Oh, I am a bad, bad blogger. Yes, I’ll admit I’ve been neglecting my blog. But there is a reason for it. As I alluded to in my post ‘Finding Time To Read & Write,’ big changes are about to take place — are already taking place in my life. As many of you may know, momentous life changes tend to disrupt one’s weekly routine.
In approximately 6 weeks, I will be moving to a town in England — specifically the southwest region — called Exeter. Here I will begin studying towards a Master’s degree in British literature and creative writing. Though I had been accepted to the program back in November of last year, I only decided not too long ago to enroll at the University of Exeter for my postgraduate degree. But ever since my mind was made up, there has been much paperwork to complete, accommodation to secure, etc. Only yesterday I finally sent out my visa application to the British Consulate after weeks of acquiring the proper documentation. At last, this move — this major life change — feels real. So why did it take me so long to decide?
Looking back, It’s hard to believe I brooded over this decision for eight months. I can’t really pinpoint why it took so long; I only recall the elation I experienced on days I was leaning towards going, and the despair on days I had convinced myself this venture was too risky, to expensive…too reckless. Today, I only wish I had decided sooner — if I had, I probably wouldn’t be scrambling around like mad trying to meet the requirements for a Tier 4 Student Visa.
But now that I definitely am going, this decision feels so right. I have yearned for a change for quite some time. A change in environment, lifestyle — the type of all-encompassing change that one can only get from immersion into a new country and culture. For some people, I understand this urge to make a drastic life change is lacking ; the thought never arises. Perhaps it is instead viewed as a ‘disruption’ to one’s ineradicable daily routine. For me, I know I will not be content with a linear life path — go to college, get married, move to suburbs, have kids, etc. When I consider these generic life ‘goals’ most people share, I envision a future of such mediocrity that is terrifying enough to disrupt my sleep.
I strongly believe there is no reward without risk, nor is there success without suffering or failure. These rules hold true for any type of profession, venture, or dream. I am prepared for this. And I also have to say that as a writer, one has to be selfish in some regards — one being the demand to experience the delights of the world through one’s own eyes — meaning, alone. Writing is a solitary practice that must be devoid of disruptions. Writers are self-involved in this way. More than once, I have heard remarks from family, friends, and colleagues about my decision to move abroad, things like, “How could you move away from your family?” and “How are you going to survive there?” I laugh inwardly at these questions mostly because they’re so worried while I, the one going, am not at all.
There was a recent article in the New York Times Magazine entitled “Yes Please, Party of One.” The author Andrew O’Hagan discusses the bliss of traveling solo as a writer. He says:
“I believe that traveling alone is the last great test of who you are in a world where everyone aches to be the same.”
Yes, I am going to England to get my Master’s degree, which will probably lead to a PhD, so that I can one day teach British literature at a university in the states. I am going because I believe a degree in British Literature from a British university as opposed to an American university will hold more weight. I am going because it is time to do something responsible and get the wheels moving on a career. I am going because as I mentioned before, risks must be taken to escape the monotony of life. But above all, I am going for the reason Mr. O’Hagan has stated above. In my own words, I am going for self-discovery.