The pilot comes on over the loudspeaker: “we are starting our decent into Manchester, England” and my heart leaps. I do not go home to England as much as I would like and as we start our descent through the clouds I can start to see the English countryside and it feels like coming home.
I grew up in England. Living in a little house in West Derby, Liverpool. My mum is English and her whole family still lives over there. I miss them all the time and I miss the life I might have had there.
Going home and walking the same roads I walked as a child is an odd feeling. Not much has changed. Afterall, West Derby is so old it is named in the Domesday Book. Little things do change. People get older, some businesses change, but most of it is the same.
I miss everyday life. I miss the chip shop and sausage rolls. I miss red postboxes and postman that ride on bicycles. I miss Christmas cards and neighbors that just pop by for a cup of tea and a “hello.” My mum always says that life moves at a difference pace in England. It is slower. I agree.
Sometimes I miss that pace. Though I do think I am fundamentally an American who loves to hussell but that pace is nice to go back home too.
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” -Michcel Proust