Category: Musings

For My Mother

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Today is my mother’s fifty-fourth birthday. For the past three years, I have been unable to celebrate with her, something that greatly saddens me. Though I am so fortunate to be in Scotland, and my mother would not have it any other way, I still wish I could be with her on her birthday to show her just how much she means to me.

Inspired by other writers, I have decided to write the life lessons my mother has taught me to show her just how much I value her wisdom and companionship. It is my hope that one day I can be half as selfless and good as she is, and I find her guidance more valuable than any material thing as I navigate this great unknown of “Twenty Something.” So, for future reference and in tribute to my favorite person, here are twenty lessons for living that have stuck with me throughout my privileged time with my mother.

1. Pay attention to the tiniest bug, ripples on a still lake, or a stray wildflower. Make up stories and personalities for them.

2. When reading aloud, always make sure each character has its own special voice.

3. If you aren’t going to snort, why even laugh?

4. Don’t be afraid to get a little sweaty and dirty, for the confidence that comes with physical strength is a thing of beauty.

5. Never seek vengeance for the hurt others have caused you. Instead, keep showing them kindness. Maybe then they will realize just how foolishly they have acted.

6. Never underestimate the value of a new pair of socks.

7. Spirituality lives in the things that make you happy, whether it be in the garden, out on a run, or being with family.

8. Always order dessert. It’s good for the soul.

9. If a writer can make you shiver with the raw power of their words, hunt down everything they’ve ever written and read voraciously.

10. Sometimes children have more wisdom than grownups do, so make sure you listen to what they have to say with interest and questions at the ready.

11. Be as wild as a hunyak (don’t ask me what it means…), even if that means chasing your dreams to the furthest reaches of the globe. Those that love you will always follow.

12. Fluff your clothes in the dryer after they’ve been hanging for maximum coziness.

13. Be prepared for the criticism that comes with being yourself. Most often those people are too scared to do what you do, so don’t let them bring you down.

14. It’s okay to let others show their appreciation for you. You would be surprised how good people can be if you let them in.

15. Invest in quality baking products like a well made wooden spoon and a Kitchen Aid.

16. Channel your passion into doing things completely and fully: love until you feel as though you will burst, demand the best version of yourself, and always follow through with whatever you start. Perhaps this passion will inspire others, so never hide it.

17. Marry your best friend. Intelligent conversation, a twisted sense of humor, and a passion for living are the foundations for everlasting love.

18. Cultivate a passion for nature. Our world is a beautiful place, so always make time to sit by the sea and soak it all in.

19. Simplify your life. If even the smallest thing can bring you overwhelming joy, your life will be fuller because of it.

20. March to the beat of your own drum. Forever and always.

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Originally written 25 November 2014

Dorothy Charlton (1920-2014)

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I often use this space to wax poetic about my grandmother, whose memory I use as inspiration for my adventures. However, in light of recent events I have come to realize the important influence of my family’s other matriarch. Dorothy Charlton, more affectionately known as Aunt Dot, was my grandmother’s older sister. Yesterday, after a sunny morning spent riding, I was informed that she had finally passed away.

I remember the year I left my home for Scotland as vividly as if it had just occurred. Perhaps one of my greatest memories is the cool May morning I spent with my Aunt Dot to tell her that I would be moving to Scotland in the fall. When I told most people about my plans for the fall, their faces would screw up in criticism, wondering why on earth I would commit to such a wild fantasy. In her old age Aunt Dot had become a consummate worrier, always trying to keep track of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and I as we grew and acquired families of our own. As I began to say the words, “I will be going to college in Scotland,” her reaction was something I did not expect. Her face lit up: our family had bred yet another adventurer. She then began to regale me with nearly ninety years of experiences, travels, and sights stored in the archive of her memory.

In my family, one could say that my Grandma Sue is the star of all the family lore. Yet as I sat listening to Aunt Dot on this day, I realized how full of a life she had also led. Though quieter and more demure than my grandmother, my Aunt Dot was a well-traveled and cultured woman. Road trips across the continental United States, floating in the Dead Sea, and the glamor of 1950’s Cuba constitute just some of her experiences. Aunt Dot had also spent time in my bonny Brittania, which explained her excitement at the thought of me moving there. Indeed, one of the motivations behind my travels to Newcastle in my first year was so that I could tell her I had been there, as Newcastle and its surrounding areas were where she had most often visited.

One of the things I find most special about Aunt Dot is just how much she had seen in her lifetime. Born in 1920, the scope of her firsthand experience is almost unfathomable. Aunt Dot had lived through the Great Depression, Civil Rights movements, and technological advances that are enough to make anyone’s head spin. Yet she was able to keep pace even into this year. On my last visit, I had pulled out my iPhone to show her a photo my brother and his fiancee. She quickly took it from my hand and mastered how to view more photos (by swiping right) in no time. Then she surprised me by saying, “These things have a good camera. I want one so I can take photos of you all.” At ninety four years old Aunt Dot wanted an iPhone. All I could do was stifle my laughter and say, “I’ll see what I can do.” While this does constitute a great “Aunt Dot Story,” looking back I realize just how, well, cool Aunt Dot was. She could never be classified as one of those elderly people disgruntled by technology, despite the fact that she had been born in an age whose ways are almost completely foreign to the modern generation. This is one of the things I have come to admire about my Aunt Dot: the ability to adapt to our changing world and to make the most out of present circumstances.

In many ways, Aunt Dot was the last piece to the beautiful mosaic that is our family’s past: of my mother and her siblings’ childhood, of times spent at Canada Creek with Grandma Sue, and when myself and all my cousins were just children ourselves. For Hannah, Rafe, Cole, Blaise, Jovie, and Sage, she became a link to this past so they too may share in our family history. She became the matriarch of our family, filling the hole and soothing the hurt that Grandma Sue’s loss caused. I do not think I am alone in saying that we are greatly indebted to her for this.

While I am deeply saddened at her loss, I take comfort knowing she is no longer suffering under the burden of old age. What pains me more, I think, is the fact that I cannot be with my family during this time. For my aunts and uncles, those who have known Aunt Dot the longest, my sorrow for what they must be feeling is indescribable.

However, the person’s grief who causes my heart to ache the most is my mother’s. In many ways Aunt Dot helped to raise my mother, always taking her on those adventures across the United States and instilling her with a deep love of Scrabble. Over the course of my life, I have taken it upon myself to be my mother’s “little warrior”: to be mighty and fierce when she cannot. I think this occurred the day my grandmother died. As she had spent most of her life taking care of others, I realized on that day that she finally needed someone to take care of her, and I have never stopped. While I am inexplicably grateful for this privilege to study in Scotland, it’s times like these that make a small part of me wish I had stayed at home. At the moment, all I want to do is wrap my small arms around my mother and tell her that it will be okay, that I am here and I will never go anywhere. But I can’t. This is what I think makes death so hard: not the actual death itself, but trying to piece yourself together afterwards. If you have nobody to help you, to tell you which pieces you missed, will you ever truly be whole? Tucked away in this wee corner of Fife, away from all those I love dearly and physically unable to help them, I am full of sorrow. However, I do believe that my family, full of so many strong individuals, will make it to happier days again.

In two days time it will be Thanksgiving. My heart breaks for my family even more, for they must deal with this loss at a time when people are expected to be jovial and light-hearted. Yet perhaps Thanksgiving will be just what they need to heal. For as long as I can remember, every Thanksgiving a small toast is given on behalf of my grandmother. Though Aunt Dot is now gone, a small part of me also hopes that somehow she has reunited with Grandma Sue, to regale her with tales of our accomplishments and to tell her about all these new faces and personalities she was sadly unable to know. Though these two incredible women, and their links to the past, are now gone, they are together, just as our family will be. And that, I believe, is something to give thanks for.

Originally written 25 November 2014

Another Beginning

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“If you want to overcome the whole world, overcome yourself.”

-Fyodor Dostoevsky, Demons

It was the third time my mother left me tucked away amongst the sea gnawed rocks and Scottish heather. As I awaited the loneliness to slither down my throat like a sour, medicinal draft, it was perhaps out of force of habit that I fled into the night, away from yet another new roof under which I must carve out my existence, away from yet another person whom I did not wish to see me cry.

Under the dripping light of the Corn Moon I sat, preparing to be my own shoulder to cry on yet again. However, the longer I sat, transfixed by the darkling sea, the emptier my mind became. The only thought my mind could grasp was not really a thought at all, but rather the felling that envelops the spirit as the body is physically embraced. I sat cradled in the arms of Fortune, for all I could say to myself in this moment was, “Gosh, am I lucky.”

Though trivial this may outwardly seem this moment signifies a personal victory. I had rushed out into the night seeking the darkness to hide my tears, lamenting yet again the absence of that world I love so. But the tears never came. I realized as I gazed back at the sleepy St Andrews that my heart had been swelled by all that this place is, that I am capable of making a home here as well. As a person who values a home above all else, I feel this may be the great leap into a more fulfilled life that I needed.

St Andrews has finally become my home too, though it lacks many of the qualities I convinced myself a home must possess. I am three thousand miles away from my family, the building in which I dwell is not a permanent situation, and I am without a Bear. Yet I can stare out at the North Sea and wonder what awaits just beyond the horizon line. I can run through forests I once only read about. I can simply be free. These are the components that truly build a home, for they are foundations that fortify the soul; and for the time being, St Andrews is where my soul belongs.

The mention of freedom brings to mind another though. For the first time in what seems a very long time, I feel free to simply be. The girl who began university nearly three years ago was a slave to organization: she believed life could be compartmentalized into her definitions of what home, success, and happiness entail. Yet she had not lived enough to realize that when you stop attempting to mold something as transmutable as Life into what you think it should be, it begins to take on its own form that is more beautiful and pure than what you could have ever conceived.

Three years ago I had a definite plan for my life, down to its minutiae, to last me until retirement. Now my plan doesn’t extend beyond the day’s tasks. I have no plan for myself beyond the immediate future, for I want everything and nothing for my long term. I want to sit on my couch and think all day, I want to compete in the Mongol Derby, I want to write a novel, I want to rub elbows with my favorite actors at Cannes as I discuss a movie I helped produce, I want to chop lumber for a living: all of these things are too absurd, too unrealistic, and too various for me to hone in on one and hunt it down. Thus I have no obligation to any of  them, and that to me, who wasted so many years on planning the unpredictability of youth, is refreshing. I can focus on today, this hour, this one heartbeat: and I am happy.

All of these reflections culminate into a grand conclusion. Yet how can I conclude when I have not even had my first class yet? The conclusion is this: I have overcome myself. Though I pretend I am wiser than my seventeen year old self, I am taking a line from her chapter to begin my penultimate year here at St Andrews, the very line that began this whole journey in the first place. I am overcoming who I thought I was: a person who depended on her home for stability, a person who needed a plan to be satisfied, and a person who only played at strength but never bothered with any heavy lifting. For the first time, I finally feel ready and eager to overcome all of the challenges of university, for I have overcome the narrow definition I reserved for myself.

This semester I am taking classes, such as Literary Theory, which I have no idea what it entails or whether I will be successful at it. I am living with someone who is in many ways my direct opposite. I have and will be gregarious when it comes to meeting new people, whether they are potential academic children (I’ve got one so far!), potential new friends, or that elusive “Person.” I have rediscovered why I came to this university in the first place: to run so far from my comfort zone that I cannot see it from this new horizon.

I have also rediscovered what truly makes me happy in life, and it isn’t the safety of my home nor the comfort of routine. Challenges are what I live for, to test the limit of what my body, mind, and soul can do. So maybe I can overcome the whole world after all.

Originally written 14 September 2014

Oh Susanna

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I have been meaning to make a post about this all day yet I could not seem to find the words until the moon stretched her luminous arms to embrace the sky. Despite the fact that I am an early riser, I am often wide awake until these quiet, intimate hours as my mind never seems to let me alone. So as I am at my most effusive, I may have finally found the right words to use.

The seventh of May is my grandmother’s birthday. As many may know, she is no longer here to celebrate, and has not been for quite some time. My grandmother passed when I was relatively young. So, while I had some time to know her kindness and recognize her passion for living, I am without the experience of sharing my adult life with her, unlike most of my relatives. These are perhaps the times in which I so ardently wish to believe in an afterlife. I wish that somehow she is participating in the experiences I am having as a young adult, particularly since she is the inspiration behind so many of them.

According to family lore, my grandmother was a no-nonsense kind of woman: she said what she meant, did what she pleased, and never spared a care to what others thought of her. These qualities are precisely what I list whenever I am asked who I want to be when I “grow up.” Such is reflected in the New Year’s Resolution that I made for 2014: to stop being so darn timid and just carpe diem. So while it wounds my heart that I cannot share these wonderful adventures and experiences with her, a wee twinkling of optimism reminds me that it is precisely her memory that inspires me to do the things that I do. My greatest dream in life is to simply live as fully and completely as possible, and I wholeheartedly believe this was instilled in me by my grandmother’s example.

Yet I do have to remind myself that I have made some great leaps in this direction already:

  • I have survived living away from home for two years; being the world’s biggest homebody, I take this as a supreme accomplishment.
  • Yet there are two additional layers to this independence: one being the rigors of university life, and this on top of navigating a foreign country. This is something I never would have imagined for myself five years ago.
  • I recently climbed a mountain.
  • I am able to fully engage in the things that give me joy: running, swimming, horseback riding, and aimlessly roving about like the semi-feral creature I am.
  • My entire university course load is reading and writing. Living the dream right there!
  • In a few short weeks I will be making my first voyage to the European continent.

As this semester draws to a close, and with thoughts spared to my grandmother on her birthday, I cannot help but think how far I’ve come from that timid small-town girl who wandered too far from her cozy little Hobbit hole. Even at the start of second year I was still unsure as to whether I belonged at St. Andrews, and whether I could truly commit to three more years so far from the comforts of my home and my family. Yet while wandering the Lade Braes today in the warm evening sunshine, amongst the fragrant bluebells and gurgling little streams, I realized I could not be anywhere else at this time. Thoughts of my grandmother only reinforced this affirmation: what was once a fantasy of mine has become very much a reality simply by the strength of my will to do something different and to be my own person. And I have only my grandmother to thank for inspiring me to do this, because without her example, I probably would be a very different Maggie.

Also, as we begin making steps towards our final years here at St. Andrews, many of my peers are beginning to think of life after university. Throughout high school I had had my life planned to perfection: where I would go to university, what my senior thesis would be, where I would go after, what career I would have, etc. Seeing as step one on that agenda was attend New York University (oh how I laugh at sixteen-year-old Maggie), it is safe to say that that entire agenda may be wiped from the board. Even at the beginning of first year I had seemingly not learned, as I meticulously began to plan my life once again. Lately, though, I have given myself a slap in the face for such behavior. I need to take a breath, think for a minute, and cool the jets. Again, if my grandmother has taught me anything, it’s to simply live and live for today.

So that’s what I intend to do. Right now, I do not have a post-university plan, and that terrifies the list-making, organization crazed, and security obsessed part of me. Yet it is also strangely liberating. I still have some navigating to do in terms of growing up, and trying to compartmentalize myself when I haven’t even straightened out my own edges is not in good practice. I think for now my only plan is to do “stuff and things,” and right now, I think that is a-okay. For so long I have been making plans, drafting lists, and organizing, yet these all seem fruitless tasks, since life is too fluid to be managed in any of these ways. Lately, life to me has been like my beloved North Sea: you cannot force it to do anything you intend for it, but if you simply step back and appreciate both the tempestuous and the still moments, it is beautiful all the same.

To come full circle, I am still deeply saddened that I cannot spend these wonderful years with someone so important to me and someone who would truly appreciate this ever-growing passion for adventure. However, I guess the only thing I can do about it is live a life of gratitude. I am thankful that I have such a wonderful role model who inspires me to live as passionately and insatiably as I can. While I am unsure as to whether she ever came across any Tolkien in her time, I am certain that these words would have fueled her spirit in the same way as mine; and so, “The road goes ever on and on…”

Originally written 7 May 2014

Ruminations in the Rain

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“Anne laughed and sighed. She felt very old and mature and wise- which showed how young she was.”

-L.M. Montegomery, Anne of the Island

And thus begins a new year, a new semester, and a new decade for little me. Normally I am not one for New Year’s Resolutions, yet as 2014 descended upon us, I thought I could give it a try. Nothing wrong with a bit of change, right? Our own world is never resolute: it is static, frantic even, in its movements. As I begin this new year as an official “twenty-something,” I have resolved to do some things differently.

Mainly, I think it would be beneficial to stop worrying so much about the future. Sometimes I think that young people are too focused on making plans to accommodate for tomorrow that they are left with nothing for today. Yet this is not an error of ours; we are told at age fourteen that every avenue we pursue bears either rewards or consequences. We are told at age sixteen that one test decides our fate, and to not mess it up. We are told at age seventeen to decide what we want to be when we are fully-fledged adults, to decide where this change needs to take place, and to essentially plan our adult lives despite still being children. To me, this is quite the flaw: I know very few adults who have actually fulfilled what their seventeen year old self, even their twenty year old self, had intended for them.

This got me thinking: as I am so fond of adventure, why not look at life as the grandest adventure of all? Quest narratives often take such unexpected turns: beloved characters die, allies sometimes turn out to be the villain in disguise, and the ultimate destination may prove fruitless when compared to a richer unknown. Part of my “New Year’s Resolution” is to stop worrying so much about the destination, this end-stop that so many people have tried to tell me is the most important aspect of life. I have resolved to give simple living a try. Right now, I really don’t know what I want to do after university. A few weeks ago I had the wild idea to pursue the Peace Corps after I graduate, to fulfill my desire to travel even further while making a difference in the process. As I am young, passionate about learning and exploration, and able bodied, what is holding me back? Or what about trying to finish my book before I graduate, thinking more about that manuscript than the diploma placed in my hand? I have even considered trying something new, like acting, as another room for my creativity and fondness for theatrics seep into.

Though I still desire continuing my education beyond the undergraduate level, out of my insatiable curiosity, I need to tell myself that I have all the time in the world to do so. I must never doubt that a Masters or PhD will come to me; I am motivated enough to make such things happen. Yet I think it is high time for me to simply slow down. Amongst those who know me, I am famous for the phrase “comfortable mosey;” this is my preferred pace of locomotion, regardless of the occasion. Late for an appointment? Comfortable mosey. Walk down by the seaside? Comfortable mosey. Yet why do I eschew this pace in the great timeline of my life? It seems silly, really.

Thus arises my new manifesto: enjoying life. There are so many things I want to experience, yet “growing up” as its most commonly perceived is not one of them. As I begin a new decade in my life, I hope to fill it with as many new experiences as possible, and simply forget about tomorrow for a little while. Making myself anxious over a future I really cannot control only detracts from the beauty of the everyday. I can already count on one unforgettable thing that will happen this year: my first trip to mainland Europe. Who knows what else could happen?

It is now time for me to challenge you to try something new. Though “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door,” as Bilbo once said, it is worth the risk. Think of the adventure!

Originally written 28 January 2014

Giving Thanks

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This year I decided to take it upon myself to host a Thanksgiving celebration for myself and nine of my closest friends here at St Andrews. All of these friends hailed from places outside the United States: Australia, Denmark, England, and Scotland. Thus, it was for many of them their very first American-style Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is a time that celebrates togetherness, yet being so far from home can at times be quite isolating. It meant so much to me that these special people chose to take part in this tradition, as it really made me feel more at home.

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With the table decked in maroon and white we began the feast. As I am my father’s daughter, I bravely elected to cook for ten people mostly on my own.

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To say this was an ambitious task is an understatement. There was much stress involved in trying to find what to serve as a main (turkeys needed to be preordered and wild duck is currently scarce), trying to time everything just right for serving (the squash ended up cold), and just trying to not fall asleep on my feet! But was it worth it? Absolutely. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

Being away from home has really given me some new perspective on Thanksgiving as a whole. As children, most of us believe Thanksgiving is just a time for eating an unruly amount of food or dodging awkward dinner conversations. However, I find that the more time I spend asserting my independence, the more I look back towards home and those I really rely upon. Before coming to St Andrews I was eager to “escape” my hometown, my “weird” parents, and other such inanities. Now I think just the opposite. For many young adults, going away to university does add a new dimension to life: learning to be independent. Yet adding the facet of living abroad to this already daunting change has really opened my eyes to what is important in life. I now cannot wait to return home for every holiday. I speak to my parents at least once everyday, and I find myself turning more and more into my mother.

What I am most thankful for this year is the fact that I not only get to branch out on my own in a foreign country, navigating both adulthood and Europe, but also that my home is waiting for me to return whenever I need to. My parents are the most supportive, selfless, and loving people I have ever encountered in my life. If one day I am but half as generous and kind as they are, I will think that my life amounted to a great success. I think perhaps my unwavering belief in the goodness of others comes from speaking with and observing my parents; any time the rudeness or egocentrism of others makes me sad, my parents are there to restore my faith in others. Though I wax poetic, I still feel as though words are inadequate to describe such wonderful people.

To extend this final note of reflection, this year I am also thankful for people in general: for the elderly couple strolling hand in hand, for people with funny laughs, for giving people, for mothers, for people who struggle to contain their joy for even the simplest things, and for people who inspire greatness others. All of these interesting and unique souls have such wonderful stories to tell, and I only wish I could hear them all. I believe that people do have goodness about them, which can manifest itself in different ways, whether it be simple gestures, the way they laugh, or how they pay attention to the world around them. People are truly remarkable beings.

Originally written 30 November 2013

Musing at Midnight

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Currently I am procrastinating an essay, but this contemplative mood spurred by my scholarly pursuits has left me thinking of anything but comparing Purgatorio and The Qur’an. 

As my twentieth birthday is rapidly approaching, I have been pondering what this next phase of my life will include. I consider this milestone as “real adulthood,” and therefore a time of change. I acknowledge that I still have so much to learn about myself, and this knowledge will not magically appear the morning of December 30th. However, lately I have been feeling as though it is time to make some adjustments to who I am as a person that will ultimately benefit me as I grow.

We all have character flaws, and sometimes these flaws are what define us as a person and help us learn from mistakes. Not all flaws are terrible and tragic, but they can be somewhat of a hinderance in life, personal relationships, and other such realms. I admit that I am a timid person. I am too shy to voice my desires and opinions. I put the needs of others ahead of my own needs. I have a hard time seeing the value of myself.

Some of these things are not inherently bad. Perhaps one of the things I actually like about myself is my generosity: making other people smile is one of my great joys in life. Sometimes, though, this generosity is manipulated into something that can make me somewhat melancholy. I recently came across a great quote that I thought I would share: “Stop crossing oceans for people who would not even hop a puddle for you.” These words really resonated with me. I have often found that I give so much of myself to the people I care about that little to nothing is left for myself. I spend so much time worrying about others that I take no time to worry about myself, and after nearly two decades of doing such, I have grown very weary.

Now I think it is time to start. I am afraid to do so though: I am afraid of The Selfish. I have always firmly believed in selflessness, yet I may have crossed a line. I need to stop constantly concerning myself with others and begin thinking about things that will make me happy. Balance is key to any life well-lived, and I think that is what my life has been lacking.

Slowly but surely I am making my way towards self-acceptance. Part of me feels as though with this will come the urge to defend myself against an off-handed comment, the courage to introduce myself to that dapper gentleman I see everyday, and the confidence to wear Maggie with pride. I approach this change with trepidation, but perhaps my life needs a little risk, to step outside this framework that has obviously not been working and rebuild.

Originally written 28 October 2013

To Be Brave Once More

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I am not as brave as I pretend to be. When many of the people I encounter in my secluded Midwestern community applaud me for my courage to study overseas for four years, I really struggle to swallow the trepidation, anxiety, and genuine fear I actually feel. The last month of summer I spent at home was a tumultuous one: if I am to be completely honest with my audience, I had a general feeling of not wanting to return to St Andrews for my second year. I was scared. I still am scared.

In many ways I believe that returning for second year is harder than removing myself from the comforts of my home to begin this journey. I am perhaps the world’s biggest homebody: I love the comforts of the familiar, I adore my parents, and I Bear is the keeper of my sanity. Yet the terror of severing these ties for a life in the beyond is often numbed by the general newness of being a first year. However, second year has relegated me to a sad and confused limbo.

Oddly enough, the realization that I am so far from home has finally hit me, despite the fact that I began university a year ago. Getting to spend time with the people and places that I love so dearly has really opened my eyes to just what I am leaving behind. This thought has made me quite sad for the past couple of weeks, and I also feel very conflicted because of it.

On the one hand, I know that I should be entirely grateful that I have the opportunity to participate in such an incredible academic community. I have seen places that I once thought were a mere fantasy, have met so many wonderful and engaging individuals from across the globe, and have received a remarkable education in subjects I am wildly passionate about. Yet the timid homebody I so cruelly abused into a corner of my heart has finally found her voice, using it to force doubt into my thoughts. I miss home: apple orchards in the autumn, the fiery hues of autumnal trees in the North Country, kayaking adventures, solitude, wide open spaces, and Bear. I miss not having my accent analyzed for its “barbarism” multiple times a day. I miss the freedom of having a car so I may travel anywhere I wish. I miss my parents, the two people I truly feel understand and love me for me.

I acknowledge that I still am very much a child. Making the decision to study abroad for my undergraduate degree is both parts the best and worst I have ever made, due to this fact. Youth is the time to explore the world and change one’s perspective to be more globally aware, yet how can anyone with any certainty decide to do such a thing when they are a mere eighteen years old? This summer has really given me time to meditate on these thoughts. While I committed to this venture completely, there are parts of me that, at times, wish I really knew myself more and chose somewhere closer to home. Can anyone really know themselves at that age, though?

I do not doubt that once I settle in to my studies, all of this negativity shall diminish. I do love school and am looking forward to some of the modules I have selected, like Medieval and Renaissance Texts. I feel as though I am now beginning to take steps toward my ultimate goals as a scholar. However, this summer was a really critical one. It has made me rethink some of my spontaneous decisions. At times I feel I can truly relate to Bilbo Baggins, who impulsively ran out his door to catch the carrot Gandalf teased him with, yet finds the road more perilous than he anticipated. I have certainly come to appreciate my home a great deal since spending the summer there.

Though my thoughts may change once I am actually at the next threshold of my life, I feel myself beginning to think that I want to return to America permanently. The United Kingdom is a wonderful place and I have had many a wonderful adventure (and will no doubt have many more in the future), there truly is no place like home. What I feel I am missing in my life, at this point, is my own little haven to call home. My experience at university so far has cemented my status as a home body. While I am committed to St Andrews completely, I do feel less brave than when I began this journey.

Yet I am still open to unexpected surprises. I cannot say for certain where I shall end up once this undergraduate experience is over. I may be called to a new and unknown destination to continue my education, I may meet someone special and journey with them into the future, or I may return to where my life began, recharging until that wanderlust tugs at my heart once more. Hopefully second year here at St Andrews will turn out even better than I anticipated, and I will have an even better time than first year.

Roads are rarely ever perfect. At this point, I feel as though I have encountered a treacherous hole. Yet I am optimistic, and as I look up from this wreck I find myself in, I see a smoother path ahead.

Originally written 12 September 2013

“The Road Goes Ever On and On”

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Sometimes I wonder how Alice felt after leaving Wonderland and her mad companions. Or Wendy parting with the mermaid coves of Neverland for the mundane streets of London. As I awoke this morning, the soft summer sun streamed in through my window, a realization that I was finally home. While laying in my own bed after months of being cooped in David Russell Apartments, I finally had the opportunity to calmly reflect on my final semester of first year.

I cannot even begin to comprehend that I have finished my first full year at St Andrews. As trite as it may sound, Fresher’s Week feels like it only occurred a few weeks ago, not nine months. How overwhelming it all was, my trepidation at finally leaving my door for this unknown, and how frightened I was are as clear as the sense of peace I currently feel.

Second semester, though, was by far a more incredible experience than the first. I began my time at St Andrews feeling small, scared, and alone, never knowing what to expect or just what to feel. Yet with the help of some amazing friends, the second half of this year passed as smoothly as a summer’s breeze. The people I met for the spring semester were truly incredible, and I am so thankful to have made such wonderful friends. Being quite shy and generally nervous in social situations, I am amazed that so many interesting, intelligent, and witty people have gathered around me. They have made this transition from quiet homebody to intrepid adventurer all the more exciting and easy.

My spring was also spent on very incredible journeys. Two forays into the Highlands, quaint harbor towns, castles, and my beloved Lake District made this first year at St Andrews all the more memorable. Though I have already endlessly praised the Lake District, words cannot really encompass all that I feel when I recall my time there. Visiting such a wonderfully quiet and peaceful place topped this year as my favorite experience, and I can only hope that I will return very soon.

This year, and particularly this semester, also helped truly cement what it is I wish to pursue with my life. Enrolling in the English module second semester made my school work all the more bearable, and I actually enjoyed myself as I studied Frankenstein and The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. This course of study made me rediscover my love of learning, which years of public schooling back home had stamped out of me. I truly enjoyed writing essays on my English texts and plumbing the depths of the various poems we were assigned. My foray into English helped me rediscover reading and writing for knowledge’s sake, not just the marks on the paper or the grade on the exam.

At this time, I am just at a loss for words on how to accurately describe my first year at St Andrews, which is a rare occurrence for any who really know me. Though I very much love the comfort of my own home, tucked away amongst my books and leather arm chairs, deep within my heart I yearn for a real experience of the places I usually only read of. This first year at St Andrews has done just that, opening a new world of incredible adventures filled with a motley cast of characters. Looking back on all that has occurred since September, I am so thankful that I did not hesitate at the last moment. Leaving my front door for this new world has been the best decision of my life, and I cannot wait for what mysteries the next three years holds for me. This hobbit has had her first taste of adventure, and though initially unsure, is now addicted.

Originally written 29 May 2013

To My Parents

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Unexpected visits often become the most welcome. In exactly one month, my father will be heading up to St Andrews for a short vacation before heading to London on business. At the start of the term, I never even dreamed that this would occur, and now that he is so close to calling, I am so happy.

My excitement for his impending stay spurred some late night reflections. Uncharacteristic of my age, I actually enjoy spending time with my parents. Sometimes I prefer their company to my friends, whether it be watching a period film with my mother or going for a drive in the country with my father. Though I adore my friends, these are the memories that truly resonate with me, and the ones I keep closest to my heart.

Coming to university has greatly increased my appreciation for my parents and all they do for me. Yet going beyond their support of my passions, their financial assistance, and willingness to let me roam wild, I think I am most thankful for the fact that they accept me for me. While I try my hardest to be wholeheartedly Maggie while meeting new people, my social anxieties at times take over, and either crippling shyness or off-putting eccentricity bubbles to the surface. While I have grown a lot as a person since my teenage years, I am nowhere near figuring out exactly who, or what, I am. Adding this to the task of meeting new people in a foreign country, and I begin to feel overwhelmed.

Perhaps this is the reason why I cherish spending time with my parents. Pretenses melt away and whomever I feel like being for the day is not only accepted, but loved. While I try my best to be outgoing and friendly, I am an introverted person: I like to be quiet and to think. A lot of my friends are not used to this side of me, and assume something is wrong if I am not the chipper and smiling Maggie they befriended. Yet around my parents, they simply exist in the contemplative silence with me, which I find refreshing.

My parents also love me for my unusual side, which I am so incredibly thankful for. After almost two decades of people consistently bullying me and being cruel to me for my fanciful nature, it is nice to be reminded that my quirks are a crucial part of who I am, and to never suppress them. My mother and father indulge my belief in magic, listen to my outlandish stories, and encourage me to find joy in the simplest of things. While one may think that these nudges of approval are not monumental, they mean so much to me, since I sometimes question if I am in fact wrong for being my odd little self.

So I eagerly await my fellow Hobbit’s arrival into the Shire, for the adventures we will embark on will be splendid. It will be refreshing to dismantle a few of my barriers and allow myself to be truly uninhibited, simply with my father’s encouraging presence. I do not doubt that I will look back on his wee visit, which we are planning with culinary conquests, pub-going, and frolicking in the magnificent scenery, with the warmest regard.

Originally written 19 March 2013