Discovering America

Almost a year has passed since the cold Sunday on which I filled up a whole luggage rack on First Great Western’s 10.07 service from Pewsey into London Paddington.  I remember it clearly because I had spent the prior evening fretting about how the train would be packed and how there would not possibly be space for everything on board. In the event my only companions in an otherwise empty carriage were an elderly couple with a cat in a wicker basket.

With my welter of belongings safely stowed, I relaxed as the train cautiously pulled out of Pewsey and gathered momentum as it moved into the Wiltshire countryside beyond. It occurred to me that this familiar journey, which for so long had been an almost daily ritual, was one that I would now repeat very infrequently. The sights that I usually took for granted were suddenly imbued with poignancy: the pretty high street of Hungerford, still strung with Christmas lights; sleepy Newbury, with its magnificent racecourse; and on into the suburbs and then sprawling London, signaled by the appearance of the iconic Trellick Tower.

As I bid a silent goodbye to the familiar landmarks, I wondered what my new life in America would be like. Sure, I knew in general terms what to expect: as a frequent visitor, it was not as if my new home of New York was entirely new to me. I knew the best places to get pizza (John’s on West 44th Street), what the city smelt like on a cold winter evening, and even how to navigate the convoluted subway system. But these things, I knew, were rudimentary: the snatches of knowledge gained from the perspective of a tourist are entirely different from the experience of establishing, and living, a life in a place.

The first few weeks were enormously exciting. There was the big winter storm which almost shut down the city. There were visits to all sorts of stores to buy new things for the apartment. There was the realization that I could go for a run in Central Park on any morning I wanted (which has turned out to be all of twice in the past year, and one of those involved getting an Uber back to 22nd Street). And there were new restaurants to discover, new places to visit, and new clients and colleagues to meet.

As the weeks wore on the excitement remained but it became much more nuanced. I found delight in becoming familiar with a little custom here or a small peculiarity there – each was a sort of victory in piecing together the puzzle that allowed me to discover and better understand America and its people.

A year on and I now feel comfortable and accustomed to my new home. Certainly there is the odd thing that frustrates or reminds me I am not in the UK, but in general the process of adaptation has been remarkably easy. In large part this is down to the kindness, warmth, and generosity of the American people and the wonderful country they have built.

Tomorrow I fly back to the UK for Christmas. Although I will come back to America in the new year, a bit of me is sad to leave at this festive time. As I drive to the airport I will once again be bidding a silent farewell to landscapes, people, and customs that have now become an important and comforting part of my new life.