Hi all, I have, at long last, made my return to this long-neglected blog. To be frank, I’ve been in the process of soft-quitting the documentation of my last 3 weeks in England. However, it appears as though I’ve been given a second wind (and a couple of extra minutes before class) because I feel it is incumbent upon me to provide this period of my life the dignity of immortalization on this incredibly self-important blog. Far be it from me to exclude the Lord God Almighty’s narrative brilliance exhibited in the script of my life throughout this last stretch in London. Nevertheless, I present to you, 3 of the most comically absurd weeks of my life.

Week 16: Week 16 began with me and my friends Kylan and Akira stumbling upon the realization that we wouldn’t live within the same building, in a foreign country, for very much longer. Having acknowledged this, we decided to take a trip to Camden market to commemorate our time in London, our friendship, and to get some last-minute souvenir shopping done (we subsequently found virtually nothing to fulfill that last goal, but I’ll include some pictures taken of the day as the weather was wonderful).

Not remaining in Camden Market for more than an hour, we looked to find a way to extend the day (and immersion in sentiment) so we decided to take a walk through the city. We hit a couple parks and got some DELECTABLE ice cream at Baskin Robbins (I still think about you at night sometimes, oh sweet lemon-blueberry birthday cake) before stopping at Primrose Hill to enjoy the scenery and each other’s company one last time before we would go our separate ways in the coming days. As I write this, I feel a swell of emotion. Not out of sadness, but perhaps out of some shrouded gratitude, or at least my own feeble attempt to do so. Gratitude for two people who provided me a vessel for connection in the midst of my independence, who sought me out as I pursued silence. I am grateful for them and I don’t care how they feel about that fact. Whether the emotion is reciprocated or not, they were significant people in my life and I thank God that they were part of the plan, because I know that I’m a better man for it.

Week 17: Week 17 included an unexpected blessing and bragging rights over all of my friends into those British period dramas. I’m looking at The Great, The Favourite, Bridgerton, Queen Charlotte, Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again!, and even Pirates of the Caribbean (amongst many more). I got to take an audio tour of the palace, experience the real places where these pieces were staged and shot, and learn about the significance of the area. My film history nerd heart swelled and I’m not ashamed of that fact in the slightest. However, while this was all well and good, I was reminded of something… Something I’d set out to do coming to London that had slipped my mind for almost the entirety of the 4 months I was there… Something I’d surely regret not experiencing, but more on that in week 18.

Week 18: PRIDE & PREJUDICE!!! The 2005 Joe Wright adaptation of the Jane Austen novel is one of my favorite films (in particular, it has some of the most stunning staging and cinematography I’ve ever seen) and with me being a few hours (and a couple of bus changes) from the house, I saw it fit to book my reservation for a visit for my last week in the country. In addition to this, I remembered my semester-long goal to take a visit to Goodison Park, the storied stadium of my favorite football club, Everton. So, acknowledging this, I decided to book the (3 hour long) train journey up to Liverpool to see this goal through. Now, at this point, you may be asking yourself (surely you aren’t) “Hey Kaelen, how can you afford to be taking all of these trips across the country? Haven’t you exercised your budget enough during your time in London?” To that I would say “Yes, you’re right. However…”. What is the “however”? The “however” is that I’d recently been awarded a prestigious summer fellowship at Harvard, set to begin a few days after I got back to the States. This means stipend money! And that stipend money could NOT have hit at a better time. So, in that last week in London, I spent entirely too much on food, train tickets, and bus tickets, but more on that later.

To keep it brief, my trip to the Chatsworth House was magical! Save for the terrible weather, I had a blast retracing the steps of the film and appreciating the extravagance of the estate.Until it was time for me to begin my tour of the interior of the estate… I walked into the gift shop after about 45 minutes of meandering the perimeter of the manor, only to find out that my scheduled slot had passed, the doors had been closed, and that they would not reopen that day. I was devastated. I had to see Mr. Darcy’s piano after all! I was set to travel up to Liverpool the next day and after that I only had one more full day in the country before going home (and I had yet to pack!), so I was faced with a choice; exhibit the discipline I know I possess and forgo the extra trip to return to Chatsworth in 2 days, OR be impatient, irresponsible, and satiate my inner film nerd/romantic. After putting up an impressive fight on the bus back to London and the train to and from Liverpool the next day, my better judgement was felled and I decided to spend entirely too much money on a trip back to Chesterfield.

An appropriate painkiller for the heartbreak of the previous day, my day in Liverpool was marked with culture, history, books, exploration, and the greatest churros I’ve ever had in my life. I spent most of my time in London travelling independently and figuring things out for myself, and there was a lot about that that I really grew to appreciate. However, I have never felt more misfortune at not having anyone to share my experience with than when I tasted those churros… God bless you “churro vendor set up just outside of Liverpool Lime Street Station”. I may not know your name, but the memory of your churros will live on in my heart forevermore. In addition, seeing Goodison Park was a dream come true. Even if I was relegated to walking the perimeter of its walls, being able to put hands on the very stadium that had housed the source of so much of my pain and joy over the years, was transcendental. I won’t say much more out of the fear of soaking this keyboard with my tears, however I needed to acknowledge the privilege it was to “Come on, come on. Get down to Goodison Park”.

My return to the Chatsworth house started well. I was reimbursed for my previous trip going awry and the weather was shaping up for a fantastic day. However, about 2 hours into the bus ride, I realized that the bus was not going to make it in time for me to catch my connecting bus to the manor. Panicking, I began to pray frantically (while fading in and out of sleep) that by some miracle, the bus would supersede all traffic and arrive ahead of schedule. Well, you can’t say my God isn’t good because we made it with 10 minutes to spare!! I got off of the bus looking around for the stop to wait at. After a few minutes of struggle and acknowledgement of further panic, I decided to ask the clerk at the desk where my bus was. Lo and behold to me, I was at the wrong station. Not only that, but the station I was supposed to be at was 20 minutes away, so . So that was about $35 dollars down the drain, spent on an uber up to the estate. Suffice it to say, the inside of that house needed to make it worth my while, and thankfully, it was! Not only did I get to see so many of the areas where scenes were shot, but there was so much amazing artwork to appreciate as well! Also, I’m not sure why I didn’t think about this going in, but the house was HUGE. There were so many rooms, I would have gotten lost had it not been for my audio guide. I even got a picture with (sculpted) Mr. Darcy! Shout out to the homie! I’ll make sure to post our selfie below. My pockets might not have agreed with me, but my heart was happy. So I took my happy behind onto that shuttle back to the bus station so I could get myself back to London and pack.

I was not going to miss another bus today. Well, I actually would, but I’m getting slightly ahead of myself. About halfway through the shuttle ride, with a cruel dosage of Déjà vu, I realized that we were barely projected to make it back in time to catch my bus to London… I repeated my rituals fervently, but the Lord opted out of sparing the rod and we arrived at the bus station with a minute or two left before my bus would depart. I jump off the shuttle, half-hopeless, looking around frantically (in another cruel dosage of Déjà vu) for the station my bus was supposed to be at, raring to leave me behind. I’m labored, I’m sweaty, and I’m sprinting across the bus station at this point before arriving at the stop supposedly inhabited by my bus (so says my $40 bus ticket) and I see nothing. I expected to see nothing, so I saw nothing. I see nothing for a few seconds. I see nothing until my half-hope kicks in and I see something. About 400 meters out, turning the corner onto the main road, I see my bus, leaving me behind, and it appeared just as premeditated as I’d presumed it was. I left all shame at my feet and I chased that bus with all 6 years of formal Track & Field training I had left in my legs, hysterical strength and whatever they say. Each stoplight the bus hit filled me with new hope, more like 60%/70%. I began to gain on the bus, fueled by the foresight of the sweet comeuppance that would be served by what I thought to be my eventual, successful “hawk-down” effort. But alas, the Mighty Rod of the Lord above swung down once again, as the bus was released from what must have been its millionth stop light and was allowed to access the motorway, escaping my reach for good. I stopped. My shame was about 600 meters behind me. My clothes were drenched with sweat (perhaps a few tears, I don’t quite remember). I could taste the funds leaving my bank account. Then it hit me, I didn’t even buy the flex ticket!

There I was, tired, out an additional $40, and feeling a tad defeated. The next bus was scheduled to pick me up about an hour from then on. I awaited abundance, my cup ostensibly planted firmly on its foundation. I despaired for much of the next hour, bringing it with me onto the bus and for much of the ride home. I held that despair so tightly. Then I thought about how I would soon be home. Not home to London, but home to Texas, with my family. I would return with a wealth of experience and growth, the return on a multitude of prayers lifted toward me during my time abroad. I’d explored, gotten lost, spread joy, steeped myself in depression, graced the periphery of a cult, read more than I’d ever have in my life, discovered my love of storytelling, watched entirely too many movies, ate far too many chicken bakes, completed public transportation, and reaffirmed my disdain for Paris. Who am I to question abundance? That was abundance! And for experiencing it, I was abundant, I was wonderful. I am wonderful, I deserve to be wonderful, and I contain multitudes.

• Kaelen (9/19/25)