The part of the trip I was dreading. Having to say goodbye. The whole thing turned out to be even funner than I expected. I don’t know if it was the lack of humidity or getting to walk around such a pretty town, but I didn’t get homesick the whole time. It didn’t really feel normal either, like I really “belonged.” I guess it was a short enough time that I didn’t get too used to it. Yet, I was still sad to go. I made a lot of new friends and was sad we wouldn’t get to hang out all together anymore. But while I was there, I wasn’t worrying about all that very much. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t thinking about the future all the time. I was just taking every day as it was. I don’t think I was taking on a European state of mind or anything (I don’t think the Brits would fit in that state of mind themselves), it was just the right place at the right time. It felt, in a cliché way I guess, like a dream. Not in the sense that it was “dream-like,” but in the sense that I was breaking away from the normal patterns of my life. New place, new people, whole little program, all self-contained almost. A break in the narrative of my life. Yet, it was distinctly unlike a dream in the sense that I was aware the whole time that soon I’d be waking up. It didn’t make me sad or anything during it, but it gave every experience a bit of wistfulness because I knew future me would be looking back. Every moment had that sticking to it, the residue of future memories. Something like that. In other words, a dream definitely worth having.