Life’s Playlist

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As with so many things, it has felt like ‘getting back to writing’ on here has been on my to-do list for a while. Well, it felt like a little while but has actually been eighteen months at this point… While re-reading what I last wrote (in the lockdown before last, no less), I am struck by both how long ago it feels and how recent. Since then lots has changed; I’ve moved country, had covid, worked for six months in a new job and a new city. There is a real sense of being ‘over’ the pandemic, but this very weekend plans are still being interrupted by it. So much is different and so much the same.

So what of that full-stop I was writing about? That sense that something new was about to start when I moved from Prague, my home of seven years. Honestly, I feel like I’ve only just reached a point where I can start reflecting on that change. I know that I miss my community in Prague. I know that London is both intimidating and exciting. I know that there is much to reflect on, tbh.

I am grateful for the beginnings of new community here in London, most of all my house which already feels like home, and my work where I feel valued and encouraged. It has also been nice to attend a local church, in a place which has felt restful from some of the turmoil of the last few years.

In reflecting on where I am and where I am going, I often find myself returning to the same songs, some old and new. Whether they just provide a pleasant soundtrack, or if the lyrics actually move me in some way, the power of a good playlist shouldn’t be underestimated. So in lieu of more rambling, I am sharing some of my favourite tracks in the hope that they might help you in some way too.

Country music may still not be very cool, but I have found that there is a power and simplicity to the melodies and lyrics which I enjoy immensely. Not to mention, a whole lot of camp. I mean, if it’s good enough for Beyonce…
While making a dance playlist for a friend’s birthday recently, I was reminded of just how much I love this song. After much pruning and tweaking, I feel like the playlist is a masterpiece to be honest. I am available for cheesy wedding DJ duties anytime.
For the last several years, my top song has been by Fleetwood Mac. I was surprised when I saw that 2021’s top track was this – ‘Everywhere’ was what I expected it to be – but I can’t argue with the Spotify algorithm.
Now for some pure pop. I’ve never quite fallen in love with Charli XCX, but then her most recent album/era dropped and I simply can’t get enough. Pop mastery in action.
Finally, there had to be an Adele track. Raw and beautiful.

And here’s that dance playlist if you’re in need of a boogie.

Full stop.

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I wonder if lots of us are feeling this way at the moment? That we have reached the limit. The end. That it’s hard to even look beyond the point we’ve reached. I know I’ve felt, and written about, before the sense of facing greater uncertainty than expected earlier in life, but that sense of unknownness really has reached a peak for me recently.

I am well into my second period of lockdown here, and much as it seems there are glimmers of hope for a vaccine and a return to ‘normal’, I’m not quite sure I even know what that will be like. I have no doubt that I will go and eat in restaurants and travel and such again, but that’s not really what I mean. I mean something a little deeper. Who am I going to be? What changes have happened and what need to be made? What will my life like on the other side of this?

It seems that what I thought was a comma has become a full stop.

It’s not just a pause before returning to the same busy life, as much as I have been lucky enough to enjoy some of the upsides of pausing, but a chance to start a whole new sentence.

This is brought into a little sharper focus for me for a couple of reasons, but I am sure this feeling of uncertainty is relatable for many.

Firstly, this year has been an intentional ‘victory lap’ of sorts for my current job and city. For an assortment of reasons I feel that this will be my final year living in my current home. The chapter has seemed to be ending for a while and I’m enjoying the opportunity to have one more go around here. Of course, it has been a rather unusual year, with some of the normal rhythms of life and work dramatically different. But still, the prospect of moving jobs and country add to the sense of coming to a full stop this year.

Much as when you come to the end of a perfectly formed sentence, it can be hard to know what comes next. I have been teaching for a decade at this point. I’m at that point when I have almost had a whole career already. I feel that I should be an expert, and I’m sure I am in many ways, but I also know that there are many years to come in which I must make choices about work and career.

I’m not quite sure what that will look like. I think that’s OK. Part of the pleasure of coming to the end of a sentence is reading it back and reflecting on it. I hope to be able to do that and am fortunate enough to be able to take a moment before rushing onwards. If this year has taught me anything, it’s that taking time out can be a good thing (even if I’d rather not have a global pandemic to force it upon me).

Secondly, and more existentially, I have undertaken the rather less clear process of coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality in a much more hands on way in the last year. In terms of this finished sentence, it has been more a process of reflecting on a much amended, crossed-out and annotated piece of writing. I’m still not sure what the next words will be.

I know that I am frustrated at the lack of capacity for action on both of these fronts while at home and locked down. But perhaps that’s OK. Maybe it’s good to have to hold my horses and look inwards rather than just rushing headlong into ‘doing things’.

In that process of re-reading what has been written before, there are things that cannot be erased. Things that have caused pain and confusion, and continue to do so. Maybe this full stop can be a time to try to understand those things a little better. To stop and reflect so that the next chapter can be better. Or at least more self-aware.

This full stop is time to pause and to plan. To hope and to reflect. And hopefully, not to worry too much about the next sentence.

More than skin deep

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Tattoos are seemingly more popular than ever right now. Amongst my generation of twenty and thirty somethings, it seems to be more unusual to not have one at this point. I decided that I wanted to get a tattoo before I turned thirty a couple of years ago. I’m not quite sure why, but at least part of it was a desire to show on my skin something which I had been increasingly feeling inside; that I had changed.

Not that I have a big tattoo on my body proclaiming ‘new man’ or anything. My tattoos are all artistic and symbolic of places or things, yet the very fact of having something permanent etched onto my skin seems to me to be symbolic of ownership, of adulthood, of choice. There are so many things that I have no control of, but I can make a choice here.

Of course, so much of the current vogue for tattoos will pass away. Remember Chinese symbol tattoos? Or barbed wire? There is every chance that the current trends will seem as ridiculous and outdated before too long. But there will also be a generation of people with them. There are sure gonna be a lot of oldies with floral tatts in a decade or two… So I’m not worried about the whole ‘how will you feel when you’re old?’ critique really. I’ll just be one of the crowd.

For me, as I’ve been considering these things, the tattoos I have increasingly seem to be a visible sign of something deeper. It doesn’t particularly matter what they are, it’s more just that they are. It’s similar to changing your personal style I guess. We all make choices about what we wear, how we present ourselves to the world. And then we all make assumptions about each other based on those things. Shallow? Cool? Stylish? Sexy? All these things are at least in part connected to our choices.

There is little doubt to me that these choices have become more important to me as I have got older. People love to find old pictures and then discuss the differences in their appearance and style, looking for evidence of the ‘glow up’. In our sadly age obsessed culture this is understandable. But when I reflect on my own last decade, I don’t necessarily see myself as more shallow, but as more careful about what I choose to present myself in.

There is definitely some pride there. I know that I feel oddly boastful when talking about the sustainable credentials of my clothing. But that is perhaps just another signifier of something internal; my purchasing and style choices pointing to something deeper. A conviction or belief.

I’m starting to understand why people have long worn crosses to point to their Christianity. Or why they choose a rainbow strap for their watch to point to the fact that they are gay or to support the LGBTQ community. These symbols are choices we can make to point to something deeper.

A small aside here connected to the rainbow. I was, like many, surprised and a little disappointed at a recent Bake Off episode that just took for granted that the rainbow was now the symbol of the NHS (for those not British, the rainbow has been used to express support for the British health service during the pandemic). As much as rainbow bagels seem totally irrelevant, the fact that the more established and, for many, still controversial meaning of the rainbow wasn’t even mentioned was sad.

When we start to consider these choices, these symbols, as deeper and as pointing to something like conviction or belief, we have to be careful how we use them. Of course, many Christians might question the abundance of crosses used across the world with no connection at all to Christ. That is something to consider as well. But the power dynamic and appropriation of a symbol of a minority group stands out to me in the case of the Bake Off.

But back to tattoos… These choices about covering our skins in ink, at least for me, have increasingly come to broadcast to the world a message. They invite people to ask what they mean. Why I chose that design. Why I even have them. They open doors to talking about hard journeys I’m still on. They invite talk about discussions of the heart. And perhaps here is the point I wanted to get to; they point to changes deeper down.

Getting a tattoo is essentially easy. You choose a design, pay an artist, and you’re done. Changing deeper down is not easy. I know. There are so many areas in my life where I feel confused. Where the choices I’m making are more representative of habit, or about a concern for the opinion of others, that I don’t even know what I really think. Making a choice to etch on my skin a permanent mark, has for me become a definitive step forward. A reminder that, as much as we are all out of control, we are given choices and agency. We can move forward; in fact, we have no choice but to.

A tattoo doesn’t really change anything. A change of style doesn’t really mean much. But out hearts? Our convictions? Beliefs? These are at the core of who we are. So often I just feel so muddled in them, lost in the gap between the past, present and future. But when I look at my arm and see the tattoo it is for a me a symbol of growth. Of hard won change. It represents the fact that time does in fact go on and I am not the same person I was when I got that inked. It helps me to focus on what I know and to worry less about what I don’t.

I am aware how very millennial this all sounds, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. And I also recognise that for many, tattoos are just what they are. Ink under the skin. That’s just fine too. But for those like me, for whom tattoos are symbols of something deeper, tell me ‘What does that mean to you?’

Tip-Toeing Out

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What has changed? It has been a question I’ve asked myself so many times on this journey over the last few years. What has changed?

I feel guilty sometimes. Guilty that I have had it easy. Guilty that my life is so comfortable. Guilty for desiring something I shouldn’t. Yet I also feel envious sometimes. Envious of people who seem to, well, feel more than me. Envious of people who have got to a place of knowing themselves better and sooner.

Strangely, there have even been times when I have envied those who went through some traumatic and transformational experience. I have envied the impetus to change that might have proved for them. Of course, this is an utterly ridiculous thing to want, not to mention insulting to those who have been through so much pain. I think it just indicates that I want something that is hard won. From my place of comfort and ease it’s easy to glamourise the ‘struggle’ when I have no idea how hard and isolating it is.

‘Struggle.’ Interesting word. In Christian culture, struggle has taken on a particular meaning. It is a word I have used a lot in the past decade to describe my experience and I want to explain what it used to mean and what it means, perhaps, now. For a long time, struggle was the most appropriate word for me to use to describe my experience of sexuality. My go-to phrase when ‘going deep’ with someone was ‘I struggle with same-sex attraction.’ Struggle suggests an attempt at rejection. A process of moving beyond and putting something behind you. An attempt to overcome. This was how I saw my sexuality. Something to overcome. To move on from.

Now, I didn’t grow up in a Christianity of exclusion, where anyone was praying away the gay or rejecting those who didn’t conform. I grew up in a very British, slightly nominal, definitely relaxed, environment of suburban Anglicanism. Hardly a progressive bastion, yet neither a place of hellfire and brimstone teaching that you might imagine as the backdrop for a ‘gay kid growing up christian’ drama.

A question that I’ve come to dwell on more and more is ‘Why then, did I reject my sexuality?’ No one was telling me it was wrong at church. My parents were particular to avoid discussing relationships at all most of the time, in a way that I came to experience as respectful and freeing. I was under no particular pressure. So what was it that made me spend many teenage nights pacing my room, obsessively calling out to God about this thing I wanted to reject? That I could just about come to accept as a reality, but which surely must be a passing phase? Something to be struggled with and defeated.

As a teenager in the early 2000s, I was mostly incredibly fortunate in the era of history I was growing up in. I think for many British millennials, there is this time in our memory when the government was good (or at least not impacting our daily lives very much), social media was simple, and we had ‘Snake’ on our phones. Yet my experience as a kid also, as it does for so many, taught me that I had to fit in. That avoiding difference at all costs was a goal. In my case, that staying at home and keeping my head down was the best way through.

This natural reserve, and fear of discovery, meant that when I came to understand the gospel for the first time (and I mean here, the more literal, evangelical gospel of my university years), I had found the perfect reason to keep on avoiding discovery. A system of belief that validated my self-denial and fear, labelled my experience as Christian ‘struggle’ and encouraged me to keep going, with the vague hope of change in the future. And this was enough. This was more than that. I found meaning, joy, community in the church. For these things and these years I am thankful. I was able to shed layers of fear and become more confident and open. I felt loved and accepted. Powerful and good things. Even if, looking back, some hard lessons hadn’t really been learnt and some future pain was being set up.

The first time I came out to anybody, in snatched half-sentences, became a model for my subsequent comings out (is that the plural?) It was a confession of sin. An admission of a stain on my heart and character that I felt could never be removed. I remember it viscerally. The stuttering conversation went from talking about struggling (there it is again…) with porn, to admitting I was looking at gay porn and was attracted to guys. It was an experience that was both thrilling and mortifying. My friend, a fellow Christian, was kind and loving. I never felt rejected. Our friendship grew as a result.

It is my fortunate testimony that every time I have come out to someone, it has been a positive experience. I have never known rejection or condemnation. I never felt, nor was I encouraged to think, that ‘being gay’ was sinful. But I very quickly learned to talk about my struggle (!) in the sense of it being a struggle with sin. And yes, lust is sinful, it is degrading to all involved, but I saw any expression of my gay sexuality as sinful. From how I thought, to the films I let myself watch, to how I acted and spoke.

That became my struggle. I didn’t speak about it that much. It was the kind of thing kept for the dark, for those ‘real talk’ conversations with friends. The light at the end of the tunnel was undoubtedly marriage. That I would be attracted to a woman, that I could make it work. That was something that I wanted, that others wanted for me, but that also made lots of friendships complicated.

Often, my comings out (I’m rolling with it) were with girls in the DTR (define the relationship) context. My view of my sexuality was causing me to hold back so much of myself, except for in these most personal moments, when I was forced to expose this wound so that it wouldn’t hurt others too. I never really dated a girl. It just never felt right. Looking back, I can say with confidence that my attraction has always been for guys and guys only.

So how do I view my ‘struggle’ now? What did change? It’s hard to put my finger on when it started to be honest. I can’t point to one traumatic incident or irreconcilable difference. I think I have always been pretty liberal, my evangelicalism never more than skin deep in most things, so why did it take so long for me to be open to pursuing for myself what I never begrudged others? I think it comes down to understanding. Understanding and community. I have always been someone who likes to understand what I’m doing and why. I’m also someone who is powerfully impacted by the stories of others. It is easy to live a single life when most around you are single and when your choice matches well with that of those in your community. That was the case for me in my twenties; it was pretty easy being single. I think I never really faced up to the fact that logically, my desire for relationship could not be fulfilled if I kept pursuing the non-affirming path I was on.

I don’t think I ever really admitted to actually wanting a relationship with a man. That a good and healthy thing could come from this desire that had so far been reserved for the darkest corners of my world, was too much for me to comprehend.

The last few years have been a time of frustration and perhaps some of that hard-won growth. Of facing up to the logical conclusions of my feelings and beliefs. There have been many times when I have felt like I had to choose; faith or sexuality. I hope that I have started to move beyond that lose-lose situation, that I can have peace with both. Yes, understanding has been key. I have read a lot of writing from a lot of people with a lot of different opinions, stories and perspectives. But also vital is my own conviction. Ultimately, it is my future. Under God’s guidance and protection I want to be fruitful. I want to have peace. I feel closer to that than before, even if I know that I am not at the end.

I think an important moment for me was a recent realisation in answer to the question ‘What stops you from saying you are affirming of same-sex relationships?’ I felt like I understood a logical support for such relationships, had overcome some of my doubts, and was already living as openly gay with those around me. So what was holding me back? It was like realising that the wall that had held me back for so long was just no longer there. It wasn’t so much a falling down, as a realisation that maybe there was simply no wall at all.

I don’t know what the future holds. I know that if all this has just been for me to get to experience romance, then it is ultimately pretty empty. I know that Christianity, and society generally, needs to validate singleness more. But if it has been me facing up to core pieces of my humanity, which God made me with, and gaining a greater peace, then it will have been worth the rambling road it’s taken me to get here.

These years of struggle (…) don’t feel like they’ve been very fruitful. I believe that a key part of our faith in Jesus is that we should bear good fruit. I pray that I am able to bear more fruit now, to be more open to Jesus’ leading, and to be free from the oppression that ultimately came from my own fearful heart. I am no longer a prisoner of fear, and that at least feels like growth.

 

Reading for a Corona Summer

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One of my favourite things to come unexpectedly from this Coronatide we are seemingly stuck in has been the time to read. To read books, magazines, articles, Instagram captions. You name it. I’ve been enjoying more time to read it.

Now that I don’t even have work to occupy me, I have yet more time for reading. In the summer ahead I am excited to spend time enjoying books and digging for literary gold on the internet.

So to aid all my fellow readers out there, I’m going to try and share some of the articles and other things I’ve enjoyed recently. It really is true that this pandemic has provided fuel for many a writer, I hope that in reading these excellent pieces of work, it can inspire you too.

Most of these links are available for free, but a few might be hidden behind a pay wall. I can’t thank all the people who recommended these to me (because I forget), but I am grateful and am always ready to accept recommendations from others. Share away!

The Republican Choice by Clare Malone

The Republican Choice

A fascinating and in depth examination of ‘how the Republican party became white.’ Five Thirty Eight is my go to place for all my nerdy American political analysis. Their podcast is also excellent.

Consider the Greenland Shark by Katherine Rundell 

https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v42/n09/katherine-rundell/consider-the-greenland-shark

Who knew that sharks alive at the time of Shakespeare are still living today? A beautiful and brief examination of the strange poetry of these sad sharks. They can’t even reproduce until they’re 150…what are we rushing about for?

Jessie Ware has long been both a musical favourite of mine and a highlight of my podcast listening with her wonderful ‘Table Manners’. I highly recommend looking up her back catalogue and her new album is out on Friday. This profile is both excellently written and has beautiful photography. I can agree wholeheartedly that the power of food is not to be underestimated.

We Need to Talk About Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom… by Saffron Maeve

We need to talk about Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom…

Little White Lies is another place I look to satisfy by nerdy impulses – this time my inner film buff. This article made me reconsider the ‘black sheep’ of the Indiana Jones trilogy (we’ll ignore the Crystal Skull shall we…) and the broad and racist stereotypes it uses for South Asians, as well as how this fits into Hollywood’s general mistreatment of Indian and South Asian culture.

What Black America Means to Europe by Gary Younge

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/jun/11/what-black-america-means-to-europe-protests-racism-george-floyd

This fascinating and saddening article bears reading by everyone, especially people who’d consider themselves good European liberals (like me). Also available as a Guardian long read podcast, this article confronted me very bluntly with the hypocrisy of the way Europeans love to empathise with and support the struggle of African Americans while ignoring our own racist history. Not to mention the entrenched racism experienced by our neighbours of colour in Europe. Highly recommended and hopefully a starting point for facing up to some of these things.

Hollywood Cool and Bradford Salt, an essay on David Hockney by Raven Smith

https://wepresent.wetransfer.com/story/literally-raven-smith/

Quite simply one of my favourite writers of the moment who regularly makes me laugh out loud, before hitting my heart up with some truth, Raven Smith writes this human and warm love letter to one of his favourite artists.

Here’s a taste –

“He is the patron saint of salty nonchalance and, like gruel at the workhouse, you just want more.”

Yes I do. I want more.

 

Bittersweet

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Endings can be hard. Obviously, there is the sadness of mourning, of friendships and family lost; something that too many people are experiencing acutely at the moment. But there are other, smaller, endings. The TV show that ends too soon. The inevitability that a perfect holiday can’t last forever. Just having to go home at the end of a night out.

Sometimes I find myself pre-mourning the end of an experience, friendship or other moment in time. That sadness can bleed into the experience itself, adding a bit of bitterness to my joy. It is odd that I am feeling similar things as quarantine comes to an end here in the Czech Republic.

I write this on the eve of truly ‘returning to work’ at the school where I teach. I am experiencing an interesting mix of emotions; excitement to see my students, anxiety about being stressed or overwhelmed, relief that things are sort of normalising, as well as sadness at a ‘special’ time coming to an end.

Of course, I am lucky. I have worked from home and haven’t suffered ill health. I don’t have relatives or dependents I’m worried acutely about. I have been lucky enough to enjoy the breathing space and time of quarantine. I recognise that as much as there are things I’m happy are back (restaurants yay!), there are things I’ll miss from these strange few months.

I hope that I can keep doing some of them of course. Keep reading lots, keep developing my wine-drinking palette (so bougie, I know), and keep making and sharing recipes and culinary creations. But there is never going to be a time quite like it again. Even if there is a second wave (gulp) and we’re back to lockdown, this unexpected and weird time won’t happen again.

For that I’m thankful. But I’ll also kinda miss it.

For me, tonight, that little bit of bitterness is seeping in. And I think it’s making the good memories of the past months all the sweeter.

Quarantime

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It may be oft repeated at the moment, but it is truly hard to believe that the past month has, well, been the past month. The fact that I went on a trip to Jordan in February and was planning to currently be in Korea on another seems, frankly, absurd. We have indeed moved to the other side.

How fast things have been changing was illustrated to me most clearly when I had a conversation with my parents in the UK in early March. By that time, the Czech Republic had instituted a strict lockdown and everyone had to wear masks outside. The pandemic had truly hit home here, despite relatively low numbers infected. Yet there my parents were, planning trips and events all week long. It felt like I was talking to myself in the past, grimacing and shouting ‘cancel it all!’ Needless to say, the very next day Boris Johnson announced a similar lockdown in the UK.

My experience of the quarantine has gone through several stages. I have to preface all this by saying that I one of the very lucky ones. I can work from home. I am not worried about bills. I am not in a vulnerable group. My job is to stay home for the sake of others. And to support those less fortunate in any way I can.

The initial stage of pandemic-fever which gripped me was an almost physical anxiety as I watched all my plans and normal routines crumble. This is perhaps the ‘panic buying toilet paper’ phase of quarantine. Though in my case it was more like panic buying wine… It felt like everything I knew and understood was changing daily as the government announced progressively more strict measures. The ‘home learning plan’ we had prepared at work suddenly became very real.

This probably lasted for a week or so and it was strange to see it replayed in my home nation a week or two later, as everyone queued outside Waitrose and shared the location of ample loo roll supplies with a mad sense of urgency. Yet actually, once it became clear that working from home was workable, and that I was actually more than capable of feeding myself adequately, a strange and welcome calm settled in.

I have been reflecting that I have actually not been this relaxed since, perhaps, childhood. Thinking about a situation like this a few months ago would have horrified me. What about meeting up with friends for a drink? Restaurants and cinemas? I’ll just be so bored! Yet there is something very reassuring and welcome about a very slow daily routine completely free from busyness and indeed FOMO. There are simply no events to miss.

Yes there is so much disappointment going around, but there is at least equality of disappointment. Everything is cancelled. Of course, to those whose weddings have been cancelled or who can’t attend funerals of loved ones, this is so much more difficult. I know I have it so easy. I feel guilty about that. But I also know that my role is to stay home and hold my slight disappointments very lightly. And maybe to order Uber Eats from my favourite restaurants who are struggling through.

So here’s where I am now. I think I have reached the peak ‘quarantime’ place where this is just, well, normal. The fact that I know it will not last forever is a welcome comfort, but there’s some small part of me that will be sad to go back to a busy and rushed routine. I know that we need to get there as soon as is safe for all those who are suffering, and of course I am in awe of the health carers, supermarket employees, and postal workers who are keeping us going and keeping us sane at the moment, yet this unique time is going to be remembered.

I hope the legacy is one for me of valuing the really important things; of taking my time, not rushing through conversations with friends and family, reminding myself, at risk of cliche, that the simple things are the most important.

So I’m praying for those in need and at risk, supporting them in the simple ways I can, staying home, and trying to make the best of it. In this strangely calm apocalypse we find ourselves, that’s all I can do.

Photo is by my amazing friend Eli – see her pictures here – https://seasidewildflower.com/

Living Abroad – The Upsides

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Wouldn’t it be cool to live abroad? To bask in the Tuscan sun in short shorts like Armie Hammer, to become a samurai like Tom Cruise, or perhaps even ‘eat, pray, love’ your way around with Julia Roberts. Our films, books and popular culture have long been enamoured with the idea of leaving home for foreign shores. Whether for escape, adventure, or business, the expat life is captivating to many. In recent years, with the advent of air travel, globalisation, and EU citizenship (sigh), it has become an even more common experience to spend time in another country, among some groups even a right of passage. I mean, who hasn’t been in a conversation with that person who has shamelessly name-dropped every foreign destination where they’ve lived (“That reminds me of when I spend the summer on the Amalfi coast…ya ya ya.”) I should say now, as an expat myself (though I’m not really a fan of that word), if this has ever been me I’m sorry. And even as I write this, that almost seems a humble brag. So sorry, again.

I’ve lived in the Czech Republic for the past six years and have been reflecting on my time abroad in recent months, on the up and downsides of life in a country not your own. So this will be my attempt to share some of what I’ve learned of the good things that happen when you leave your home nation for a spell. I’ll follow it up with the not-so-good things in a later post.

Perhaps the best thing about being away from your home country is that suddenly your nationality becomes at once more and less significant. You automatically become both an ambassador and a scapegoat for the successes and failures of your nation. I didn’t really think much about being a Brit before I left England, but now every Brexit crisis and Royal drama is my concern, and I am the go to expert on anything to do with the UK. This can be a bit awkward, especially if someone tries to talk to me about the Premier League, of which I know nothing, but is also strangely affirming. I have become more proud of where I’m from as a result of leaving, not in a nationalist kind of way, but simply in terms of recognising the good things and the things I miss. Being encouraged when people speak warmly of my home and getting to bring my foreign friends home with me. Seeing home through others’ eyes has been a joyous experience for me.

But as I also said, your nationality also becomes less significant when you are away from your home. There’s a sense in which I’m simply ‘foreign’ when I’m here. Not Czech. I therefore immediately feel a greater affinity with other foreigners and, a bit like when you start University, feel an immediate closeness with others in a similar situation to me. This has led to forming fast and deep friendships with those I’ve met here, from all manner of nations. The unique ‘expat community’ is a wonderful thing to be a part of and I have been able to visit the homes of many foreign friends. I’ve had experiences in places I never would have thought to go without my experience of living abroad.

Perhaps a more subtle but nonetheless powerful thing about living abroad is in the way your underlying attitudes and ideas can change. You notice just how different perspectives are from different nations, yet also how much is shared. Before I lived in a place surrounded by Americans, for example, I think I felt that they were basically confident Brits with cowboy accents, yet I have learned so much about and from my American friends. I think that it’s more accurate to say that the only thing that is the same is the language, and that that is also quite different at times (my favourite recent example is learning that when you really need to use the toilet, Americans might say you’re ‘prairie dogging’ while Brits are more likely to go for the rather more literal ‘touching cloth’). I have learned from my friends and they have learned from me. We have changed and grown together in this funny melting pot that is international life.

It’s not one long Italian summer living abroad of course. There are real costs to moving far from home and I worry that some of the ways I’ve changed will mean it’s hard to readjust should I move home one day. But, I have to say, that I think the risks are worth it.

 

 

The Grey

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I wonder if my dream will come true this side of heaven. I wonder if heaven is there to be honest. I understand more than ever the desire, both inside and outside the church, to bring ‘heaven on earth.’ To make the world a more happy and tolerant and loving place. I see how this desire leads to people idolising marriage or rejecting it as an outdated thing, I see how it leads to people having babies or choosing not to, I see how it leads to people becoming missionaries in far flung and dangerous places or to take to the streets in a pride march in a place where they might face similar danger. We all want to make the world a better place. What would that better world look like in my dream?

I think it might be something like this. So many of my insecurities, both self and other inflicted, come from expectations. Expectations from my own heart, from the church, from the world, from movie, hell, from Instagram. I expected my life to go a particular way until, well, it didn’t.

Perhaps the biggest area this has been hard for me is in relationships (of the romantic kind.) Everyone, myself included, is just obsessed. Everywhere you look, from the most conservative Christian, to the most postmodern atheist, the focus is on just the one thing, or so it seems. My perception, as someone looking in from the outside, is that the one thing everyone values highest is the thing I don’t have. So dramatic, I know.

As much as I appreciate people like Emma Watson saying she is happing ‘self-partnered’ – and we need to value each opportunity to big up those currently single – the answer is somehow bigger. What if we could truly free ourselves from these expectations? How many sons, daughters, friends, would feel less like a person-in-waiting if they were freed from the pressure to find someone? How many people would be willing to take a risk on actually meeting someone if they were freed from the pressure of finding ‘the one’? How many marriages would be improved if we were freed from our insecurities that we married the wrong person?

I dream of a world where we are just, well, people. Each precious. Not a half-person in sight. Not a waiting person, nor one who is too damaged. Too ugly. Not cool enough. Whatever.

I have glimpsed the reasons the world, and the church, is so in love with, well, love. Of course there are so many good things; the companionship, the love, the romance, the fact that someone is there, the family life. I get it. I don’t want to tear down marriage. I want to celebrate when my friends get married. But I want to be freed from the inescapable heartache that comes for so many when that happens. Why should we feel left behind? I wish I could reset my heart and remove this part. My head knows that I am no less a person than my married or coupled friends, but I don’t think my heart realises.

I dream of a place where each one is truly valued equally, yes irrespective of sexuality, race, gender, but also ‘relationship status.’ There are so many who are in pain every day, whether that’s because they jumped at a relationship that was wrong, or were afraid to jump at all.

In so many areas I feel like we need to recognise the grey. The fact that nothing is simple and everything seems blurry sometimes. This area of life is so significant and yet so nebulous for so many. So let’s talk about it, let’s try and be better where we can, let’s speak to our hearts and our friends. Let’s try to be more comfortable with the grey, because grey can be beautiful too.

2019 in Review

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I wonder if you’re the same. Whether all the years since the start of real ‘adulthood’ just blur together into a mess of colour and sound. I sometimes picture the year in my head like a circle, with each day, week, and month with its own section. For some reason, December is darker than most months in my mind. Anyway, 2019 has been no different. Just another circle, full of good days and bad. Yet thinking back now it’s only moments and scenes which really jump out at me. It’s a bit like a TV show; you don’t see the mundane scenes, only the ones that matter.

A few years ago, recognising that I am hopelessly forgetful when it comes to this stuff, I started noting down in my notes app a little ‘Review of the year’. Mostly so that I could sound well-informed when people asked for recommendations, but also so that I could impress you all with just how cultured I am. No wait. That’s not it… Just so I can remember. Ahem.

So here are some memorable scenes from 2019.

Books

Catch and Kill by Ronan Farrow

A fascinating and detailed account of Farrow’s investigation into the Weinstein scandal. Shocking and saddening, but also hopeful.

Unfollow by Megan Phelps-Roper

A moving and thoughtful autobiography from a member of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church. Phelps-Roper does an amazing job of showing both how she loves and cares for her family, while also comes to see through the hateful beliefs of the church.

I recommended some more books from 2019 in an earlier post which you can check out here.

Films

Beautiful Boy

Even for those not slightly obsessed with Timothee Chalamet, this is an excellent and heartfelt exploration of a father-son relationship and battle with addiction.

Aladdin

Worth it for the wacky humour alone (jam anyone?), this seemingly inevitable remake of the Disney classic is worth your time. For my money, better than the new Lion King (sorry Beyonce!)

Long Shot

I had pretty much zero expectations for this seemingly wacky comedy with Seth Rogen and Charlize Theron, but it won me over instantly.

Marriage Story

So emotional. So good. I already loved the director (Noah Baumbach) of this wonderful Netflix movie about a torturous divorce, now I am fully behind this film getting all the Oscars (especially Adam Driver for his amazing performance.)

Knives Out

I’ve always been a fan of a murder mystery and this is a wonderful reinterpretation of Agatha Christie for the 21st Century. Both a love letter and a refreshing change of pace. Even Daniel Craig’s accent can’t ruin it.

Little Women

I challenge anyone to not be obsessed with Timothee Chalamet after this film. He and Soirse Ronan are simply wonderful. A rare film that is both joyous and finely crafted. Go and see it!

Music

Maggie Rogers

Elton John

Sufjan Stevens

Harry Styles

This list of some favourites from this year covers some old favourites and new discoveries. Maggie Rogers’ debut album was one of the most fresh and catchy pop records I’ve heard in years. After watching Rocketman, I have enjoyed going back to listen to some classic Elton. Also, after a recommendation from a friend have discovered some new deep cuts from Elton’s old stuff. Harry Styles’ beguiling pop/rock persona has won me over despite myself. I love his new album. Sufjan will always be close to my heart…

Other

Dear Evan Hansen

I went to see this wonderful and thoughtful musical before Christmas and can’t recommend it highly enough. So much empathy and love, especially powerful for those who have anything to do with teenagers.

Dolly Parton’s America

This podcast series has also been a highlight of my year. Who knew that everyone loved Dolly so much? It’s an exploration of just why which touches on some powerful and unexpected themes.