So. I suppose this is the post where I’d say, “it begins,” were I the sort of person who believed in things having strict beginnings or endings. This is certainly—in a chronological sense—my first post, and undoubtedly, I will experience any number of new things during my semester abroad, any number of “firsts”, and in this way I suppose I cannot avoid the weight of the idea of beginnings, however firmly I disbelieve in their reality.
There’s an enormous pressure for me to enjoy this time abroad. It’s a “gift,” I’ve been told, an “opportunity,” a place “to manifest my destiny, as it were” (many thanks to my grandfather, and his unironic simultaneous rejection/implementation of the American Dream for that last one). These are only the outside voices. Internally, I’ve found another chorus, somehow stronger than that exterior cacophony, insisting that this is my chance, my moment, and that I should be happy.
Bullocks to happy. I’m terrified. Is there something wrong with terror? So what, fear makes the wolf look bigger. Maybe, or maybe the wolf’s quite big to begin with. Objectively, these are uncertain times. My life has been built upon the foundation of knowing that my personhood, my autonomy as an intellectually disabled person, or as a queer person, or as a chronically ill person, et cetera, is unstable and often unwanted.
I’m scared to fly alone on a plane. I’m scared of the strange new encounters I will have. Will my flatmates like me? Will I have academic success? Is there ever time enough to accomplish the things I’d like to have done?
I don’t know.
Maybe I’m making this something grander than needs be, yes? Yes, I’m scared. There’s nothing wrong with that. Seriously, I don’t think there is. See, I come from a place where to fear is to survive. I have learned to make cautious choices, and to examine all angles. If this makes me afraid, so be it, because despite my fears, despite my past, I beat on. I fight the stereotypes as I’m able, embrace those I feel are mine to reclaim, and try to move forward despite the overwhelming odds. London’s less than 72 hours away and I’m terrified.
Wouldn’t you be? If not, maybe you should be, or at least know yourself well enough to know why you aren’t. I know and accept myself to know that I’m afraid, and more importantly, I know how to move past many of my fears. For those I don’t: well, I’m learning. I go to London not for a fresh start, but for a new chance to know myself and to learn to live with and love the parts of myself I already know all the better.
Until next time,
L.
P.S. “Cloud Atlas,” (lovely book, lovelier movie) has been something of a guidance for this perspective in recent weeks, as well as the source of my title. Pre-travel jitters have nothing on the allure of poetic language!!!