James Patterson Jr

I can still feel my eyes flowing up, down and across the body of the rolling hills, even though all I’m met with is the flatlands of midwestern American life. Some say getting your head lost in the clouds is a day waster, but the more I can sit here and imagine myself sitting on a bench whilst the same winds that brush my skin fan the grass leading down the hills of the vast English countryside, the more I’m grateful that I was allowed to attend the Middlebury CMRS program at the University of Oxford. 

I expected little before I went. Having been content with merely bragging about it to the people of my past and thus stroking my ego, I was met only with astonishment every day I spent in Oxford. Whether I toiled in the Keble or Oxford Union library studying Jurisprudence to satisfy the analytic rigor of my intelligent tutor, discover the wellspring of creativity that I never knew I had hidden under the tarp of my own self-doubt to create short stories, or participating in the Model United Nations event with the Oxford Diplomatic society, every day was one where I learned my own depths and realized they seemed beyond the bounds of any horizon of the flatlands of my small town. I went with an ego to satisfy and left with a self to nourish. 

The city was alive in the same way the sun furnished daily bustle, and the night tucked it away into a slumber that saw everyone retreat either into a club with pounding music or a pub with chattering glasses and clinking conversations. I found myself to be the latter, mostly. I lost myself in endless conversations, ranging from the sober philosophical ramblings of Socratic manners to the swaying laughter anchored by many pints of Guinness. 

The buildings towered over me; their history was felt and demanded my attention. It captured it and held onto me until I realized I was now a part of it, even as small as it may be. Either way, even If my presence wouldn’t be able to match an etching into the intricate architecture of the Gothic buildings, I’m still proud. 

Though none of this would be possible without the wonderful staff of the CMRS program. They didn’t hold my hand, and I’m grateful for that. I failed many times during my studies and day-to-day goings, but I fell knowing how to get up by holding onto their wisdom to get through the day-to-day. I’ll always be thankful for Stella’s medieval emails and am saddened that I won’t be able to see them any longer. 

So I’ll stay in the clouds for a long while. 

I’m quite thankful. 

And you’ll be too.