Pete and I watched L'Auberge Espagnole (one of 'dem forriner moving pictures) last night. It was about a 25 year old from Paris who took a year abroad to live in Barcelona for postgraduate school. Not that I really consider Paris to Barcelona too abroad, as I had to go 5,000 miles for my abroad experience... but the movie hit home on a few things for me.
It turned out of course, that his year was well worth it, for personal growth as well as to have something of his life so memorable that by the end, he couldn't enjoy his life back home. I experienced the same thing when I returned from England. Most of my senior year of college was spent holed up in a little dorm room with some of my also-gone-abroad-to-England friends, smoking and reminiscing while we missed most of the fun that college seniors are supposed to have. It didn't help that I had left my heart in England, in the palm of Pete's hand... but I also missed the Ash that was in England. I had somehow become an Independent, courageous and strong woman while I was there, taking on many challenges without a moment's hesitation; then I came back to the States with everyone expecting me to be the same old shy, sweet, non-smoking, please walk all over me Ashley.. and I allowed myself to fall back into that as well.
One of the things I can't get over from the first year I spent in England (I went back after college, and eventually married that person who had my heart), somehow I went to England a size 22/24... and came back an 18 on the verge of 16. I was healthy, I could touch my toes, wear revealing nice looking shirts and walk in heels without twisting an ankle. I even believed I was sexy.
I certainly don't do that now, and am of course back to the 24 going on 26 size, no heels, not one bit of sexy, and at this moment am wearing an Old Navy huge oversized sweater for Men, size XXL, that I feel most comfortable in. What happened? How did I manage to come back from England in the first place with all that courage and enthusiasm for myself?
The main difference I found, was that I walked freakin' everywhere. We walked a mile and a half to campus, a few miles to town if the buses weren't running, two miles or more from train or tube stations to our classes in London and Oxford, and not to mention our trips through Europe that were spent walking in circles, trying to find the hostel/bus station/train station/nearest McDonald's or grocery store. And I drank a lot of tea. Is that the secret to success? Walking and tea? I'd love to try that now, but where I live we don't even have sidewalks. The most walking I can do is from the parking garage to work, which is about two blocks, and even then some ladies from work offer to give rides to those who can't be bothered to walk that far. I do own a treadmill, and I hate it. Because of my weight, it bounces with every step, and I'm too embarrassed to walk on it with anybody else present in the house. I don't know how I could manage doing that in a gym or health club. Everyone would be able to see the treadmill bouncing from side to side because I'm so damn heavy.
Sigh... I miss the me that had the courage to put on her fat clothes and go out into the public in the land of skinnies (ie England). I miss the me that had the ability to walk 2 miles to class in Oxford and not show up out of breath and sweaty. I miss the me that somehow managed to still eat cookies, McDonald's, breaded chicken and cinnamon toast... and go down two sizes.
I miss England.
It turned out of course, that his year was well worth it, for personal growth as well as to have something of his life so memorable that by the end, he couldn't enjoy his life back home. I experienced the same thing when I returned from England. Most of my senior year of college was spent holed up in a little dorm room with some of my also-gone-abroad-to-England friends, smoking and reminiscing while we missed most of the fun that college seniors are supposed to have. It didn't help that I had left my heart in England, in the palm of Pete's hand... but I also missed the Ash that was in England. I had somehow become an Independent, courageous and strong woman while I was there, taking on many challenges without a moment's hesitation; then I came back to the States with everyone expecting me to be the same old shy, sweet, non-smoking, please walk all over me Ashley.. and I allowed myself to fall back into that as well.
One of the things I can't get over from the first year I spent in England (I went back after college, and eventually married that person who had my heart), somehow I went to England a size 22/24... and came back an 18 on the verge of 16. I was healthy, I could touch my toes, wear revealing nice looking shirts and walk in heels without twisting an ankle. I even believed I was sexy.
I certainly don't do that now, and am of course back to the 24 going on 26 size, no heels, not one bit of sexy, and at this moment am wearing an Old Navy huge oversized sweater for Men, size XXL, that I feel most comfortable in. What happened? How did I manage to come back from England in the first place with all that courage and enthusiasm for myself?
The main difference I found, was that I walked freakin' everywhere. We walked a mile and a half to campus, a few miles to town if the buses weren't running, two miles or more from train or tube stations to our classes in London and Oxford, and not to mention our trips through Europe that were spent walking in circles, trying to find the hostel/bus station/train station/nearest McDonald's or grocery store. And I drank a lot of tea. Is that the secret to success? Walking and tea? I'd love to try that now, but where I live we don't even have sidewalks. The most walking I can do is from the parking garage to work, which is about two blocks, and even then some ladies from work offer to give rides to those who can't be bothered to walk that far. I do own a treadmill, and I hate it. Because of my weight, it bounces with every step, and I'm too embarrassed to walk on it with anybody else present in the house. I don't know how I could manage doing that in a gym or health club. Everyone would be able to see the treadmill bouncing from side to side because I'm so damn heavy.
Sigh... I miss the me that had the courage to put on her fat clothes and go out into the public in the land of skinnies (ie England). I miss the me that had the ability to walk 2 miles to class in Oxford and not show up out of breath and sweaty. I miss the me that somehow managed to still eat cookies, McDonald's, breaded chicken and cinnamon toast... and go down two sizes.
I miss England.
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