I have a life!

There's just something about the clouds here. I don't quite know how to explain it, but they're puffier and lower to the ground, maybe? I'm not sure, but whatever it equates to is beautiful. I could look up and stare at the clouds for a really long time.

This first photo here (now that I've figured out how to put photos in my blogs) is from my walk up Blackford Hill. It's looking across the city to the sea. I'm super fortunate because I was able to leave my flat, get to the hill, walk up the hill, and get back to my flat within an hour. Amazing. And even more amazing was the view from the top. I could stand in one spot and in my panoramic view see the city, the sea, the castle, Arthur's seat, the suburbs, and the country - all in one slow turn at the top of the hill. I stood and looked out over my new home for quite a while, watching the children playing on the hill, the dogs trotting next to their owners.

And all that while, when I was looking ahead, the country sat behind me. The rolling hills, spotted with the shadows of the clouds, flowed into the horizon. The stretched far and faded away far off in the distance. I spotted sheep off in the distance, which is not uncommon. The puffy white creatures are everywhere.

It was a gorgeous day to explore a little bit more of my neighborhood, and I'm so glad I had that hour. Yes, it was windy, but the sun was shining through the clouds and kept me warm that afternoon.

Just after my walk, I went over to my Program Director's house for a potluck with current and past students of the Childhood Studies Program. It was good fun talking to others in my program and those who had just recently finished to know that I shouldn't be worrying about things as much as I am. I shouldn't be so stressed out...just yet. So, I'll just give myself time to settle in, continue making friends, and feel like I'm home.

I've been fortunate to make some good friends already. I know I've only been in Edinburgh for 3 weeks, but I feel like it's been months. I've been doing so many different activities, meeting so many new people, learning so much new information, and having wonderful new experiences, that I couldn't possibly have fit in all in within the last 3 weeks. But alas, I have. And I'm finally moving past the "I feel like I'm on vacation" phase of moving. Everything has been a bit surreal, and I keep questioning if I'm really here for good, for an entire year. And I keep telling myself, "yes, you are." You'd think I would've gotten it by now.

We Americans have found the local pub where we can watch American Football, for which many fellow students are thankful. Although, because not every game is playing over here, the laptops are often out trying to catch live feed of other games happening in the States. It's a good time on a Sunday night.

Also fun was my trip to St. Andrew's last weekend with a few friends. Five of us shoved ourselves into a car and departed Edinburgh at 9:00 am on Sunday morning, ready for a short roadtrip north. After a bit of a drive, getting slightly turned around the roundabouts, and a stop for petrol and coffee, we pulled into St. Andrew's at about 11:00. Already, I enjoyed this city. It's not so boisterous as Edinburgh; I'd call it quaint, actually, and I love quaint.

Our first stop in the city was at the ruins of the St. Andrew's Cathedral. It was actually quite incredible. They had plaques that showed what the cathedral had looked like when it was erect, and I found it quite amazing how well I could imagine the full building in the current ruins. They had placed little labels throughout the lawn showing where different parts of the cathedral had been, from the pulpit to the choir loft, east and west entrances, etc. It was definitely a fascinating sight.

We then walked along the pavement atop the cliff of the beach. Just like the ocean, the water of the sea stretched out with no visible end. We walked along the pavement to the ruins of the castle that sat on the hill, high above the beach below, ready to protect the city. It would've cost us a fiver and some change to see the ruins up close, so we decided to continue on our way to the golf course.

So, yes, this is a picture of the 5 of us standing on the famous bridge on the St. Andrew's golf course, home of this beloved Scottish sport that has become a pastime of American business men and good ol' Southern boys. We walked along the beautiful green, avoiding the tee as there were signs telling us to Keep Off! and eventually made our way back into town for some lunch at Raisin. Nothing special about this place except that it was pretty inexpensive and the food was good. It was a nice pub to come across on our journey.

So after a walk around the St. Andrew's University campus, a stroll through the St. Andrew's museum, and a stop in an ice cream shoppe for dessert, we said farewell for now, hopped in the car, and made our way back to Edinburgh. A very nice day, it was, and one trip marked off my list!

This past week has been full of reading articles, chapters in books, taking notes, figuring out stats, a lot of walking, joining the gym, finally making it to the supermarket again, and so much more. I attended my third ceilidh last night (you must youtube), and somehow became a representative for my program in the Postgraduate group that meets to make decisions about how the graduate school is run, so I attended our meeting yesterday as well.

This weekend should be great fun. I'm off to the Highlands on Saturday!! It'll be a long trip, but I'm really exited to see the magnificence of Northern Scotland and also to determine if I'll be able to understand anything anyone up there says! I hear their accents are really difficult to understand...should be fun! And the Sunday, I have a birthday party to attend and hanging out with a new friend in the evening.

I'm really here, and I'm really staying. While I finally feel like I'm starting to own this city, it still sounds crazy.

Cheers!

And so it's begun.

Yesterday was to be my first day of classes. I got up at 7:30, got ready for the day, and walked up to school. I had planned to arrive early because the location was not in my course catalogue, and I needed to find out where to go. Well, I arrived at the Graduate School office at 9:15, push open the door, and realize that it's locked. Apparently the grad school office doesn't open until 9:30. This is slightly unsettling because my class was supposed to start at 10:00, and again, I had no idea where it was to be.

Well, 9:30 rolls along and I hear the click of the door signaling that it will open if I push. I push, and lo and behold, into the office I go. I present my quandary to the man behind the desk, who had been kind enough to finally let me into the office. He looked confusedly at my paper, typed a few things into the computer, looked confusedly at the computer and finally decided, after about 10 minutes that he couldn't help me. Instead, he sent me over to the Moray House School of Education, as the course in question was part of the MSc in Education program.

By this point, I'm simmering just under the point of panic; I don't want to be late for my first class in grad school. So I rush over to the land of future teachers having no idea really of where I was going or what I was looking for. I popped into the first office I could find only to be told that it was the wrong office and that I should go back to where I came in and go to reception in the little white house at the front. There was no 'little white house' where I entered, only big stone buildings! But I couldn't tell her this, so I just went in the direction she pointed. And there it was - the little white house.

The reception lady was very nice when I came in. She apologized for the confusion and proceeded to look up the issue. But she couldn't find a solution either. At this point, it was 10:00, and I was starting to prepare myself for walking into class late...on the first day of school. Well, the woman in reception didn't give up. She made a call - I don't know to whom - and whoever it was had an answer. The answer, you ask? The class will be offered second semester and had been put on the wrong list. What a waste of an hour.

So instead of Philosophical Foundations of Education on Monday mornings, I will now be attending Ethics in Education on Tuesday mornings. Beautiful. So yes, today was my first day of classes. And I rounded out my afternoon with my second class - Childhood, Children, and Children's Rights: Theory into Practice. Fascinating, eh?

Okay, now other happenings. Yesterday, a friend an I took the bus out of the city center to visit our Scottish friend who gave us a tour of her high school. Now, this isn't just any old high school. This school, Fettus College, was the inspiration for Hogwarts. Whoa. J.K. Rowling was all over this town. It was quite an interesting trip. Red ivy covered the headmaster's house; towers poked up into the sky; the old stone bricks held the stained glass of the chapel where the students have assembly every morning. Really cool place.

And after we finished at the school, we took a little jaunt across a park and into the Royal Botanical Gardens. They were beautiful. And the sun warmed the scene that afternoon, too. We went into the nursery, walked under the arch in the hedge wall, smelled the roses, and I even fed a squirrel. A lovely afternoon, it was. We walked into town after the gardens, grabbed dinner near campus, and met up with some other friends to celebrate a birthday. All in all, a good day.

At least it's beautiful.

It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting in the library, taking a break from my reading and note-taking, writing a new post, which may be brief, and group g-chatting with my parents. The interesting thing about the readings and note-taking is that classes don't start until tomorrow. Yet, I still have a list of about 15 different articles and chapters from books that I'm supposed to read before my Theory class on Tuesday. Also interesting, being that class hasn't started yet, I already have 15 pages of notes plus a powerpoint packet from all of the orientation sessions I've been to this week. Can you say overwhelming??

But when I look out the window to my right, across the cobblestone car park and up toward the horizon, I see the beauty that is Arthur's Seat. Incredible site. It's also the view I get as I'm walking home, waiting at the corner across from Papa John's (which is across from Blockbuster). Also have I to do is glance to my left and see this monstrous crag jutting up behind the old stone buildings. So I think, that is why I have 50 pages of reading and 15 pages of notes taken all before class starts. Right now, they're balancing each other out. Perhaps, I'll come to a different conclusion in a few weeks. Only time will tell.

Off to watch some American football!!

Oh, my goodness. What have I done???

This question has come into my mind several times this week. Of course it would happen. I'm 4390.79 miles from home with a big ocean in the middle. So yes, I miss everything I know, well almost, but I know that I'll be fine. I'll settle in, continue to make friends, and I will continue to love this place. It's a beautiful city.

So this whole week has been dedicated to getting acquainted with my new life. I now have a bank account, a mobile, groceries in the fridge, a new hair dryer (because I killed the other one, forgetting about the whole Voltage issue), my student card in my pocket, and the continuous quandary of if I should get a bus pass. Eventually, I'm sure I will, but so far, we've had quite nice days with vibrant blue skies, patchy white clouds, and a crisp fall breeze. Thus, I've been walking to and from school with an occasional ride on the bus at night. It's not a bad walk, when you do it once, but since I've walked it twice a day, to and from, the last 5 days, I've probably walked around 30 miles. Now, if we include all of the walking I did while I was playing tourist when my mom and brother were in town, well, let's just say it would be a lot more, and I've only been here for 8 days. My calves have been vehemently complaining for a couple of days.

I've met several Americans, a few from the Netherlands, one from Brazil, one from who knows where, and one from Scotland. Of course there are others, too, but I can't keep track of everyone and where they're from. The University of Edinburgh is a very international university with students from over 150 countries. Americans just seem to dominate the international student community. Surprise!

Yesterday, I went to an orientation session about bibliographies and reference lists. Am I a nerd if I admit that I was at least 90% engaged for the entire hour and a half? And then today, I went to a 2 and a half hour session on writing; at least 45 minutes of it was dedicated to grammar. I could've done without that portion of the lecture. I've now met my program director and colleagues and am excited for classes to start next week. I need to get into a routine so I can really begin to figure out my life here.

I finally made it to the University Library yesterday and joined the National Library of Scotland today. I now have adequate means to continue my quest toward becoming a super nerd. Exciting, eh?

Tonight, I'm planning on meeting a few other postgrads at a restaurant on the Royal Mile for dinner, and from there we'll head over to the Postgrad Ceilidh (a ceilidh is a Scottish party, basically, with traditional Scottish dancing and music), so it should be a fun evening. And who knows what this weekend will bring. A few of us are already planning a day trip to St. Andrews. Off to adventure!

To be a tourist.

I've been in Edinburgh now for nearly 5 days and have been playing the part of tourist for most of that time, and I'm exhausted. I forgot how much energy it takes to properly visit a new city, checking off the sites and museums from the list of attractions to visit, stopping in every gift shop the city has to offer even though they all sell the same exact product, filling every moment of every day in with some sort of activity. Yet somehow, we can never get everything done. The good news is that I have all year to place my camera around my neck and strap a fanny pack around my waist (not really...just a tote bag over the shoulder), and finish up on those little adventures that didn't make it into the first few days of my time here.

I should go ahead and mention that my mom and my brother have been with me during beginning of this trip, so they've gotten the opportunity to partake in both the exhaustion and the excitement.

Seemingly, people inherently focus on the negative. I've heard so much about the bad weather in Edinburgh. Well, I guess I've been lucky because the weekend was absolutely gorgeous with sunny days and a nice breeze (which sometimes turned into surprising gusts of wind). But then today happened, with rain steadily sprinkling for a couple of hours at a time, intermittent with periods of overcast and wind. Delightful...for a frog. Fortunately for Edinburgh, it is an incredibly beautiful city that can withstand the less than kind rumors about its weather.

So thankfully, many of the museums in Edinburgh are free! The castle is not one of them. But the National Museum of Scotland is, and Dolly lives there. Do you remember Dolly, the sheep that was cloned in 1996? Well, I didn't see her on Friday. There's always tomorrow. But the rest of the museum was pretty cool. I was reminded that Alexander Graham Bell didn't actually invent the telephone; he just submitted his patent first. I learned about the Lewis Chessmen and their mysterious history. And I saw a steam engine that was powered by water. Ponder that one. All in all, a pretty good way to spend the afternoon.

On Saturday, we went to the castle. Wow. It's this huge building sitting on a hill, keeping watch over its little city. And after stepping through its iron gates that were once used to protect those inside the castle, we found a glorious old village around us with different buildings and vaults, all of which had been turned into some sort of museum. Of course we also joined the queue that herded us through the Royal Palace to see the Honours of Scotland, those fabulous jewels passed along and hidden through the ages. I'm always amazed at what people could create by hand hundreds of years ago. Upon leaving the castle, we strolled down the Royal Mile where we passed shop after shop of knick knacks and souvenirs. I restrained myself from buying anything. And eventually, at the bottom of the hill, we came to the Holyrood Palace, where the Queen stays when she's in Scotland. We toured around the palace and courtyard, through the abbey and the gardens. I'd live there, though I might buy a different bed. Those mattresses didn't look very comfy.

Today, Monday, my landlord drove my mom, brother, and me our of town and through the country to the Linlithgow Royal Palace, which was the birthplace of Mary, Queen of Scots. That was an old building, pieces of it having fallen off over time, rain and wind eroding and wearing at the stone walls. The palace looks over a wee loch at the foot of its stoop and is flanked by the old church. The church was originally built in 1241 (I think), and it's retained some of its aged character, even through the restoration and is a beautiful example of its architectural age. After leaving the palace, we drove back into town, over to Holyrood Park and up toward Arthur's Seat. (I'll have more to say about Arthur's Seat when I actually hike it.)

And then in came time to say goodbye to my mom and brother. It's been pretty easy being there because I've simply been on vacation with them. But as their vacation ends and they head back to Atlanta, mine also ends yet I'm staying here. It was a brief but difficult walk, leaving the train station alone after I saw them off, but I managed to suppress my emotion, pretend I'm okay, and move on with settling into the city on my own. This evening, I got my bank account, my cell phone, and went grocery shopping. I even started to unpack my stuff in my flat. It's really beginning, and I'm very torn. I'm so excited to be here, but I've never felt such a strong pull to go back home to what I know. It'll be a transition, a difficult transition, and I feel like I'm flying by the seat of my pants. But I can't stop time, and I can't run home, so I better get ready because the adventure continues...tomorrow.

To Live...

"While I breathe, I hope." This is the motto of the Clan McLennon, hailing form the Scottish Highlands. As far as I know, no one in my family has been able to determine the correct clan from which we are descendants. My paternal grandmother's maiden name was Macklin, and we know the family was Scottish. Perhaps today, the question of our ancestry was answered. Or perhaps, I'm just unaware that I'm a little late on the findings. Either way, I'm intrigued by the motto. "While I breathe, I hope." In this, I hear aspirations and the will to accomplish.

Aspire to what? Accomplish what?

Whatever your heart desires. At the moment, I aspire to learn, to live, to dream. My year here in Edinburgh will be an accomplishment of my heart's desires.

* * *

After a long flight, have you ever felt a special bond with your fellow passengers around you on the plane? Almost like they're long lost family members that you just now remember you have? Well, that's how I felt at the end of this flight, as we all waited for the plane to taxi to our arrival gate and release us back into the world. And in every family, there's always that one outlier, the one that no one really understands, the one you reluctantly put up with. Well, we had 'the one' on our flight that just didn't realize how loud she was talking, telling her life story to not only the kind woman sitting next to her but also the dozens of people sitting several rows in front, behind, and across the cabin. I could elaborate extensively, but...without letting her take over post, let me just say that I wasn't upset at the end of the flight when she faded into a dull memory of family I once knew.

I was now more than halfway through my journey to Edinburgh. The last leg of the trip was my train from Manchester to my new home. Through occasional lapses into sleep and reverie as I stared off into the English countryside, I tried to eavesdrop on some of the conversations nearby, to start learning the accent, of course. I didn't imagine this would be so difficult. But wow, I might as well have been on a train in China. I suppose I'll just have to give myself a little time until the Scottish Brogue waltzes gracefully into my ear instead of tripping over toes every other step.

With calloused hands, worn out feet, and tired eyes, I stumbled off the train at Haymarket Station in Edinburgh, my bags awkwardly trailing behind me, their handles painfully rubbing my roughed-up hands. My shoulders were sore and my back tight, and the remainder of my energy was now being prepared to carry my bags, which seemed to grow on the plane, up the flights of stairs to the street level. Eventually making it to the top, I searched for my new landlord who had kindly offered to pick me up at the train station, escort me to my hotel, and then take me to the flat. And there she was, waiting for me at the entrance to the station, just as she said she would. I felt like a helpless child who'd just been rescued from the well he'd fallen into the day prior. It was a small refueling that would get me through the rest of the evening. Back at the hotel that night, I fell into a heavy sleep that carried me through to the next morning when I awoke ready to explore my new city.

It's coming.

My moments are like contractions, not that I've ever had a contraction. It's more a timing thing. The closer I get to stepping on that metal bird to carry me away to a different world, the more often these little freak-out moments happen. These moments that sink in my gut, questioning if I've made the right decision. These moments that say, "You're not there yet; something could go wrong," or "You're leaving everything you know. Are you sure you want to do that?" To which I respond, "Well, you have a point. I don't want to leave my friends and family, my home, my car. I like Atlanta, even after those hot, sticky days of summer." And on the brink of wanting to give up, I think, "But what an amazing opportunity I'll have. It'll be okay, and I'll have a wonderful time."

But right now, I am in limbo, in this period of waiting to start my new life. I decided to go back to school, and that's just great. But I've quit my job, and school hasn't started yet, and now I'm waiting again! It's better for me, in this waiting period, to keep busy. Go out, do things, see people. Anything but staying home, stressing about whether I'm actually ready to go. The more I do while waiting, the less I realize that my life is in surgery right now getting a face lift, nose job, liposuction, and botox in its upper lip so the lip doesn't disappear when life smiles. Pretty soon, my life will look completely different, but I'm thinking it'll be gorgeous. I'll do a photoshoot with my life when the swelling has gone down.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well if so, I have novels screaming at me to come see my new home, to see its elegance and to experience a culture that is beautiful because it is its own. It's been a while since I've spent hours sifting through Google images for photos of the city and country. Through skylines and sunsets, castles and beaches, I have sought to know what's in store for me to experience. And from what I can tell, it'll be an experience of a lifetime. So those pictures can keep calling me. I'll be there soon.

And so, the adventure begins.

Today, I packed. And unfortunately, I haven't done it well. Packing is stressful for me, and I realized this morning that this is the reason I always wait until the last minute - the less time I allow myself to pack, the less time I am stressed. Perfect logic, right? Well, if I wasn't moving to a new country for a year, I'd be spot on with my logic.

Fortunately, I began my new adventure over a year ago when I decided to go back to graduate school. Abroad. I researched programs in Italy, South Africa, Australia, and Canada, but I finally decided to apply to schools in Scotland, more specifically, the University of Aberdeen and the University of Edinburgh.

And let me tell you, the whole process of getting to the point of packing has been an adventure in itself, and not always a good one. I decided on the programs to which I wanted to apply late last year, yet somehow my fear of rejection and failure delayed my applying. But along came February, and I became anxious. I had to do this; I had to move on and experience the world of opportunities that lay ahead of me. So I did it. I filled out the application to the University of Edinburgh; I bugged old professors of mine to write me recommendations; I filled out the application to the University of Aberdeen; again, I bugged those same professors to modify their recommendations. And then I waited.

I hate waiting. I find no joy in it. It is stressful and vulnerable, and I just don't like it. Except that I asked for it. We all know that when we apply for something, anything, we must await a response. And so, that's what I did. Through March, through April, and into May. I had just about given up, assumed that my applications had been lost or forgotten, and then I received an email from the director of my program at the University of Edinburgh saying that she was delighted to have received my application and had passed along her recommendation to the Graduate School of Social and Political Sciences.

Hope. It's an amazing feeling, and finally, I was filled with it again. But then came the waiting again, and several more weeks passed before heard anything more. Meanwhile, I hadn't been sleeping too well. It was nearing the end of May, or so it felt, and I had yet to hear any confirmation from either school. I was in near desperation to know something. And finally, I open my eyes at 6:30 on May18, 30 minutes before my alarm was set to go off. According to my daily routine, I opened my laptop that lay on my bedside table, refreshed my email page, and squinted my eyes.

There it was - a new message from the University of Edinburgh. And unconditional offer into the MSc Childhood Studies program. "Dear Stephanie, I am delighted to inform you that the University is offering you admission to MSc Childhood Studies- 1 Year." I had more energy at that moment than I had had for a long time at 6:30 in the morning. Needless to say, I was no longer squinting. My eyes were wide with excitement, and possibly with a fair bit of surprise, too. They accepted me. They accepted me. What a good day that was.

And two days later, I received my acceptance letter from the University of Aberdeen. I now had the privilege to make a decision about where I wanted to study. In the end, though, I decided on the University of Edinburgh.

That hope that I mentioned before, it came back, and I welcomed it with open arms, gave it a big ol' bear hug, and promised not to let it go.

Well, I almost lied. No one told me that getting accepted was the easy part. Now I had to figure out how to pay for this education I'm trying to get. And apparently I have to have a place to live while getting this education. And then there's that little sticker they put in my passport that says I'm allowed to be in the country. That little sticker was hard to get.

So up to this point, I'd gotten my applications in later than I had wanted, I'd been accepted to a program later than I had wanted. But it was okay because I was still on track. A while back, though, I learned that you can't stop time. It doesn't really wait on you to take care of business. You gotta git 'er done.

Time was passing quickly. Work had ended; May had passed; June had opened her door, let me step in for a moment, and pushed me out, closing the door faster than I had a chance to realize what had happened. And so, here was July. I wasn't ready for July because too much needed to happen. The end of July meant the end of summer, and I wanted to have everything finished by that time.

But without getting into too much detail, my loans were delayed. The poor employees at the University had several hundred US loans to process, which they couldn't start until after July 1. Can we say rush hour on I-285?

July hurt. It hurt my hope, my pride, my passion, my desire. July made me want to give up. Then July left me, empty and afraid. I was so afraid that it just wouldn't happen, that I would never reap the benefits of overstepping my fear of failure, of persisting through months of waiting, of researching hours upon hours of how my dream was possible.

July left me with August, and August stared me down. Timid and insecure, I looked back, seething on the inside because I don't like it when others stare me down. My emotions boiling, I fought August. This is MY dream, and I will have it.

By the 3rd week of August, my visa was in my hand, and when August came to a close, I had a roommate and a place to live. Hope.

Now, here I am, taking a break from packing to begin telling my story. On the heels of my adventure, I quicken my pace, excited and ready to latch on and begin the endeavor of a lifetime!