I officially

never. want. to. type. again.

11,000 words. And a bunch of really crummy editing. No bueno.

Can't sleep

Here's another song. 

Just because I can't stop listening to it right now.

Uncharted

I feel like this song is not only relevant to my life right now, but the line

"in a room sunk down in a house in a town" describes my latest days at Cambridge... locked in my room, finding every excuse not to do my diss... it's bad. I need to buckle down so I can enjoy the last few days here, check off my bucket list, and have no major regrets.

Plus, this video is highly entertaining. Enjoy.

Finals Relief

If you think your life is bad right now, just remember... this could be you

And just for good measure... The Office

My Kingdom for a Dryer!

In a week and a half, I will be moving into an apartment that has both a washer and a dryer inside of it. You have no idea how happy that makes me. No more hauling a months worth of clothes down to the dreaded rows of washers and dryers that may/may not work, like I have for the past four years. And no more strange English dryer incidences.

Last year, in the BYU London Centre, the dryers fried our clothes. And I mean fried. Mmm... crispy pajamas...nothing better than that. This year, its the opposite problem. I can run the dryer all day long (if I wanted to go broke), but my clothes will never dry. So, instead, I brought them back from Pembroke and got a little creative. 

Hey... whatever works, right?

Travel Writing

A piece from my travel writing portfolio. Try not to judge too much... its still needs some work. On the bright side... almost done!

Heathrow Airport

I stared at the ticket machine. It stared back at me just the same. We had a mutual understanding, I believe. There was supposed to be an exchange of sorts. However, I found myself feeling annoyed at having this forced encounter. So we meet again, I thought.

Since my arrival in Heathrow, I had only experienced two brief human interactions.  One had been from the tight-lipped flight attendant who expressed a flat “thank you” as I exited the plane, the other from a man at customs who proceeded to interrogate me about my intentions for traveling to Cambridge. While those encounters wouldn’t typically make anyone happy, I felt the sides of my lips curve up into a smile as I walked away from the indifferent and ill-tempered individuals.

So why did I respond this way? What could possibly possess a person to respond positively to the stressed flight attendant, or the militarily strict customs officer? My answer is simple. Despite their reactions, they remind me that there still can be human interaction in travel.

As I strode through the Heathrow terminal, all I could see were flashing electronic signs, automated messages, escalators, elevators, and signs to trains and tubes. As efficient as technology is, it is replacing a meaningful part of travel: communication. In the 21^st century, technology allows us to travel from point A to B without verbalizing a single word. Our mouths can stay shut, our eyes glued to the floor, and we can pass by without even acknowledging others. In fact, if you do make conversation with a random stranger, you will undoubtedly be met with a quizzical look.

This social decline results from society’s insistence that convenience and efficiency are far more important than social interchange. We lead busy lives; we have no time for trivial small talk. Furthermore, we often cringe at the term “customer service,” associating it with hostile encounters, or even worse, encounters that suck precious minutes out of our hectic schedule. To avoid these unpleasant occurrences, we have simply replaced people with machines. This was never clearer to me than when I arrived in Heathrow.  I was aided by many forms of technology that directed me where to go, but never by a human being.

So, by the time I came to the ticket station to get a ticket for the Heathrow Connect—the train that would take me to my next expedition—I was craving human contact. So much so, that I looked around the terminal, my eyes searching for a station clerk. Instead, I beheld an army of machines, perfectly in line, standing ready at attention. However, the neat regiments and lines did not impress me. Sarcastically, I asked the machine, “How are you doing?” I was met with a hollow silence. The machine did not laugh, did not smile, did not give me a sour look. It simply gave me a ticket once I fed it the money it desired; then allowed me to continue on my way. 

Who You Gonna Call?

Come on... yell it out with me.

GHOSTBUSTERS!

Or when you don't have their number, or the emergency really isn't that dire, call the one guy's number that you have in your phone.

I really was in need of help yesterday. I've been struggling the past few days (a 13,000 word dissertation can do that to you) and it built up to an explosive amount of emotion that detonated last night. It was messy--tears galore, red eyes, tissues, and my poor, newly washed pillowcase received the brunt of the damage. 

I sent one helpless text, pleading that its owner would be awake. I waited as time slowly crawled by... no response. And then, when all hope was lost, the annoying buzzing of my cheap phone went off. 

The next thing I know, two of my friends are standing there, concerned looks on their faces. 

Sidenote: I had previously told one of them that I had an ex that cried a lot. He told me that didn't seem like a good fit, since I don't appear to be the kind of girl that cries. I had confirmed his guess and now, here I was, having clearly bawled my eyes out for a good hour. Haha. So much for appearing to be strong and putting on a brave face. 

But they were so nice and genuinely concerned about me. They gave me a blessing, then gave me hugs and I felt at peace. I felt my emotions check out at the door when they did (granted, I still couldn't sleep... but as they say in French... C'est la vie!)

I am so grateful for these people. Seriously, they are amazing. 

Feeling Lost

I remember distinctly when I started jumping in my equestrian lessons. I thought the same thing that many people that don't understand horseback riding do, "The horse will do all the work."

Wrong.

Oh so wrong. My horse would break to a trot before fences, hesitantly approach them then lurch over them, or completely sidestep them. Meanwhile, I would be jostled, left behind at the fence (meaning my weight was still completely on the back end of the horse when he took off) and thrown over the fence by sheer momentum, or, in the worst circumstances, fall right off of him as he spooked away from the fence. My trainer told me something that has stuck with me since. She said a lot about how horses don't actually know how to jump themselves, you're smarter than the horse, etc. etc. then...

"Take control and don't let yourself be a victim."

It was once I picked up the slack in the reins, felt the tension on the reins between his mouth and my arms, and felt my legs tight against his body that I could anticipate his stride and then adjust it so that we could take off at the perfect spot in front of the fence. The feeling of floating over that tiny little fence in unison was nothing short of perfection.

And so, as I've gone on with life since, those words have stuck with me. Take control of your life and don't let yourself be the victim.

But sometimes, I don't even know how to go about that. It's like I've lost the reins completely and find that my life sidesteps, approaches things hesitantly, and is a mess of confusion. And there I am, in the center of it... a victim.

I feel as lost as Alice in Wonderland

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" 

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat. 

"I don't much care where--" said Alice. 

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

 "--so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation. 

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

However, my problem is that I don't just want to get somewhere, I want to get somewhere incredible. But lately, I haven't a clue which path will take me there and which path will make me the happiest. As far as my previous post about enjoying the view goes, I am certainly enjoying it, but the winding down of Cambridge has placed an immense pressure on me that I desperately wish I could procrastinate. I've changed since coming to Cambridge... a lot more than people could probably guess. And a lot of my perspective has changed in the last year and is continuing to change here. Part of me wants to freeze time... to just give me some SILENCE and PEACE to figure it out. But, as per usual, all I hear is the ticking of the clock, chiding me that time is slipping away and that deadlines are fast approaching.

Do other people have these problems, I wonder? A severe existential crisis of sorts? Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one. Most people only worry about their major and choosing the right one, while I worry about every little possible path that I have to take after that and whether my life really will be happy and meaningful. And then's there's that whole... life is unpredictable thing... so why do we ever plan things? Its enough to make my head spin. I think I'm going to lie down. 

As the twitter kids would say... #frustrated #existentialcrisis #HELP!

Taking Time to Smell the Roses

At the beginning of the week, I was rushing to FHE (leaving my flat far later than I should have, as usual) and found myself speed walking behind my flat mate, Michelle. She was booking it pretty fast and I didn't want to slow her down, so I just kept walking behind her. But then she did something interesting: she stopped. She stopped for a moment, grabbed the vine of a rose near her and sniffed it before quickly continuing to speed on her way.

After I caught up with her, I mentioned that I noticed that she smelled the flower. She told me that she can't help but stop every day and smell it because it smells so wonderful (and believe me, I can verify now that it does). But that really hit me. The phrase "take time to stop and smell the roses" had never been more relevant.

I started thinking about the things left in Cambridge that I still want to see and do and how I often cave myself up in the library or my room and either do work, or waste my time away. However, I decided that I want to take advantage of every opportunity I can before my time is over here to make sure I stop and enjoy it.

One of the ways that I've done that so far? Exploring the town (though I don't feel that I've scratched the surface yet) and today... PLAYING GOLF! I had to be talked into it a little, but I figured that I would take a chance and try it. I took a golf class spring term before I came out here, so at least I wasn't going in blind. 

And I had SO much fun. Golfing really is about the company. If you have a fun group of people, you're set. And the guys I went with were so great. We ended up splitting up into two teams, but I know that we all had a really good time.

Team 1-Ben, A.J., Matt, and David

Team 2: Elliott, Neal, and me

My favorite had to have been Elliott's tips. He was on a golf team for a while, so he helped Neal and I out a lot. When I took a swing and completely missed, Elliott said, "Devon, just imagine that if you hit this, there will be a really hot guy for you to make out with when you're through."

...PING! My ball went straight up through the air, right toward the green.

"Well, something must have worked..." he said. My face turned an embarrassing shade of red. But I have to give it to him, his tips are excellent. Haha.

My first hit of the day on the green

I hope this is the beginning of many more moments where I take time to stop and enjoy beautiful, sunny Cambridge :)

Trying to Gain New Perspective

Life is NOT predictable. That is something that I continue to find out every day. Whenever I make plans now, my mind reels back to a quote I heard once.

"If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans."

I even laugh at it. Our plans never turn out the way we expect them to. Either we think we know what's best for us and then later find out we were wrong, or we take a leap of faith and hope we don't land flat on our face (and let's face it, a lot of the time we still do).

If there's anything I've learned while here at Cambridge, its that I don't know anything at all. Out of all the world's knowledge, I've probably scratched the surface of 1% of it. And even that percentage may be generous. 

So who am I to decide my life? Clearly, I'm no genius.

Plato? Aristotle? Socrates? ...Morons!

I know I'm not the only one who has this problem of questioning: Is this really the right thing for me? What am I doing? Will this make me happy? And those other strings of questions we ask ourselves about the future and the choices that will get us there.

I find myself envying some of the students here that say, "After I make my first million..." Wait, what? Will I ever make that much money?! For my major... the answer is a resounding NO. And would I ever have the confidence to believe that it was not just a possibility, but a reality? Again here, the answer is probably NO. Good for them, though. They know what they want and they're determined to get it. I have no doubt that they will.

But lately, I've just been questioning my decisions in life. I've been blessed with the curse of indecisiveness. I have bounced around from sport to sport, hobby to hobby, place to place. I can never stay anywhere for long, nor do I usually have the passion to stick with anything new that I try. It's a serious problem. I've dabbled in pretty much everything. 

However, life is about making decisions and staying resolute with those. It's my worst nightmare. So, as per usual, I'm doubting and questioning. I'm lost in the fog, trying to feel my way toward something solid, but only grabbing air. I've been plagued with these doubts for the last week.

So today when I woke up, instead of working on my dissertation that has been giving me grief, I slammed my laptop shut and said out loud, "Screw it, I'm going running." And the only place I wanted to go was "Castle Mounds"

If you're unfamiliar with Cambridge, let me tell you one thing. There are no hills. Ok, that's a lie. There is ONE measly hill. And on top of that measly hill is Castle Mounds. There is nothing special about it really. Just a mound with steps carved into it, but on the top, you can see the layout of Cambridge. It's not that tall, or particularly impressive to those who can't recognize the sites. However, I love this place.

Rookie move with the finger in the corner. I apologize. It was early.

When I got to the top of the mound and looked over Cambridge, I didn't really feel anything. I just took in the view. I could see King's Chapel, St. Mary's and--the recent thorn in my side--UL. I looked at the city, thinking about how short my time has been here and how soon it will be over. It was only once I decided to leave that I realized I felt calm; that some of my worry had ceased.

And what I've decided since.... I think sometimes we just need to be on higher ground and just step outside of our situation. Yeah, I may make a wrong choice or two, or twelve in the next couple of years. I've certainly made a lot of past mistakes in my life, but they've all lead me here to Cambridge. So really, how bad could they be? I may not become a millionaire, I may not travel the world, I may not get full funding for graduate school, and I may not even stick with history as a career. But there are a lot of other options. The possibilities are endless. 

So basically, don't always worry about how you get to your next destination. Take time to look at where you are and just enjoy the view :)

An American in Cambridge

Lessons Learned-Part 1

1. You must never refer to that material item that covers your legs as "pants." Ohhh no. Pants are underwear. That will certainly lead to some embarrassing conversations (i.e. My pants are soaked!) Trousers are that outer material item you wear. Chase Arnold (former Cambridge graduate student) will hound you about that until the day you die.

2. If you want to get even more confused: fries are chips, chips are crisps, and crisps... well luckily that word isn't used much in the United States. No chance getting confused there.

3. Do not say "WHAT?!" when you do not hear someone correctly. You say "Pardon?" or "Excuse me." You certainly do not say "WHAT?!" It was only when one of the PAs imitated Americans that I realized how incredibly embarrassing that is. I'm working on it.

4. The British are very serious about their lunch time. Every archive and library that I've tried to get access to always seems to take an hour and a half break (12-1:30 at King's, 12:30-2:00 at the UL). Guess those scones just can't wait!

5. Drinks are a way of life. In the morning, you drink tea. In the afternoon, you have high tea. At night, you have a spot of tea before bed. It's a tea party here.

6. You have to always assume that things will close early (5-7). I'm still trying to wrap my mind around why the University Library closes at 7 pm. So much for studying at night!

7. Sidewalk re-construction? Not even an option. The streets are far too historic. You will trip, trip, and probably trip some more as you rush to class. Guess people are going to start labeling you as the clumsy drunk.

8. The porters at the colleges are magical people. They will produce full length mirrors out of thin air, tell you the best place to eat, and make straight faced jokes when you get locked out about how they don't give out extra keys on the weekend, as you stand barefoot in front of them in your embarrassing mismatched pajama ensemble. They will then ask if you found somewhere else to stay. For the record, I didn't laugh. But nonetheless, they're comedians, magicians, and Olympic athletes (I hear they can chase down--with ease--someone who's dared to step on the beloved college's grass).

9. There's a common theme in British food: grease, bread, and chocolate. As long as you have one or all of those elements, you've successfully mastered the art of traditional British food.

10. There are no rules for parking bikes. In Cambridge, everywhere tends to be a parking spot for bikes. Chain your bike to a pole, a tree, a baby... it's all good. Seriously though, the bikes are everywhere and usually just chained to themselves. Its chaos.

Let the Games Begin!

The Olympics.

The gathering of all nations to show the world that our athletes are better than yours.

Yes, its comical, but true. Each country aspires to find and produce the most successful athletes they can. It's OPERATION: Prove Superiority. When, in reality, the appeal of the Olympics has little to do with the country. It has everything to do with the competitors and their fierce, passionate, unadulterated love for the game. However, we feel attached to these competitors because we are tied together through our country. We have the same roots, grew up eating the same food, watched the same television shows, have the same accent, for goodness sake (though as Americans, we often tend to be ignorant to the fact that we do have a distinguishable accent)! We want to see if our country can bring home the most medals. And I love that the Olympics creates national unity (no matter how short lived) through this desire to win. It's in that moment when we see our favorite competitors mouthing the words to the national anthem as tears spring from their eyes that we think, I'm proud to be an American (or [insert your country here]). 

But I think that it unites us further than just by country. There is undeniable respect among athletes and spectators from different countries. I found that this was true when I attended Women's Gymnastics. I had no clue who was competing that night. I ended up having the opportunity to watch Romania, Japan, and a few other teams, which wouldn't have been my first choices. However, when you see these athletes, whether you're in Category AA (impossible seats to get) all the way to E (when all that you see is essentially a small speck), its impossible not to get excited. I found myself cheering and clapping wildly for their performances, even though deep down I'm completely Team USA. But these girls are amazing. You can't help but cheer for them. They defy the laws of gravity and do it with grace, confidence, and energy.

Respect.

What a great aspect to add to sports. That's what I feel is missing at so many games. We're so focused on our team and winning that we fill ourselves with hate toward the opposing team. But that doesn't seem to exist at the Olympics. I loved that Michael Phelps received standing ovations, words of praise, and probably a few jaw drops last night from crowds, commentators, and athletes as they witnessed him break the world record for most Olympic medals won. While I'm sure there were feelings of disappointment to those that lost in the event, everyone present couldn't help but tip their hat to Phelps, who now has acquired a well deserved spot in Olympic history.

I love this picture. He's just glowing. 

And I got to see him in action! Let me tell you, it was glorious. From the moment Phelps stepped into the main area of the Aquatics center, there was an immediate presence. My whole body shook with excitement and I struggled to maintain my composure (I was after all, sitting alone, and had no one to express my excitement to). At first I could only see the back of him, but I could clearly see his trademark headphones fixed over his white swimming cap, his blue and white parka hanging loosely over his body, and his relaxed pace as he walked toward the block in his sandals. 

Phelps, leaning over the pool near the official

Phelps had all the eyes of the crowd on him from the moment he appeared in the stadium and stepped on the block. The fans, particularly Americans, cheered loudly as the sound went off and the swimmers dove into the pool. Phelps led the pack the entire way, with deliberate strokes and artful flip turns, but in the end had to settle for third. I can't say that I was surprised. First of all, its only the heats. Second, Phelps is beginning to slow down this Olympics. He is trying his best, but you can only be invincible for so long. Although, as the British competitors said (with a hint of bitterness), "With 19 medals--15 gold, 2 silver, and 2 bronze--I think he'll sleep fine at night." The crowd--myself included-- cheered and tried to take as many pictures and video of him as possible. It was overwhelming to know that I was in the presence of one of the most amazing swimmers in the world. I watched every moment of Phelps's journey in Beijing and fell in love with his passion for the sport and his extreme talent. I also found it hilarious how NBC examined his body (wingspan, leg length, etc.) and determined that he was physically destined for this sport. 

The 200m fly was far too short, but just to know that I was there is something that I will NEVER forget. The feelings will never go away, and the image of Phelps entering the center is one that is burned into my memory. I found myself fighting back tears as I left the arena, thinking, I just saw MICHAEL PHELPS. I just saw MICHAEL PHELPS. I relayed this story to someone and they laughed at me (rightfully so). I don't know why I was so emotional. But an opportunity to attend the Olympics only comes once in a lifetime, I suppose more if you're lucky. And being part of it is an experience that words simply cannot do justice. All I can really say is that the Olympics are amazing in every aspect. It really was the best weekend I've ever had.