The Mattress Obsession: Pillow Talk or Profits?

Calm down, sex fiends… this is an honest observation. Has anybody else in Northern California noticed the hyper-frequency of mattress selling on the TV and radio? I can't be the only one. Was it always like this, and I just never realized until I'd been away from it for so long? 

When I start the day with 10 minutes local TV news for traffic and weather, I probably see three mattress adverts in that time.  The three largest competitors each have their gimmicky trademark jingles and one even has the family pet as a mascot. 
My commute to work is about 4.8 miles in a relatively small city. I drive past two mattress retailers on my way, randomly situated near a post office and the Mexican supermarket. En route, the radio adverts  for "getting a better night's sleep!" dominate the air waves. 

Does this part of the world have a disproportionate obsession with comfortable sleep?  Sure, it's vital and all that, but why all the hype? I expect more car commercials, more prescription drugs, but everywhere I turn, the almighty mattress rules. Seemingly benign - yet somehow approaching sinister. Was there a bedbug epidemic I missed? Is there really that much advanced technology that goes in mattresses, now? I hear more about things to sleep on than tablets or smart phones. 

And so, I recall the mattress situation in the UK. I pretty much hated every mattress I had there. That's a decade of mediocre - or just plain uncomfortable- sleep. Another thing I noticed when I moved there - no such thing as a Queen-sized bed. Not formally, anyway. I'd ask in the department stores about a Queen sized mattress and they'd correct me. Is that supposed to be offensive to HRH or something? I started to notice that beds were either marketed as 'Double' or 'King'.  And what they classed as a King was about the size of our Queen. The California King size was unheard of. If you were in a hotel, a King might be two twin beds pushed together. Fittingly, over there the mattresses are probably manufactured to be smaller since the bedrooms are tinier. In my London flat, what was classed as a third, single bedroom might have fit a small tot's cot. 

Today I sleep on the best set of mattresses I've had in years. Perhaps the quality of the mattress is the key to the quality of life. Better sleep, better awake, happier, more productive. The mattress rage could replace therapy and put me out of a job!

Good luck to the somnambulist - there's got to be something for you - if nothing else, you can take up counseling sessions.  

A Wandering Citizen, and What John Cleese Said

I'll start with John Cleese because I imagine that's why you entered this blog today. 

A few weeks back on NPR I listened to an interview with John Cleese who was talking about his new book, answering a question about British vs American fans. He said,"The Americans are enthusiastic…..the British are a jealous bunch…", and carried on explaining that the more miserable you are, the more your friends will reach out to you (in the UK).

I laughed as the concept of Schadenfreude crossed my mind.


2014 will have been the first full year, January - December, since 2003 that I've lived in the United States. Seeing a year through, end to end - isn't that proof that this relocation to California is no longer a dreamy stay-cation? 
The timing makes sense in my process as it would for grieving any loss. It isn't so much that my identity of being a Londoner or Bristolian is lost; rather, the absence of the constant adjustments - many subconscious - for assimilating.  

Over a decade, a culture imbues your identity and the new-you takes shape. Recalling something my friend from Ghana once said (she is still London),  "Emily, I must always be tactical about dealing with people here".  Her comment is a reminder of the constant adjustments expats make. 


California appears to have grown considerably in my absence. Towns became cities, resulting in an explosion of new area codes. Kids in diapers when I left grew into household names. Petrol rose and dropped in price 3,002 times. Television series launched, were loved, then faded. New politicians have taken office and done sweet F.A. As a result, my interest in global news far outweighs state politics. The scores of electric/hybrid, "quiet" cars keep me looking over my shoulder. 
I noticed that in the past 16 months, I gravitate towards expats in California or friends who've lived abroad. 


So what does all that mean, at the end of 2014? Am I a culturally shapeless wanderer, citizen of the planet without claim to roots? As Socrates said, “I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world."

Rain, stodginess, classism, and traffic congestion fees aside, I simply miss what became home. Home, and a two hour ride on the Eurostar to Paris. 

Here I go, closing out 2014, the first year - end to end - in California since 2003.  Here's to taking shape in 2015. 

No Ghoul Deprivation Here

Last night I arrived back from London - my second trip in 11 months since moving back to California last year - to discover an explosion of Hallowe'en decorations around my neighborhood. 

As daylight emerged and I took my dog out for her morning walk, I was captivated by the number of bloodied mannequin limbs, partially buried doll heads, hanging witches with apparent skeletal issues, and the more traditional giant spiders and pumpkin displays. For a hillside community with mostly rugged gardens, the converted landscape is impressive. It looks amazing and I love it!

One thing is for certain, I shall not be buying any cotton web-like decoration. My resident spiders provide plenty on their own. It's the first time in decades I've felt a neighborhood momentum of excitement for the 31st. What a sense of pride. In the next two weeks I'll get my own modest collection of decs out. I'm ready with my mini Crunchie Bars and snack size Maltesers.   

In case you were wondering, yes - indeed those are British candies. I planned ahead. Kids calling at my door will be in for something a little different from the usual Snickers and Hershey's minis.

Hallowe'en falls just before Bonfire night/Guy Fawkes, so more of the celebration in the UK happens that night with local fireworks.  I saw a slow progression of some communities there somewhat embracing Hallowe'en since 1992, the first one I spent there. 

I recall in the early 2000's in Wales that it seemed to be a night for aspiring ASBO* teenagers to get up to no good, throwing eggs and breaking car windshields.  (*anti-social behavior order)

Later when I lived in Bristol, a colleague from work said she refused to let her children trick or treat, "It's beggin', in'nit?"   

It must have been 2011 when we had a warmer autumn in London that a few parents actually brought their small kids around. No rain and a candle-lit jack-o-lantern in the window brought a decent turnout (four!). I was thrilled to have been prepared. 

As for adult fun, I had the honor of attending a friend's birthday/H'ween party (Ebony & Ivory) five years in a row, always in a different venue somewhere in East London. Each year I had to get more creative with my costume. The best was my doping cyclist, complete with syringe. 

In both London and Bristol over the past two weeks, Christmas preparation was much more prevalent.  Shops already selling Christmas themed gift boxes, ornaments, crackers and mince meat pies. 

Refreshingly, I haven't seen a single Christmas display or circular/paper advert in my county of California yet. 

Still in the expat-transitional fog, I can only describe my visits 'home' to London/UK as weird. 

Within the first day of landing there were a few cultural idiosyncrasies reminding me I was glad I had moved away from there. 

I rode the 108 bus from North Greenwich station one day - my old commute route - thinking to myself, "My god, sitting on this bus is the LAST place I'd ever thought I'd spend part of my holiday…" 

Bermondsey underground station on the Jubilee line: still seemingly pointless with never more than five people on the entire platform waiting to board and maybe two getting off the train, even during peak hours. It's been that way as long as I remember it.  Even as a non-resident I am still questioning the relevance of it and irritated that we need to stop there. 

Yes, it rained. People shut down into their compressed personal-space bubbles on the street, on the trains, on the bus…  The free Metro paper still litters the trains and station benches.

The deeper substance comes from meeting with loved ones and dear friends, dining out, sitting on a damp bench in Greenwich Park. Those memories have been the most meaningful, and definitely drive my incentive for keeping up regular visits (along with professional interests now and then).

Whilst packing up to leave, the extent of my duality occurred to me as I accounted for two wallets, two passports, two phones….

As my plane descended towards towards the airport in California, I looked out at the terrain of my current home and still couldn't figure out how to decipher where I feel most rooted.  For now, home is where the doggie is. 

~ Em

Neighbour Vs. Neighbor

A few weeks ago I was ambling through the De Young Museum when a security guard smiled and made a comment about the exhibit I was viewing (the charred remains of a church hanging in mobile-fashion). We chatted a few moments, and when I said I'd recently "moved back from the UK", he responded that his colleague in the corner was also from that part of the world.  I walked on and eventually the other guard appeared to introduce himself. Turned out he was from Ukraine. We both laughed. Then I asked, ex-pat to ex-pat, which he preferred. He said Ukraine. He could afford it there, and the weather was better than in San Francisco.  Home is home, even Ukraine.


What strikes me about my neighborhood in Marin county is how friendly the neighbors are. Only seven months as a resident and already I've met most people on the street and around the corner, all who've made an effort to welcome me and introduce themselves. Having a dog I walk four times a day helps, but even when I leave the house solo, people extend their greetings.

Earlier this month someone hosted a community social event at their home, offering a chance for neighbors to meet each other.

All of what I just described was pretty much unheard of in every neighborhood I ever lived in in Britain.
That includes:
Notting Hill Gate, London
Stockport
Cambridge
Pontcanna, Cardiff, Wales (two homes in different sections)
Clifton, Bristol
Charlton/Greenwich, London.
I can count on one hand the number of neighbors I met during that time. The two I've stayed in touch with were also born outside of Britain and part of the ex-pat squad.
Once in a while an immediate neighbor (sharing the terrace wall) would make an effort for reasons of safety/neighborhood watch, but suspicion flowed just beneath the surface.

I got used to it after about three years. I learned whilst living in Wales that the only way to make friends on the street is if you are a mother with a kid who meets another mother. I'm not part of that squad.

"Keep themselves to themselves" is a common expression in the UK. When a crime story hits the news,  neighbors are often interviewed. "Did you know the Taylor family, ma'am?"
       "Well, it's an awful shock - we didn't really know them - - kept themselves to themselves, mostly".

Seeing the same faces day in, day out -  at the bus stop or riding the tube, no one dared extend a "hello, again".  People buried themselves in their Metro papers or faffed around with their iPhones like security blankets.  I imagined those internal thoughts, "Musn't make eye contact… too complicated! Ah, relief, here comes the 108".

Of course, here in Northern California we pedestrians may be friendly towards one another, but give us four wheels and an engine and we become foes competing for asphalt space.

I am by no means popular in my home state. I know more people, but my friends got used to me as their friend abroad, and I became relegated to annual visits.  Despite my residence in the same region as many of my old friends, not much has changed. Folks have their own lives and patterns with their local friends they're used to seeing. I was a novelty for a few weeks. It's even weird for me that I'm back.  I can't blame them, but I am glad I got a dog.

The Bread Affair

A year ago today I was counting the hours till my flight to SFO. It was the first stage of my move (back) to California.

Of all the delights on offer at local farmer's markets, my favorite grocery stores and bakeries, a crusty, chewy, sourdough bread ranks among the top favorites. Sadly, it wasn't until about 2013 that I found a semi-decent sourdough loaf at Marks and Spencer in Blackheath. The Kensington Whole Foods sold one and it was so remotely sourdough that I would only describe it as 'an attempt at being sourdough-ish'.

My partner who longed for Irish Soda Bread was also disappointed by the lightweight version of that offered at Whole Foods.

If ever I wanted a 'proper' French baguette in the UK, Le Pain Quotidien would satisfy the craving.  Pret a Manger was the last-resort. I made the mistake in 2004 whilst living in Wales of trying a Gregg's bakery sandwich. NEVER AGAIN.  With my disappointing bread eating experiences there, for 9+ years, bread was not the staple in my diet it once had been.

So in the year since I replanted myself in California, I've embraced an all-out bread binge. Nut loaves, Dutch Crunch, San Francisco sourdough sliced, wheat sourdough, sourdough loaf, French Roll, Kaiser Roll, and salted bagels. (Ok, I may have only had one bagel in the past year, but it was heavenly).

You'd think I'd be enormous but somehow that has been avoided. Maybe because I eat breads in moderation with careful savoring of every chewy munch. (If anything, it would be my cheese consumption that would add girth).

Perhaps my bread affair is leveling off. I never made a secret of it. The availability of so many delectable bread options at my fingertips is almost enough - just knowing they are within reach the next time I fancy the crunchy, the chewy, the tangy, the sour….

As for having been back a year, my feeling is best described by a young woman I met at the Red Hill dog park, "It's like you're on a stay-cation".

Back to the Land of Hugs and Handshakes

When I was staying in the UK as a student in 1992-93, I was greeted in various ways by the locals. Sometimes a single kiss on the cheek, sometimes a handshake or light hug, other times a controlled nod. They seemed to do the same among each other. 

So it felt as though something was a little strange when I resettled in 2004 and people, whether new in my life or old friends, were all greeting me with the double kiss, comme les Francais. 
Qu'est ce qui passe??
I didn't remember people greeting each other in that manner when I was living there in the previous decade, but I went along with it. Since I was in Wales at the time I thought perhaps that was a regional custom. It followed as I moved from Cardiff to Bristol to London.
Apparently the European left-right-smooch custom had swept the nation and there was no going back. 

I suppose I went along with it, but it felt contrived and, in this age of germ-phobias, swine flu and noro-virus, it was just plain hazardous. 

The only place I didn't feel under threat of the left-right-smooch was in Scotland where I was traveling regularly for work in 2010. Their smile-and-nod greeting felt more relaxed and genuine.  

I laughed out loud at a party in London last year when a Frenchman who'd been living in the UK for several years expressed his ennui with the custom. When the British lunged at him with the left-right-smooch he accommodated, but not without saying, "Oh, you want to kiss both sides, now? I never know what they are doing here!"

If a hand-shake feels too formal, there is something that feels very false - even remotely stand-off-ish, by the British-style left-right-smooch. It reminds me of the similar move spoofed in films of wealthy housewives in Beverly Hills. Going through the motions while sizing each other up. "Oh, hello darling - smooch smooch - we must get together soon."

Very few people in my home state of California attempt the left-right-smooch, and most of those who do were raised in Europe and moved here as adults. My own father, aunts and uncles from France and Italy do not partake in the double-kiss. They seem to have let that go during their acculturation to the US, yet they remain demonstrative and cuddly. 

As I start a new job here and meet new neighbors, the interactions between people feel more natural and less pretentious. I know there are some English who disagree and believe most Americans are arrogant hand-shakers. They're certainly entitled to their opinions, though I won't pay any attention until they've actually lived here in the US for a decade -- try that, first - then we'll be on a level playing field to compare notes on culture. 

Cheerio and au-revior, awkward left-right-smooch. 

The Return

It's true, I returned to the UK four months and five days after I left. 

I was greeted with "Welcome home!", and "At last, you've returned to us."

People kept asking, "How does it feel to be back ?" 

I feel as though I have been on a summer study holiday in California and have just come back to the reality of cold air, angry commuters, high prices and traffic congestion. It feels like only a few weeks have passed - those months I spent sequestered studying and passing the clinical licensing exams in California are all compressed into a smaller memory block. 

As I sat on the old familiar fuzzy seats on the Piccadilly line from Heathrow, I felt grateful for the comfortable flight, the empty train car, and my old functioning Oyster card.

It was only a short visit (3 days in Bristol; 7 in London). I wasn't able to see all of my friends, or even half of them. But that is what I have encountered for the past decade of traveling back and forth to the US. I am well rehearsed in the art of short-stay-meeting-up coordination and inevitable sacrifices. 

Nothing much seems to have changed in the UK. The air, chill, and hard water were always hard on my skin and sinuses, and that all came flooding back within a few hours of landing.  

While I miss the ability to see friends here more regularly and eating at my favorite restaurants, I can't say that I really miss the UK yet. If anything, I was reminded of the reasons I left. 

For now, I am very confident I made the right move. I felt reminded of this when seeing the overflowing display of bags of crisps in every shop, adjacent to the rows and rows of chocolate bars. The free 'news' papers with melo-dramatic headlines. The hideous UPVC windows everywhere. The passive-aggressive anger on public transport. The "should" and "should not" attitude. Jon Snow still on Channel 4. The bureaucratic red tape of trying to sort my pension transfer. The mediocre dental care. Royals spending money, reproducing, and adding nothing. Separate hot and cold water taps....

The things I take pleasure in, such as my favorite parks in decent weather, my favorite galleries, seeing friends, dining out, and knowing that Paris is only 2 hours away on the Eurostar are the brilliance of living in London for me. 

What was most wonderful about my return visit was seeing friends and feeling welcomed home - like I belonged there.

I am grateful for and proud of my citizenship. I did, after all, spend a decade of my life there (plus my student terms abroad in the early 90s).  

Towards the end of my visit, I realized something that stopped me in my tracks: the UK is still 'home' to me now, more than California, where everything is still temporary (and I don't even know if I will settle there).  I realized that I will never feel like a tourist in a place where I lived and worked for so long.

So I enjoyed the visit as a citizen and recent resident whilst still looking forward to the future, wherever that might be. 

Here's what happened while I was away: I GOT OLD

I guess a decade will do that to a person, especially when you come back to a place when you are over 40.

I have noticed that on the television news programming, both network and cable channels, the news readers and pundits are all suspiciously youthful. I don't remember it always being like that. Sure, Generations Y and Z might have a few interesting contributions, but I like my news readers varying in ages and prefer pundits more on the sedate, mature side. (Actually, pundits are often annoying at any age; what am I saying?) I'd better stick with National Public Radio.

Here's what else happened:

A group resembling a quasi-rabid pack of small, irate chihuahuas has gripped a corner of American politics and are attempting to contaminate the country. So far they seem to be successful in giving most people a caffeine-related headache. Thank goodness I have always stuck with herbal tea.

And finally, picking up one of the free local newspapers, the last four pages are covered in adverts for weed. Now that's definitely new.

Catching up with California

"While California is not perfect, it is in our nature to try new things."
~Bill Maher

While I am admittedly catching up on things here from the past decade, Bill Maher sheds light on why whenever I was asked where I was originally from whilst living abroad, I would always specify California (and never generically the US). I suppose a lot of us from the Golden State consider ourselves a sub-culture of the rest of America, and those in certain regions may consider ourselves from yet another sub-culture within the state.
So for as many stereotypes as there are out there about Americans, and Californians, this 'New Rule' segment highlights some of the better things about my home state.  If you scroll down past the text you can view the video.

From another ex-pat recently moved back to the US:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/18/opinion/sunday/ta-ta-london-hello-awesome.html?smid=pl-share

I didn't experience 100% of what she describes in her commentary, though most of it was very familiar to me. I admired her for putting it in print. 
Going through the re-settlement process is not easy and it is helpful to find these little gems of validation from others. 


I will refer to it when I elaborate on my own experiences in a future post. Stay tuned. 

~Em

The California Sun!

OK, most of my friends back in the UK would say they are so jealous that I was going to be in California for the summer. It is true, California weather is amazing. But they don't know.... it lasts for four months!!!! In all honesty, after so many days of +93F/34C to me it is just really hot.  

Yes it is beautiful, sunny and blue skies everyday, which really is quite nice, I won't lie. I haven't seen so many cloudless blue skies in years. Seriously... years... this is not an exaggeration. Yet, maybe this is too much of a good thing?  

It is so hot that I can't be outdoors in certain times of the day, I think I am melting! And then at night it is lovely and beautiful outside, but inside my room is a sauna. 

Of course I do know that I just need to get accustomed to it. Get used to moving outside in the heat. For goodness sake I could handle it when I was younger. I tell myself I can do it again, it's in my blood!

But I must be honest...I miss London weather. The gloomy cloudy, rainy summer days. Those days when we'd all get excited because the forecast said we were going to have a nice weekend. Then seeing everyone out there in the park getting lobster red as they had their first exposure to real sun that year. Mind you the high would normally be about 77F/25C and if we were lucky a few days may even be about 86F/30C.

Oh how I miss wearing layers and never knowing what to expect weather wise. And always having a cardigan and scarf in my bag for when it got cold at night. 

Ahh well... I suppose this year I may actually get a bit of a tan :) 

What has this really taught me these last two months? ... I need a proper California summer wardrobe! I do not have nearly enough summer clothes :) 

~T

The Floating Dock - How do I anchor myself?

It "feels like I've been dropped on a floating dock in the middle of a familiar lake.  I see the shore and know it, but don't really feel like swimming towards it." 

I love what Em has said here as it really captures what returning home is like - the conflicting emotions of familiarity, loneliness and isolation.

Like Em I was 17 when I left and I too only returned for weeks at a time. I won't lie, there was a year and a half that I did have to return home in between my time in Zimbabwe and Washington, DC. However I refer to this as my rebuilding year as I prepared for the next step - grad school. I even managed to get a grant for Chinese language study, so I felt OK because I was still pursuing my goal. I knew where I was going (grad school) and why (to eventually become an anthropologist - this did not happen).

That's why I like the Floating Dock analogy. It's been about 2 months since I've returned back to California and I am struggling with my attachment to this place. Which is interesting actually as my PhD dissertation was going to look exactly at these issues within resettled populations in China (crooked smile). I've realised it is not only about an attachment to place but also the experiences that you associate with those places. I am having to reconcile the two very different versions of myself - before and after London.


There is a part of me that finds solace in my being a floating dock. It is safe. Until I swim to shore and anchor myself I am not really here, haven't really returned. I can imagine that I am still abroad.

Of course, I can't remain floating out there in the middle of the lake. I have to find a way of becoming attached again. Until I do I won't figure out what's next. For me, that is the secret of returning home. Having to navigate the integration of my experiences and this new identity I have created abroad with my past life here.

(Oh and considering the length of this post, I've taken another cue from Em and had a bit of fun with the colours)

 
~ T

The Floating Dock (and what is 'reverse culture shock', anyway?')

Most of the Google searches on Reverse Culture Shock (aka 'Re-entry') yield blogs of young students and missionaries returning after a tour, or business articles for staff positioned abroad and ending contracts. Some people have even devised U-curves and W-graphs to demonstrate the process graphically.  Many describe it as, surprisingly, a more difficult adjustment than culture shock when moving abroad. 

In 1992 after I was a university student abroad in London, I experienced a brief taste of reverse culture shock. I wasn't ready to leave London, and resented returning to the big, loud, sunny west coast. I was 20. 

Younger students, religious missionaries, seconded professionals living abroad from six months to four years: none of these are quite the same as resettling abroad to be married for what you think will be the rest of your natural life, or at least 30 years until retirement.  I emigrated 'permanently' at 31 and left three months shy of 41. 

The initial arrival and adjustment phase when relocating to a foreign country is essentially a short flurry of excitement followed by a grieving process. In 2004-05, I went through all the stages of grief while I reflected on the loss of my old identity as an independent woman established in North Beach, San Francisco. 

If I'd still been fiercely attached to California in 2004, I wouldn't have left when I did. I was ready for a new adventure. (For those who know of the story of my time in Wales, it was not quite the adventure I'd hoped for). 

Returning now in 2013 feels like I've been dropped on a floating dock in the middle of a familiar lake. I see the shore and know it, but don't really feel like swimming towards it. I also don't have a desire to go back where I just came from. Where does one go after London? I know I want change, but for now I am perched on the dock, assessing my future options. 

When I left the US, I was already a reasonably mature adult with an identity and strong sense of self. That all had to be re-invented in the UK, and it took a long time. (The bureaucracy there did not make it efficient, by any means). 

I found being a citizen in my non-native country across the Atlantic meant I was, consciously or unconsciously, systematically filtering and navigating my way through a series of many small (some large) adjustments in order to survive.  I had to develop a set of heuristics tailored to UK living. 

For example, understanding and obeying the unwritten and unspoken 'rules' of traffic, whether you are a pedestrian, cyclist or motorist is necessary if you want to live.

My new environment eventually became normal and my expectations were realigned.

So how does a middle-aged person reconcile that to adequately fit in to their hometown again? 

I've never stayed in my hometown for more than three weeks as a adult. I left at 17 for university. It's been a month and the presence of my serene surroundings that may have made me restless at 16 are actually comforting and pleasant now.

(There is nothing significant to the font color changes; I only mixed it up to thwart your potential ennui)

~Em

It still feels like a holiday/vacation

Less than two weeks in the US, I still have the sensation of 'just visiting'. 


~Em

Sticker Shock

Apart from the rising price of petrol (ok, 'gasoline'), I hadn't really made room in my mind for inflation in the US.
About four years ago on a visit to California I remember grocery shopping with a friend and being stunned to see the prices.  In my mind I always translated $ into £ so everything seemed reasonably affordable, until I saw the price of sea salt butter in San Francisco and nearly gasped. Then add sales tax!!

Granted, VAT in the UK is a whopping 20%, but since it's added into the sticker price it isn't noticed. We already knew we were getting 'royally' (!) ripped off.

Of course the cost of things has gone up in the past decade. You've all gradually adjusted and probably hardly noticed.
(I'll just be over here in the dairy aisle gasping...)

My Timeline So Far

I have been lucky enough to live in some pretty amazing cities in the US and in other parts of the world.  And I won't lie... I have loved every second of it.  Not to say there weren't some dodgy times, but for the most part, I had a blast.

Cities I have lived in have included:

Moscow, Russia
Atlanta, GA
Harare, Zimbabwe
Washington, DC
Beijing, China
London, UK

For the most part each time I moved on, it was my choice. I was ready to leave, whether it be for work or school.  And I never thought that London, or the UK, would resonate so much with me.  In fact, the plan was to have a home base in the US and travel overseas for work.  Then in 2002, I decided to run the Dublin marathon.  Along the way I stopped in London to see some friends.  I vividly recall feeling that London was going to be my home.  It was remarkable.  Less then a year later I was living there.

Fast forward ten years and I've relocated back to California.  The difference with this move you see, is that it wasn't necessarily by choice.  I am one of those expats who had to return due to visa constraints.  So after ten wonderful, and complicated, years in London I am back stateside.  And it feels very strange!  I am now faced with having to get to know California again, to know my family again and to know my place in both.  I won't lie it is a bit scary, however it can also be quite funny at times... hence this blog! 

How does one cope with reverse culture shock?  Hopefully this platform will help me with this dilemma, offer some humorous insights for my family and friends, and allow me to laugh a little as I navigate my acclimation back to American life!

Where do I start?

My fellow contributor and London friend (this is funny to me because we actually went to high school together) has suggested I start writing this blog to help me with what I am going through.  That I need to just start writing.

So here goes...

I knew my return back to California was always going to be difficult. In the past 18 years I have lived in California at most 18 months, and even this was a very long time ago. I don't think I really thought I would ever return.  And if I'm honest that is probably why it has taken me so long to start writing.  I now have to admit that I am no longer just on holiday, visiting my family, but I actually live here (well for now).

A few years ago I heard from an old college friend of mine.  The first thing she said to me was, 'we always knew you would be living elsewhere.'  I hadn't considered this much at the time, but I have to say that in the last 20 years I have pushed myself further and further away from California.  I didn't have a reason other than I felt the need to live in different places, to experience what's out there.  So much so my mother used to always tell me, 'the next time you move, live somewhere interesting so we can come visit.'  I loved my life, I loved living that life of having few belongings and being able to relocate quite easily.

Then... I moved to London for graduate school, and also a guy, and I fell in love with the city, the people, the food believe it or not, and British culture.  It felt like home.  Finally, I felt like I became who I was meant to be.  It sounds so cliche but I suppose it's true, I finally had the space to explore who I was and what I wanted out of life.

And now I am back... in California...

I do feel lost, things are so different here compared to the UK.  And now for the first time in my life I am not sure what is going to happen.  But as many of my friends have said change is good and not to fight it... Yeah OK, I will try but goodness, does adjusting back to US life have to be so hard?!  So for now I am trying to carry on... to keep my chin up and smile... and to allow myself a little time to figure out what is next. 

Surely, this is enough for tonight I think.  I have finally started writing and you know what?  I actually do feel a little better. Wonder what tomorrow will bring?

My timeline in the UK (A 25 year odyssey)

For those just tuning in, my own historical timeline with the UK goes like this: 

1988 - teenage French class visit to Europe, stopping in London
1992 - study abroad student at Birkbeck in London for the autumn semester (4 months)
1993 - study abroad student in Cambridge in an economics program summer (2.5 months)
2000-2003 - a few annual visits
2004 - emigrated on a fianceé visa, settled as a permanent resident (later divorced)
2004-2007 - lived in Wales (2.5 yrs)
2007-2008 - lived in Bristol and loved it (1.5 yrs) 
2008 - lived in London until 2013 (5 yrs) 
2013 - ready for a change, moved from London to N. California


Somewhere around 2005 I stopped saying "pants" and replaced it with "trousers". 
Somewhere around 2007 I stopped saying "trash can" and replaced it with "rubbish bin". 
In 2008 I got Accredited by the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy.
In 2009 I got my citizenship and was naturalised as British. Finally felt like I belonged.
Somewhere around 2010 I started pronouncing the letter "H" the British way. 

Concurrently, friends from the US would comment that I was sounding "more British", although I always thought, and still think I sound very Californian. 
(I could be in denial...)
Many of my clients said they couldn't tell where my accent was from (!)

What day is it, exactly?

Flying on 7/7 to the US makes it easy - there's no confusion about what the date is.

But now that it's the 8th of July, I have to pause while I remind myself where I am and how the date is written here. It is going to be difficult to undo the past decade of day/month and revert to month/day.  Seriously, though it may seem minor, getting the date right is fundamental.

Never mind being eight hours in the past. Until yesterday I was living in Greenwich, a few meters away from the meridian line, projected in a green laser-like line across the sky over the neighborhood.

This morning the PST zone welcomes a blue sky, dogs barking and birds chirping and me waking up at 05:16.

It is 7/8/13. July 8 --- right?