How Green Is My Valley

As a Warren Wilson student, I was given the opportunity to apply for the Irish-American Scholars program, which exchanges students from universities in the US and Northern Ireland. Now fully into my sixth month at the University of Ulster in Coleraine, I can finally say that I am undeniably homesick.

Don't get me wrong--I love Northern Ireland. The people here are ridiculously nice, and I'm surrounded by incredibly beauty (that photo is from my bedroom window!). I've met some amazing people here that have challenged my conceptions about identity, culture, and lifestyle. I have plenty of leisure time, and I've travelled about the British Isles extensively and have plans to go further. I've still got some money in the bank from summer work and I can walk to the local pub whenever I want.

But, and this is the life-altering bit--it's not Wilson. My favorite flannel, stolen from my father in high school, still gets lumberjack jokes. I haven't found a piece of kale YET. For what is not the first time in my life, I am the hippie weirdo that thinks too hard about food, empathizes with cows, rabidly recycles, does not own a proper "party dress," and aches to work.

Writing an email to my WWC international studies advisor (who happens to be married to my academic advisor, making communication between all of us a breeze), I had a realization: my culture shocks did not come mostly from a change in currency, weather, lifestyle, food, or ideology. My time at Wilson has made those differences seem so superficial that the switch has been at times comical but never overwhelming. Truly, my culture shock comes from leaving Wilson and attending a big, "real" University. I get lost in the crowds and lost in the hallways. I pay for coffee at a coffee shop, and I cook by myself in my flat. Failing a year means a tuition-free do-over year, so there's really no incentive to pass. In my massive 40-person lectures (in a legitimate lecture hall!!) half the students are texting, a fair proportion are on Facebook, and the others look like they want to die. I am forced to make way too much awkward eye contact with the lecturer because I am the only person making an effort to express interest.

This is not to say that Wilson lectures don't ever include someone dozing off or not paying attention, or heaven forbid, not attending. Sure, that happens in any classroom. But overall, my classes at Wilson have been stimulating, precisely because the students care about the topics, and therefore the professor cares. I have sat outside Carson many a time and continued a discussion carried over from class that made me late for lunch. I bring up readings with my friends because they made me see the world in a slightly different way. There is a conscious effort in so many Wilson situations to make the material applicable to life, integrating experiences and seeing the interconnectedness of everything you do. Your social life melts into your work life, which informs your academics, which stimulates service, which creates your dreams. If you don't care about what you're learning...you leave. You go somewhere else, do something else, try something else.

So, here I am, in the midst of what is supposed to be the Time of My Life, pining away for a little piece of land across the ocean and feeling pretty silly about it all. I know that time passes oh-so-quickly, and as much as I try to live in the moment and learn from the here and now, I can't help but know that Wilson is where I belong, and I look forward to my homecoming.

Michelle