Travel Is Hard

My over zealous ambition and need to reconnect with my family led me to travel back to England a few days ago and in retrospect, none of the pre-planning and endless preparation were enough to shelter me from the stark reality of the challenges of my life. Heathrow airport is not disabled friendly and if you can actually find help, the language barrier presents a serious obstacle. Even though I have made many trips back over the past 39 years, each visit has shown me how far away I am from the England I grew up in. It's noisy and crowded and dirty. After being up for 24 hours, the navigation of Heathrow, whilst in tremendous discomfort, was grueling. Once we discovered where we needed to be, there was no assistance to get me there nor a seat to wait for the shuttle bus. When the bus did arrive, we learnt that the ramp was broken and when I tried to get on the step without the ramp, I fell. I badly bruised both legs and jarred my body so hard that I have been suffering ever since.

In spite of hours of planning and strategizing, this visit has presented itself with an abundance of challenges that have made me feel somewhat incapable. Recent years have led me to build a life of adaptation and compromise that I hadn't fully appreciated until this past week. Little by little I have cut out entire activities simply because they are too hard. I thought I was coping but this week I have realized just how much independence has been stolen by illness and injury.

I'm uncertain what I thought I was expecting or if I was expecting too much but the world does not cater to disability as well as it might. Oh there are the obligatory toilets and parking spaces at various establishments, but that is where it ends. To enjoy the beauty of England fully, one absolutely must have an all terrain scooter as well as the vehicle with which to transport it in. It was naive of me to think otherwise.

Although I have lived on another continent for almost 4 decades, this girl is still British on the inside and I still maintain my stiff upper lip. Calmness is my strategy and perseverance my middle name. With just a few days left on this trip I intend to enjoy as much as I can. It's the little things that will mean the most when I am far away once more reflecting on my time here. With the clock ticking loudly in my soul, I try to concentrate on the good and the lovely. Gratitude overcomes me as I compare countries and lifestyles that are an ocean apart. I miss England but America is my home now. The conflict is real and the emotional tugging at my heart seems unfair in so many ways.

I learnt a lot about myself on this last trip. First, I don’t need to second guess myself anymore as to whether I am in the right country. I am where I need to be.

Second, I did something that I thought was impossible for me to even think about and although it wasn’t the prettiest of attempts and many times I was reduced to secret tears, I did it.

And third, My family will always be my family and my roots and heritage will always be in England. Like the explorers of 250 years ago, I too have set sail for a new land and a new way of life that actually suits me perfectly!