TGIF (Thank God it's Fall)

Autumn in Oxford is magical.

As the days get shorter and the nights longer, I have found myself lingering in the city for a bit longer than I should. This morning I was almost late to my tutorial because I kept stopping on my walk to revel in the way the light hits the trees or pick up leaves dyed the colors of a sunset. When the earth smells fresh and new after a recent rain shower and damp leaves crunch under my feet, it’s as if the world is begging:

Pause.

Simplify.

And so I do. Every afternoon, no matter what kind of work I have on my agenda, I make a cup of tea and a plate of cookies and I sit down and spend thirty minutes in silence, sitting and sipping and thinking. I hear the birds chirp outside, my roommate’s cough from upstairs, and the silence washes over me. I breathe. I let my mind wander.

The opportunity to center myself, calm my thoughts, and unwind is a luxury I never had until this semester. Yet this kind of reflection has been built into my routine as concretely as my trips to the Bodleian Library and the local Tesco. It has almost become a necessity to cleanse my mind, to start over again from scratch.

Speaking of starting over from scratch, my tutorials have been following a similar pattern. First, a little background on my studies here in Oxford: instead of a typical course load, Oxford undergrads take what are called “tutorials,” which are essentially private lessons between a tutor and one, two, or three students. Each week, the tutor assigns a reading list and an essay prompt, and each week, we are expected to show up at the next meeting with a completed 1500 to 2500-word essay on the topic. The tutor will then critique and challenge our ideas in the essay as we, in turn, defend our arguments. It is a vicious, soul-crushing cycle, and one that has forced me to reexamine the way I think and write about my ideas.

In my first session, I was challenged to trash my original essay and start over again from scratch. My ideas were too convoluted; my writing structure, too broad. In essence, my tutor asked me to pause. Simplify.

And so I did. And how much more clear and concise my ideas became after that. Just as clear and concise, in fact, as the world feels after my afternoon tea.

I think I’m going to do both a little more often from now on.

I See London, I See France... (Or, A Question of Place)

Before I stepped on the plane bound for London Heathrow airport, I promised myself two things: one, I would never take pictures of old buildings that nobody cares about, and two, I would never, ever take selfies in front of them.

Within a month’s time, I broke both of those rules.

Granted, I have a pretty good reason: Oxford is ripe with beautiful architecture and scenery. It feels like everywhere I turn, I’m in a new fairy tale. The dreaming spires, the winding passageways, and the crooked cobblestones have etched their way onto my heart like I would never have imagined just a month ago.

But in reality, most of these photographic abominations have resulted from my trip to Munich and Paris last week. The rich culture behind every column and the history behind every monument was enchanting. Mostly, though, I was awestruck by how the style of architecture varied between countries almost as much as the culture and opinions did. Each place I visited seems defined by certain aspects of habits, attitudes, customs, and beliefs, all of which are tied to the collective conscious of the people living there. Which raises a question about place: are we defined by the place, or does the place define us?

I think there's a distinction between the two. If a place defines you, you have chosen that place and allowed its culture/custom/environment to influence who you become. But being defined by a place is inherently different; the place has chosen you, not vice-versa. And because the place was not deliberately chosen but rather a matter of haphazard circumstance, something about it settles into your soul in a more purposeful and permanent way, coming to define your very existence.

It is truly a different way of life in mainland Europe. While in Paris, I felt fully assimilated into a typical Parisian lifestyle—I ate dinner at 8 p.m., I watched rugby while snacking on baguettes and cheese, and I learned the art of a curt “no, merci!” aimed at every street vendor who approached me. And when I had the opportunity to speak with young Parisians about their viewpoints and opinions, what they said resonated with me because it was so different from my own attitudes. As young adults themselves, they were of course interested in topics such as unemployment and higher education. They explained why they favored the European Union and greatly detested genetically-modified organisms. Talking to them, I felt myself gaining a broader awareness of global attitudes as well as a more well-rounded perspective of what Paris is truly like, outside of the tourist hotspots like the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower.

Yet there is something about living in a place—not as a tourist, but as a resident—that encourages true integration into the area’s unique culture and customs. Oxford is starting to become that place for me. From Oxford Union debates to high table dinners, taking part in the centuries-old traditions, passed down for generations through prestigious names and honorable scholars, has made me feel unified with a place that was once completely foreign. This enchanting little town is beginning to feel like mine now, just like the breathtaking Texas sunsets and rolling Arkansas hills do. While Paris might have defined me and my new perspective of the world, I have been defined by Oxford.

While we are on the topic of place, the wise Maya Angelou once wrote: "You only are free when you realize you belong to no place--you belong to every place--no place at all." Traveling has taught me that I can make a home out of anywhere--a couch, a tent, a train station. The world is at my fingertips, and every new place will define who I am. But there is something special about returning to the familiarity of a place you have made yours.

I am proud to now call Oxford my home.