breakdown at the airport (sadly, this had happened before). Possible breakdown aside, I think I'm fine.

There's a long day of waiting ahead of me, followed by a long night of flying, followed by London.

I'm pretty sure this is a good idea.

Be a Better... Conversationalist

Part of the reason I started this blog was to motivate myself to do more interesting things, because when I write about the things I do, I'm more likely to, you know, do things. I know this sounds like circular logic, but it really does make sense in the context of my life. You see, I was spending the summer doing absolutely nothing - no classes, no job - and hence encountered some difficulty in motivating myself to ever leave the house. By committing to writing a blog, however, I signed on to making a more interesting person of myself. This should prove to be a great challenge.

With this in mind, I'm starting a series of posts in which I basically pick some personal failing and try to fix it. And because I used to take a lot of science classes, I'm going to write these loosely in the form of lab reports. It just makes sense to me.

The Project: Get better at talking to people. (Actually, I've kind of been working on this one for the past few years, but I made some definite breakthroughs about three weeks ago.)

Introduction: I went to London a few weeks ago to meet with potential future flatmates and hopefully find someone to live with next year. It was absolutely necessary that I did this and did it well, but I knew that I'm not necessarily one to be normal and fun and interesting during a first meeting. It's not that I'm boring (at least I hope I'm not). No, it's just that sometimes, when I'm in an unfamiliar social situation, I forget everything about myself, everything I'm interested in, and everything I've ever thought about.

Travel: So much fun, so much potential for awkwardness.

Hypothesis: I need to stop overthinking every social interaction. In other words, people are not nearly as judgmental as I imagine them to be.

Materials: Probably just the internet. Oh, and other people.

Methods: About a week before going to London, I started looking at myself in the mirror and just talking, rehearsing entertaining stories and just giving basic information about myself without sounding too awkward. Yes, I really did this, and yes, it was slightly humiliating.

Additionally, I thought about all the progress I made in the art of socializing during my college years and realized that my discovery of self-deprecating humor marked the end of my complete social failure. See, when you employ it during a conversation with someone you don't know very well, it makes answering the awkward small talk questions so much less awkward. People would often ask me about my major, for example, and my standard answer was something along the lines of, "It's German. Mostly pointless, but I like learning languages, and, who knows, maybe I'll find a job someday that'll let me use it." With this answer, not only do I give information about myself, but I let the other person know that they don't have to take me too seriously. In fact, I much prefer teasing and banter to earnestness. I still have trouble with sincerity in casual conversation with relative strangers. I mean, I don't mind when other people are sincere; I just have trouble expressing it myself. Somehow it always feels artificial, even if it isn't.

Finally, I compiled a list of questions I could ask in the event of an awkward silence. These included: Where are you from? (Naturally); Do you have any siblings? (Family tends to be a topic that people can discuss at length); What do/did you study? (this can lead to a discussion of general interests). I tried to stay away from the "What's your favorite...? questions because I personally hate them and generally don't have adequate answers. (What my favorite band? Um, well, I like lots of different bands a lot and I don't think I could choose one and maybe I could pick a genre?.... No, I like lots of different genres too.... Cue loss of interest.)

Results/Conclusion: My meetings went quite well, really. I managed to find flatmates, and I think they liked me! And the thing was, I didn't even have to use any of my practiced methods (except maybe the self-deprecation). In the end, all I did was answer questions, talk about my life, ask about theirs, laugh at their jokes, and hope they liked mine. I didn't think too much about what I was saying before I said it. No, instead I just went into a conversational autopilot of sorts, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I made friends after just one meeting.

The lesson? Don't overthink; just talk.

The Self-Improvement Impulse

Let's just say the desire to become a better person is on hiatus for the time being. I suspect that summer killed it, or at least severely wounded it. This is not to say that I've abandoned my (sometimes faulty) moral compass, but rather that I haven't been in the mood lately to do Things of Long-Term Importance. No, I would rather spend my time reading The Hunger Games and watching Doctor Who, which, in fact, is exactly what I do. Yes, let's slip into fantasy worlds that bear only the faintest resemblance to my real life. Solid plan. Ignoring reality is, after all, extremely comforting, until I invariably remember that reality is still out there, sort of pressing in on me from all sides. From the feel of it, reality is made of wool: it's thick, it's heavy, it's sometimes a bit stifling, but not entirely uncomfortable. And sometimes it's itchy. Yeah, I took this metaphor too far. True to form.

Then I wonder, "How am I ever going to transition back into being a serious student?" Because, at this point in my recent graduate-ness, the concept actual work is so foreign that it's terrifying. I mean, I spend my time thinking of the best natural fiber to metaphorically represent reality. And the thought of reading something that isn't at least vaguely fantastical... What? Also, why? I know, I know, reading about reality is a component of developing ideas. Whatever that means. I do remember a time when I had ideas, when I read books and my thoughts had a bit more depth than my current standard: "I am so entertained right now" (with crazy eyes - see below).

Yes, I do look quite a bit like him when I'm reading an especially exciting book.  This expression is some combination of "I have never had this much fun reading in my life" and "I strongly advise you not to interrupt me." 

The only relatively productive thing I do is write this blog, and that's something of a joke because I just talk about stuff and have probably no readers. There is possibly a larger purpose in all of this, though. It just hasn't fully manifested itself yet. Or potentially at all. There is a reasonable chance that this has something to do with my future move to London, but for the time being I'm in Michigan, at home, mostly waiting for things to happen, looking at these things from a distance of about two months, thinking about how two months is at once a long time and not a long time, feeling unmotivated, maybe because the future is still a long way off, maybe because it's all very close and very scary.

Social Anxiety: The Online Edition!

I can just imagine the response that an email from me must elicit. First vague excitement over having received an email, followed by vague exasperation upon realizing it's from me, followed by mocking of all of the stupid things I say. When I write to people over the internet, I invariably feel as though I'm making unsolicited demands on their time. It's like I'm saying, "Think about me! Me! I know you probably came on the internet to do other things, but I ask, nay, I demand that you take the time to read what I say and write a thoughtful and insightful response. But if you don't, I mean, that's fine. Whatever. I will, however, assume that you hate me if you never write back."

I think I really need to stop assuming that everyone hates me.

What terrifies me most about internet communication, though, is that I can't see people's reactions. So, unlike in the real world, I can't watch their facial expressions changing slowly to distaste or confusion, indicating that I should probably change the topic of conversation. If an internet conversation were a real-life conversation, it would probably be like talking at a completely expressionless face, then waiting a few minutes, maybe a few days, for a reaction. And the whole time, you're just staring at this blank face, waiting, wondering, hoping you haven't made some irredeemable social blunder. Knowing yourself, you probably have.

Creepy, isn't it?

As of a few weeks ago, the problems associated with internet communication have become a point of major concern. See, I began the process of London flathunting with the naive belief that I would engage in one exchange with the perfect future flatmates, we would quickly develop a mutual affection for each other and I would be done. Yeah, it wasn't quite like that. Instead, I had to send off at least 20 unsolicited emails to various people, trying to persuade them of my sanity and asking if they would like to meet with me during my brief upcoming visit to London. Fortunately, a few of them must have believed that I'm not one of those I'll-sneak-into-your-room-and-watch-you-while-you-sleep kind of people (which, thank you very much, I'm not), and they agreed to meet with me. Then, as luck would have it, I really liked the first people I met with, and they must have liked me too, since they offered to form a flathunting group with me. The only issue with all of this is that I haven't communicated with either of them since returning home from London a week ago.

I daresay there will be some awkward emails in my future.

Who am I? Good question.

I'm Sarah. This is probably important. 22 years old. Equally important (in my opinion, but this is coming from the girl who, in the past week, has been mistaken for both a 25-year-old and an 18-year-old, so I'm rather protective of my actual age). For some time I was a Creative Writing Major. The capitalization is important because I thought a lot of myself back then. Then I became a German major. The capitalization has to do with proper nouns. I thought less of myself then. Not too long after officially choosing a major, I graduated. This happened precisely two months ago, and the shock still hasn't worn off. I can only deal with all these life changes by assuring myself that I don't have to be a grown-up yet. No, I'll get my Master's first (is that capitalization even correct?).

This is me. Being stupid. I know it seems egotistical to include too many pictures of yourself in blogs, but people like to know what the people they're reading about look like. I think. At least I do. Hence the picture. 

Which brings me to my next point... Yes, I am a Master's student. Well, sort of. I haven't officially started yet. But in the fall, oh yeah, I'll be a Master's student at University College London, studying European Studies. Studying the studies. Well, obviously.

Anyway, the point of this blog is to write about living in London, being a grad student (postgraduate student, whichever terminology you prefer) and just general life things, most of which will be related to being a grad student/living in London. I expect my family to read this. If you're not a relative of mine, then that is very exciting for me. It means I have an audience. An audience... Cue reverie.