We went to England.

And I returned forever changed — and forever found.

Good travel does that.

For ten months, as I planned this Anglophilian dream of a trip, my family had been joking that my husband would be returning from our England vacation … while I would most likely be remaining behind.

But a peculiar thing happened somewhere between my walk across the London Tower Bridge and our sunrise visit to Stonehenge: I was taken completely by surprise and realized a very profound thing …

I was Home.

Nine days later, on our flight back across the pond to the shores of America, I found myself grieving the loss —

of me.

It felt like I was leaving myself, and it broke me a little.

I know planning travel is my job, but I get so wound up in the details I put together for other people that when I finally benefit from my own time of personal travel, I am schooled by the fruits of my own professional labor.

Here are five things I (an American by birth and British by genetics) was surprised by – and the five correlations I embraced for myself in the process …

1) The British pace of life is methodically practical, gracefully slow, and generously unassuming. Embroiled as I have been in the lifelong game of consuming and capitalizing, for years I’ve felt a disconnect, thoroughly entrenched in the rat race of keeping up with Kardashian standards of beauty, the social media parade of politics, and the latest goo-goo gadgetry

But that’s not the true heart of me (and possibly not the true heart of many — most? — of us), a fact I’ve known intrinsically my entire life.

Pink Floyd famously sang, “Hanging on in quiet desperation, is the English way,” but I found it’s much deeper that. There is no expectation in England to strive for fame or significance, no fickle demand to perform outside of the day’s practical requirements — and that kind of peaceful existence sings to my soul.

I am made for sunshine days and the scent of lemongrass, the simplicity of freshly baked bread smeared with homemade jam, the click of knitting needles and Louis Armstrong crooning nearby on a crackling vinyl. I am geared toward a resolute morning of purpose-driven productivity, absolutely — provided it’s followed by a nice afternoon cuppa with a splash of milk and a blissful meandering through my veggie garden.

It is in these simple pleasures I find complete comfort and belonging.

English Honeybee on a fresh pink dahlia, King Henry VIII’s Hampton Court, England

2) Europeans don’t hate Americans and they’re not against us. I know the UK has (in)famously left the European Union (hello Brexit?), but they are decidedly still very European, still residing on the same continent as their nearest French and Belgian neighbors — so they are, for all intents and purposes, European.

I was flat-out informed, by more than one Brit-accented source, that Americans aren’t hated abroad the way Americans are led to believe they are hated abroad. Quite to the contrary (and given our own “Brexit” in 1776, a bit surprising), America appears to be looked on fondly with a heavy dose of appreciation and heart-felt encouragement … a bit like how we might look on our cute 11 year old cousin: awkward as she is in her new braces and ill-fitting clothes, we can absolutely witness the woman she’ll become.

England sees the great potential of America — and more importantly the American people — and is so obviously for us.

As someone who is passionate in her hope for us all, this made my heart glad and instantly endeared me to my English kin and kindred.

3) The weight of historical significance is fiercely protected (much to the public dismay of all other world nations). You know what I’m talking about. Yes, it can be argued (and quite successfully) that Great Britain is the great thief of civilizations — and all of the evidence for this argument can be found openly on display in London’s British Museum.

Walking through these rooms — full of Egyptian and Greek treasures, Chinese and Etruscan artifacts, and American and Burmese art — rendered me jaw-dropped-speechless, not merely at their having obviously been stolen (yes, stolen) from their original (and rightful) locales, but also at their easy accessibility to the general public — and all under one roof.

The British Museum (and all of the museums in London gifted by the Royal Crown to the people) are free to access. This means anyone in the world can witness the physical and profoundly historical weight of the Rosetta Stone, recite “Ozymandias” at the base of the very Ramses sculpture which inspired Shelley to write his poem, and stand in awe at the foot of the Nereid Temple, fully re-assembled in all of its ancient glory — and do it all on the same day without leaving the building!

As easily as you can argue that these treasures from other civilizations were stolen, you can just as easily laud Great Britain’s foresight at doing so, protecting as they did — for all of humanity, for all of time — these treasures, to educate, enlighten, and inform us all of our sacredness, our ingenuity and our inter-interconnectedness.

Nereid Temple, National Gallery, London England

4) A proper cuppa is every bit as daily important as getting enough exercise and sunshine. This knowledge began the moment we stepped foot on our Virgin Airways flight to London; we were presented with our in-flight meal (of course), but (much more to the point) we were offered hot tea every 90 minutes — and before we landed, we were provided with a proper cuppa, replete with scone (albeit a bit dry) and Devon cream and jam.

My husband and I enjoyed no fewer than three afternoon Cream Teas in our ten days in England, and I actually enjoyed a hot cuppa every morning (Assam) and evening (peppermint) at our apartment’s dining table — always (always) with a splash of milk, as is the proper English way.

Likewise, scones and biscuits are afforded their equal significance. A proper brew calls for a proper accompaniment, and England was not without this provision. Ginger biscuits, clotted cream biscuits, salted caramel biscuits, and scones of many varieties were in abundance — as second-nature as breathing.

And rightly so.

Because tea is life.

enjoying a proper cuppa, Fortnum & Mason Tea Salon, London England

5) Holding space for personal individuality is the assumed norm. This one is a little more nuanced and therefore difficult to describe, but I felt it almost immediately upon my feet touching British soil. As a sister eclectic myself — my soul and existence made of bits of this, pieces of that, all part and partial to the whole of me — I’ve always felt a bit of an outsider in a country (America) which seems to insist on collective uniformity, even as it publicly pays half-hearted lip-service to the concept of “independence” — actually display said independence, and you’re instantly thrown under the bus of suspicion and indignant skepticism.

The beauty of England however (and all of Britain, because she is made of many distinct nations and peoples with their own customs, languages, and mores) is that even as the collective whole deeply honors thousands of years of history and tradition, to be truly an individual is not merely a privilege: it’s a right.

My husband and I witnessed this in a myriad of different ways, from the handsome Indian gentleman dressed as Doctor Who beside the Earl’s Court TARDIS, to the quirky older gentleman on the tube, wearing brightly colored socks with his traditional plaid trousers, flashy coat, and shock of gnarled gray hair.

Walking the streets of London, we heard only approximately 10% of passersby speaking English; the other 90% were speaking Arabic, Italian, French, Portuguese, Irish, and Welsh.

We saw every possible display of social equality and varietal equity, in London’s food and store displays, in its dress and manner, a veritable cornucopia of cultures and self-expressions — and never, not once, did we ever witness anything but proud acceptance by every individual to be in that sea of diverse, gorgeous melting potted’ness

at the grave of Emmeline Pankhurst, Brompton Cemetery, London England

England absolutely, with no hesitation, welcomed, embraced, and won me over. I have found my soul’s true home — and we can’t wait to return (again and again). Until then, you can look forward to a few more blog posts not only recounting the many ways in which I have found myself enamored of this home across the pond, but also our sharing with you the many incredible sites we visited, hours spent exploring, foods we savored — and so much more.

I can’t wait to share it all with you, so stay tuned.

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